After several breathless moments trapped under the heat of his penetrating stare, she summoned up what little of her will remained, managing to wrench her gaze away.
An image of him as he’d looked six years ago pushed to the forefront of her thoughts. He had been the kind of handsome that warranted second and third looks. But that first impression he’d made upon her fifteen-year-old heart paled in comparison to what he did to it now.
He’d grown only more handsome in the ensuing years, his dark hair cut shorter, his shoulders broader, his cheekbones more pronounced and jaw more squared. He had an air of maturity in his face that had been lacking in the twenty-three year-old man who had stood in her parents’ parlor, venom in his eyes and condemnation lacing his every word. Before her now—not but thirty feet away—was a man who would stand out in any crowd. In the prime of his youth, he wore his black and white tailored garments with the same ease as he carried himself. Before her stood a man of consequence; a man she could only gaze upon but never even think to have for her own.
The viscount didn’t know who she was and provided she kept her distance, he never would. But given the small and exclusive nature of the London ton, their paths would undoubtedly cross again. The prospect should have given her pause instead of causing an unwanted thrill to shoot through her.
“He is quite handsome is he not?”
Charlotte’s voice jolted Elizabeth from her thoughts that ever increasingly tended to center on the viscount.
“Who?” Elizabeth tried her hand at nonchalance but feared the effect was lost to the heat flooding her face. Her mother often said she wore her heart on her sleeve and one day it would be her undoing. If she should come undone, best it occur after her first London Season, well out of the vicinity of prying eyes and loose tongues.
“Alex,” Charlotte chided, with the ease of a friendship that numbered in years and not the month since their introduction.
It had taken the better part of only three days after Elizabeth arrived at Laurel House before Charlotte had confided her feelings for Lord Alex—infatuation-turned-to-love that now spanned three years.
After meeting Lord Alex, Elizabeth wasn’t the least bit surprised. With his piercing silver-gray eyes and dimple in his chin, the second son of the Duke of Hastings possessed looks and charm to spare. Truth be told, he and Lord Creswell shared a superficial resemblance, both tall and handsome, each with a thick black head of hair.
“Very handsome indeed,” Elizabeth agreed with a sage nod. She flitted another glance in the men’s direction but the group at their side had shifted. The back of Lord Stanton’s silver-streaked head now obstructed her view and his voice boomed, threatening to render her deaf in one ear.
“He is a good friend of Alex’s. I can arrange an introduction if you’d like.”
The offer was tempting. Elizabeth had dreamt of their meeting since her mother had informed her she was to have a London Season. Her father’s title had not only come with two entailed properties but a stipend of three thousand a year. A veritable fortune to a family who had thus existed in something close to genteel poverty.
“I’m certain Lord Creswell is deluged with admirers,” she replied evasively. Any sane woman would leap at the chance to meet the rich, handsome viscount, and the state of her mental acuity had up until that day, never been questioned. She’d very much like it to remain that way.
Charlotte chortled, the sound light and ebullient, which had Elizabeth chuckling in spite of herself. “You are quite right. He’s a particular favorite of the ladies.”
Their laughter faded under a companionable silence before Elizabeth spoke again. “Where can Catherine have got to?” She hoped her friend didn’t note and file the change of subject for precisely what it was.
Her question had the desired effect for Charlotte immediately went up on her toes and began scouring the room for her twin. A mass of golden curls secured loosely at her crown with pale pink hair combs bobbed as she twisted her neck from right to left and back again.
Situated at the rear of the estate, the ballroom stretched the entire width of the main house with the dance floor taking up a third of that acreage. A refreshment room conveniently adjoined the dance floor and four sets of French doors opened out onto a stone terrace. The private garden beyond was said to be one of the most beautiful in all of London.
The last they had seen Catherine, Sir William Kingsley had come to claim her for a dance. The set had finished some five minutes ago but as London was experiencing a July devoid of the rain that sometimes plagued the summer month, perhaps he had taken her outside for a stroll.
“She must have—” Charlotte began but broke off when she saw Lord Alex approaching. Apparently, women were rendered speechless in the presence of gentleman with excessive good looks—particularly the ones they happened to be in love with.
“Charlotte.” From his lips, her name was a greeting, a familiar address…and something more. His head dipped in a bow but his eyes never left her.
Charlotte stood momentarily mute, transfixed as her blue eyes drank him in. And not in huge gulps but in savoring sips, as if she’d learned not to gorge herself. Elizabeth could have been a piece of furniture for all the attention the two paid her.
Then as if remembering Elizabeth's no doubt unfortunate presence and his own usually impeccable manners, Lord Alex shifted his focus smoothly to her. “Good evening, Miss Smith. I hope you're enjoying yourself.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’m having a fine time.” How fortunate Charlotte was to have captured the affections of such a man for it was obvious her friend’s feelings were duly returned.
“Alex.” Charlotte’s belated greeting sounded like a breathless sigh, her pleasure as transparent as the polished crystal glasses used to serve the wine and champagne.
For several seconds, very little could be heard above the haunting notes of the waltz and the collective rumble of three hundred guests. The small circle they had formed in the back of the room fell into the kind of silence that brought about a lot of throat clearing and fidgeting of fingers and toes. Inclined to the latter on such occasions, Elizabeth found herself smoothing the lace edge on her blue satin skirts.
“My friend has abandoned me for the greater outdoors.” Lord Alex broke the thick silence, motioning with his head toward the gray London night beyond the terrace doors. “And suddenly I found myself surrounded by dewy-faced debutantes.”
Elizabeth noted the imperceptible stiffening of Charlotte’s form. Pleasure faded from her eyes. “So you are using us to escape.” Her tone made it an indictment, her pursed lips a rebuke.
Lord Alex’s smile faltered and his brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by her charge. Before he could open his mouth to ask the nature of his transgression, Elizabeth excused herself, pleading heat, thirst and hunger, any of which would be true. She hurried away with no true destination in mind just the knowledge that she was superfluous to any situation with Charlotte and Lord Alex in each other’s company.
Mr. Peter Finley was the next name on her dance card but before she returned to the floor for the next set she could use a breath of fresh air. Well it wouldn’t be terribly fresh. This was London after all. But it would have to do until she returned to the much cleaner Wilton air.
My friend has abandoned me for the greater outdoors.
The statement taunted her…lured her as she escaped the ballroom and stepped out onto the lit terrace. What she was doing was foolhardy, her actions putting her vaunted mental acuity under question.