Page 4

Belgravia

One week later

G aslight chandeliers conspired with candlelit sconces to make the Ellburtons’ ballroom as bright as the cloudless July day had been.

Blessedly, the evening had turned cool and their hostess had the long windows in the elegant London townhouse opened to admit the breeze, though it barely stemmed the heat in the overcrowded room.

But Lady Ellburton must have emptied Covent Garden of every rose available, for their sweet scent filled the air.

“Please don’t worry. He’s not in attendance this evening,” Ivy whispered to Daphne as they stood side by side in a strategically selected spot on the far side of the ballroom.

It allowed Daphne and her younger sister a clear view of the gathering and each guest who entered the ballroom. Every social event since the night she’d learned of Moreland’s intentions had become a nerve-jangling misery for Daphne. More than anything, she feared another run-in with the blackguard.

“I hope I never see him again.”

“I’ll deal with him if he ever dares approach you.” Ivy clenched her fists at that pronouncement.

Daphne’s mouth turned up in a half-smile.

Ivy had made a collection of colorful friends in the London ladies’ club she’d joined. One, a lady pugilist, had taught her some basic fighting skills, and it seemed Ivy was eager to put them to use on Moreland.

Daphne had last seen him the night he’d slipped her the note—the evening her heart had shattered into jagged pieces.

Moreland hadn’t even sought an explanation when she failed to appear for their tryst. Perhaps word had got to him about the state she’d been in later in the evening.

Her tears had been hard to hide, though she’d swiped at them furiously.

Then Selina, her closest friend among the Season’s debutantes, had insisted they walk in the gardens until Daphne felt better.

Yet she hadn’t felt better since that night.

Not truly. All her hopes for what the Season might bring had been smashed.

She no longer cared about being courted or receiving a marriage proposal.

Selina was the reason Daphne continued to accept invitations, show her face, and risk encountering the skunk who’d hurt her more than anyone ever had.

Though Selina insisted Daphne shouldn’t let anything mar her Season, Daphne’s only goal now was to protect her impressionable friend from blighters like Moreland and his ilk.

So, she stood along the far edge of the Ellburtons’ ballroom, just a few feet from Selina, watching as handsome young bachelors attempted to catch her eye. And she didn’t miss how other debutantes whispered about Selina in jealous tones behind their fans either.

At eighteen, Lady Selina was two years younger than Daphne, the same age as Ivy, and they’d quickly established a warm rapport at various balls and soirees in the early weeks of the Season.

Selina was quiet, as Daphne tended to be, and much more comfortable observing from the edges of a soiree than being the focus of attention.

But she’d been declared the Season’s diamond, so she had to endure more attention than she’d ever sought.

Indeed, the day after a gossip sheet referred to her as the diamond, Selina had called in at Edgerton House to visit Daphne and cried on and off for hours.

They’d discussed how she might weather the storm of scrutiny and suitors.

Daphne had promised they’d conquer the Season together. And now, after the… incident with Sebastian Moreland, Daphne was even more determined to remain close and watchful.

She’d confessed all to Selina, of course, wanting to ensure that Moreland and his friends, who her sister Ivy had eventually helped her identify, kept their distance from her sweet, trusting friend.

Daphne no longer cared about being wooed or courted. She’d happily become a wallflower and soon realized there was much to be learned when one observed from the sidelines and blended into the wallpaper. And she wasn’t alone. Ivy was content to stand in wallflower row beside her.

“I don’t know why Lord Montclair still buzzes around Selina,” Ivy murmured, her gaze fixed on a tall, auburn-haired noblewoman who’d caught the eye of many debutantes. “He offered for Miss Cartwright just last night.”

Daphne sipped at tepid lemonade and side-eyed her sister. “Was it in the gossip sheets already?”

“Not that I saw.” Ivy consumed scandal sheets and gossip rags avidly.

“Then how do you know?”

“The Cartwright’s maid is friends with Jilly.”

Jilly was one of their brother-in-law’s chambermaids at Edgerton House.

“You’re becoming a terrible purveyor of gossip, Ivy.”

“I don’t think of it as gossip, since I don’t spread details except to those who might benefit from the information. I consider it the collecting facts.”

Daphne couldn’t deny the usefulness of having a sister with detective-like tendencies, especially when her chief concern was helping her friend determine which suitors were worthy of her attention and which were vile deceivers.

“Well, look who’s reappeared after a mysterious absence,” Ivy whispered.

Daphne followed the direction of her sister’s gaze and spotted one of the noblemen who’d managed to earn a bit of Selina’s interest before he’d quite strangely disappeared from society and ceased accepting invitations to the Season’s round of balls and soirees.

“Did you ever hear why he vanished?”

“I didn’t.” Ivy sounded chagrined. “He’s a true conundrum.”

Daphne narrowed her gaze as the earl made his way through the crush.

His absence had wrought some changes, it seemed.

His hair was a bit longer and tousled, his shoulders broader, and he walked with a confident, commanding air about him that she didn’t recall from her previous encounters with Julian Rourke, Earl of Windham.

Indeed, nothing about the handsome young nobleman had particularly caught her eye. After all, the Season was flush with eligible bachelors.

Yet now, for some reason, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

A fierce determination tightened his jaw.

And for the first time, she noticed a faint scar that ran along his left cheek.

The whitened line stood out against his sun-kissed skin.

It made him appear slightly dangerous when, previously, he’d only ever been so amiable and jolly as to cause her to think him frivolous.

“Well, I mean to find out why,” Daphne said before setting her lemonade on a passing servant’s tray and striding off toward Lord Windham.

He was beelining toward Selina, but he kept getting caught as fellow noblemen greeted him.

Daphne glanced back, relieved to see that Selina hadn’t yet noted his arrival. Two fellow debutantes were chatting with her, and Lord Godfrey approached to capture all her attention.

Slipping quickly past a few gathered couples, Daphne planted herself in Lord Windham’s path.

It was worse than Cassian expected.

He’d prepared himself to encounter a stifling crush of bodies. Even anticipated the necessity of making inane conversation about the weather and horse racing and the next social event on the Season’s calendar.

What he’d not anticipated was the number of noblemen who counted Julian as an acquaintance worth greeting. A few had already inquired about his fortnight absence from various balls and musicales.

Cassian made the excuse of illness but assured both men—Nelson and Knowles, according to the friendly banter between the two—that he was hale and well now.

Then, when he’d disentangled himself from a few other gentlemen who assumed such intimacy they didn’t even offer their names, he fixed his gaze on the whole purpose of this hapless venture.

Julian had described Lady Selina Lytton with such detail that it was no difficulty to identify her among the eager debutantes dotted around Lord and Lady Ellburton’s ballroom.

Oddly, the Season’s diamond seemed a touch less at ease than the rest. She looked as if she felt out of place, which was precisely how Cassian had felt the moment he’d shaved off his beard, donned new Bond Street clothes, and crossed the Ellburtons’ threshold.

According to Julian, the lady was a bit shy, but Cassian had expected her to at least sparkle in company.

A small group of ladies burst into laughter on the right edge of the ballroom.

Cassian turned at the sound and promptly collided with a figure in his path. His hands shot out on instinct, steadying the petite blonde before him. Her skin, bare where his fingers grazed her upper arms, was soft and warm, and the contact shot an unfamiliar thrill up his spine.

He clenched his jaw at the feeling.

She glanced down at where he touched her, and he withdrew his hands at once, though her warmth seemed to linger on his fingertips.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, already cursing the misstep. Five minutes in, and he’d already committed a grave faux pas.

“You were gone, Lord Windham,” the young lady put to him with one tawny brow arched in challenge. “Lady Selina remarked on your absence.”

“Yes,” Cassian replied, smoothing his accent to match Julian’s clipped tones and attempting his easy charm. “I was ill. But never fear. I’ve fully recovered, and I’m flattered she noticed.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a kind of deliberate scrutiny that made the air between them feel charged. At the intense perusal, his skin heated beneath the fine cloth of his evening suit.

The lady had eyes of rich blue, the color shifting with flecks of gold.

It reminded him of watching sunlight glitter on a churning sea.

Her hair shimmered like a polished gold sovereign under the chandeliers, and her lips—he couldn’t help but notice—were a perfect bow, the lower fuller and faintly flushed.

Julian had mentioned a close friend of Lady Selina’s that it would behoove him to win over. A Miss Bridewell. Could this be her?