Page 5

Chapter Five

The Hunter is the Hunted

C aleb watched the dark-haired beauty as she walked through the ballroom, her petite blonde-haired companion at her side. They’d been giggling as only young women can and, with no small amount of curiosity, he wondered what had prompted their mirth. The level of interest she had stirred within him with a mere glance was unprecedented.

He was in something of a quandary. Having spoken to the few people in attendance whom he knew, he now had her name—Miss Marina Ashton—but no one could claim, or possibly would claim, acquaintance enough with the young woman to provide the much-needed introduction. It placed him firmly at square one. He was entirely dependent upon the generosity of his hostess, Lady Crowden. Generosity that he felt would surely be lacking, given their current situation. He could hardly beg an introduction to his mystery woman from her. With his intent to disabuse Lady Crowden of any notion of a romantic entanglement between the two of them, to immediately ask her to introduce him to another woman would truly be adding insult to injury. And she hardly seemed to be the magnanimous sort.

Thinking of the night at Cremorne Gardens, he frowned. The kiss had taken him by surprise and his reaction had been unfortunately delayed. He’d had just enough brandy that his wits had been dulled ever so slightly, preventing him from disengaging himself from her in as timely a manner as he should have. He could understand how that could be misconstrued. Accepting her invitation for the evening’s ball had only further cemented that version of events for her, but he was only there to inform her, as gently as possibly, that he had no wish in furthering a romantic entanglement with her.

Thinking of all the scheming and machinations, the clandestine power plays as everyone jockeyed for social position—he had to bite back a curse. It was all a bloody mess. It was at just such times, he wished he’d stayed in Yorkshire. Of course, that would have violated the terms of his great-uncle’s will. He had to marry a young woman, who had never been wed to another, who was part of the ton. He might have gotten by without inheriting the funds as well as the burdensome title, but for one thing. Death taxes were the very devil. They would eat away at the fortune his grandfather had amassed. The upkeep on the estates would drain it as well, and that would result in unnecessary strain on his other business enterprises. There was no way, barring completion of the terms of his great-uncle’s will, that he would not be either bankrupt, or robbing Peter to pay Paul for the rest of his days.

Casting his eyes over the ballroom once more, his gaze fell on the beautiful girl with coal-black hair and sapphire eyes as she disappeared from view. If he’d stayed in Yorkshire then he would never have laid eyes upon her, and that wasn’t something he was willing to forfeit for any reason. Not when, at first glance, he’d decided she was his best prospect. And it wasn’t just that she was beautiful, though that certainly was enough given the degree to which that statement was true. She seemed somehow apart from all of it. As if the nonsense of society was nothing to her but the ineffectual and slightly irritating buzzing of an insect.

Seeing an opportunity, Caleb positioned himself in the path that she and her friend would likely take as they navigated the periphery of the crowded ballroom. It wouldn’t be an introduction, but he could at least be certain that they had some interaction.

As he neared them, he caught her glancing surreptitiously at him from the corner of her eye. Oh, yes. She was as aware of him as he was of her. It boded well.

Watching the two of them whisper together, he saw her friend reach over, take the dance card from her wrist, and immediately drop it to the floor. His black-haired beauty stared at her companion in horror. It was an incredibly obvious method, but he was grateful for it.

Retrieving the delicate silver case, he stepped closer to the pair of them. “Your pardon, miss. I believe that this must be yours?”

She turned toward him then. At their present distance, her blue eyes were beyond piercing. He found himself utterly captivated by her beauty. And yet, he was cautious. Because the ton was full of women who were merely beautiful. He wanted a woman who could capture his mind and not simply his gaze. In short, he was afraid to hope for too much lest he find himself terribly disappointed.

“How humiliatingly clumsy of me, sir. Thank you.”

“I fear we have not been introduced,” he said. “But if I may be so bold, I am Lord Caleb Halliwell, Earl of St. Aiden.”

“Miss Marina Ashton,” she replied smoothly, “And my friend Miss Charlotte Hamilton.”

“This hardly counts as a formal introduction, my lord,” Miss Hamilton informed him primly, though her eyes twinkled with delight as she said it. “Though your gallantry does do you credit.”

Seeing as it was her scheming that had resulted in his gallantry, she very well ought to think so, he thought somewhat bemused. As he watched Miss Ashton less than subtly drive her elbow into Miss Hamilton’s ribs, he had to suppress a laugh. “Indeed, there is no substitute for a proper introduction. Perhaps if we compare a list of acquaintances in attendance tonight then we might happen upon a mutual one who could do the honors.”

“Our hostess, Lady Crowden, perhaps?” Miss Hamilton suggested.

A shadow passed over Miss Ashton’s face at the mention of their hostess. He found himself suddenly very glad that he would not have to count on Lady Crowden for that honor as it seemed to disturb Miss Ashton greatly. “Alas, I am not very well acquainted with her. I believe I was invited merely out of curiosity as I am so new both to the title and town,” he explained. It wasn’t technically a lie. It simply wasn’t the truth in its entirety.

“Uncle Valentine knows everyone,” Miss Ashton supplied. “Viscount Seaburn?”

A feeling of relief settled over him, as if a burden he hadn’t realized he’d been holding had suddenly lifted. Her uncle was a viscount. The criteria set forth in his great-uncle’s will began to tick steadily in his mind, like the striking of a clock. One, she was a society miss. Two, based on the pale color of her evening gown, it was safe to assume she had never been married. Three, she was a London girl born and bred. In short, she appeared to be everything that the old wretch had demanded. And more importantly, she appeared to be everything he wanted, as well. “We are acquainted enough,” Caleb replied. They’d met at their club only days earlier. “Should we seek him out before the next set, Miss Ashton? It is a dance I mean to claim if no one else has done so.”

“He is in the card room, sir. Perhaps if you seek him out, he will be inclined to grant your request,” Miss Hamilton said, but her gaze was on a point past his shoulder.

He wanted to ask who it was that had caused such an expression of alarm for her, but Caleb was halted from doing so by the appearance of a footman who appeared quite anxious. “Beg pardon, my lord. I have a message for you,” the young man said, appearing for all the world as if he expected to be kicked for his troubles.

Caleb offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the footman who stood so nervously beside him, a glass of champagne on his tray and next to it a folded missive sealed with wax. Taking both, Caleb broke the seal and read the note.

No, it wasn’t a note at all. It was a summons. Lady Crowden beckoned and expected him to comply. She was bound for a terrible disappointment. Even had he been inclined to indulge in a tawdry affair with a married woman, all of his attentions were now captured by a young woman whose name he had but just learned.

“Forgive me, Miss Ashton, Miss Hamilton. I will have to postpone importuning your uncle for that introduction. Please, if you’d be so kind, reserve space for me on your dance card.”

She inclined her head, but it wasn’t agreement. It was acknowledgment of his request only. That, Caleb determined, would change.