Page 46 of The Lady is Trouble
Piper hummed a meaningless reply as Finn and Julian shared not a lick of blood.
“Exceptionally diffident, Viscount Beauchamp. Such reticence drives the ladies wild, wouldn’t you say?”
“Perhaps his reluctance is with purpose,” she replied, this chat reminding her of running her hand over a blade and hoping it didn’t draw blood.
The Countess sniffed and presented a pale shoulder in reply. If the woman had hoped to inquire about Piper’s relationship with Julian, hotly debated foryears, she was going to be wretchedly disappointed, for Piper could barely explain it herself.
Julian chose that moment to glance above the horde and lock eyes with her. The scent of orchids and sandalwood, every clink and gasp in the ballroom retreated until only her resounding heartbeat registered. Without thought, she lifted her hand to her stomach and pushed the tingle away. His gaze followed, then narrowed and skipped away. He took a long draw of his drink and swallowed hard.
Reluctant indeed.
Finished with this game, she turned to Finn, intent on raising a white flag and asking him to escort her to Julian. But her cousin, Alfred Weston, the tenth Earl of Montclaire, snuggled alongside her with a hand laid greedily at the small of her back. As if he hadn’t gotten everything inheriting the title and estates—as if there was more to be gained. Conceivably, he thought to remedy the slight of her being left with nothing by extending the presently vacant position of Countess.
Repelled, she took a lurching step back.
Something about Alfred made her skin crawl. His features were pleasant, his form admirable enough, but his eyes held something quite disagreeable in their bronzed depths.
“Lady Elizabeth,” he said, his voice so honied she’d wager he practiced introductions with his valet. “An unexpected surprise. I supposed you roughing it in the colonies.”
She worked to twist her mouth in the correct direction. It was a struggle; she held little of Finn’s natural charm in reserve. “My lord.”
“Alfred, my dear.” Again, the smile. “After all, wearefamily.” Although he’d not offered assistance of any kind after her grandfather’s death; even if she’d justly passed the age of needing a guardian, she would have appreciated being remembered. He leaned in close enough to send the scent of ambergris to her nose and a dance of unease along her skin.
Issuing a hushed sound that meant nothing but filled the silence, she took another step back.
Alfred tilted his head, his lips sliding into a lecherous smile. “It is too much to hope for the next dance? A vacancy, perchance, on your card?”
She flipped her kidskin-covered hands back and forth, a show of having no dance card on her person. Managing aurasanda waltz was more than she could account for.
“It is too much, Montclaire, old boy.” Julian maneuvered himself between them in a graceful effort no one would argue was anything but entrance into a conversation among friends. He turned to Piper, hair shooting off his brow as if he’d tunneled his hand through the overlong strands then forgotten to set them to rights. His eyes by candlelight gleamed like polished silver, the lids lowering to hide any clue to what he was thinking. “The ankle, my lady, is it better?”
She shook her head. Emphatic. Not better.
Before she had a chance to build a story around the lie, when she was excellent at highspeed lying, Julian did it for her. “Stumbled over a cobblestone upon arriving at the ball. So, dancing with you”—he paused to adjust a cuff which did not need adjustment, giving time for the words to sink in—“is not going to happen.”
Alfred’s cheeks flushed though his smile remained in place. “Still playing the mother hen, eh, Beauchamp?”
Julian stepped nearer than inconsequential conversation warranted. So near his aura bled into Alfred’s. “An issue you should have researched more thoroughly after coming into the title, no? As it is, we no longer need your assistance.”
Piper recalled the heated exchanges between the two as adolescents; Alfred’s insecurity and bitterness as the random pieces of life’s puzzle—attractiveness, intelligence, purpose—began to fall into place for Julian. He’d viewed Julian as a rival for her grandfather’s affection and imaginably for hers as well.
Alfred’s hands balled into fists. “You know, Beauchamp, you have such the look of your father about you, it’s quite hard to tell the difference.”
Piper heard Julian’s whispered oath, his posture settling into one of a man set on entering a brawl. Did Alfred not recall his ferocious temper? Julian was not a man you insulted and walked away from, crowded ballroom or not.
Uncaring who might witness the indiscretion, Piper grabbed Julian’s wrist, circled warm skin and sharp bone. Closing her eyes, she focused on the rapid pulse popping beneath her thumb.Calm.Control. Julian tensed, then he sighed softly as his hand fell limp in hers.
Her lids swept up as Julian turned, his dusky gaze nailing her to the floor. She knew he didn’t like that she had trespassed and used her gift to pacify.
Alone amid a crowd as remembrance of his body pressed to hers, the surge of his breath in her ear, invaded her senses. “Remember why you came,” she found the courage to advise. “Don’t let him ruin it.”
“Go, Freddie”—Julian shook his hand free of hers—“before I decide to follow a wayward impulse, as I’ve been known to on occasion, you should recall.” He blocked Alfred as the man went to scurry past. “If I hear something untold circulated this night, count on my being on your doorstep,anydoorstep, to discuss the situation. Trust me, you don’t want that visit.”
The Earl of Montclaire clenched his jaw. He had loathed the nickname as a child, as Julian loathed any reference to his father. They understood how to score a direct hit. Freddie’s meager bow as he left them expressed all he feared saying.Silly fop, Piper thought, watching him shove his way into the crowd, taking his rightful place among the vermin.
Julian studied his hands as if he questioned what he might have done with them. “Don’t look so worried,” he said and flexed his fingers. “If I’d intended harm, his blood would be spattered on the marble beneath our feet. Mixing quite imaginatively with the chalk.”
“Worried? About Freddie?” She laughed softly. She only worried abouthim.