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“ I f only she had a small imperfection.”

“What?” Patrick, Earl of Coulter, tore his eyes from the top of the stairs to look at his friend.

“The Countess of Monmouth.” Stephen swept his hand in an arc encompassing most of the assembled guests. “I said that an imperfection would detract from her goddess-like beauty. Perhaps a lisp? Alas, no,” he added seconds later. “A lisp would merely make her sweet and beautiful.”

“Idiot,” Patrick muttered, propping one shoulder against the wall. His gaze returned to where the countess now stood. Poised on the top step of the Duke of Rookvale’s ballroom, she appeared motionless. Only her eyes moved as they passed over the guests milling below.

“Perhaps a mole with several long dark hairs on the end of her delicate nose?” Stephen mused.

She descended slowly, and like him, many were watching her because she was beautiful.

Her dark locks were piled high, clasped by a single diamond pin, exposing the pale length of a neck he’d dreamed of kissing too many nights.

The dress, designed to torment, cut low, revealing the lush curves beneath, and its emerald satin skirts swirled around her legs with each step.

Patrick dreamed about those legs too—naked and wrapped around his body.

Bloody woman. From the first glance, she had taken up residence in his head, and he wanted her out. He didn’t obsess over women and usually, his affairs were brief yet satisfactory for both parties, and he was always the one in control.

The countess stopped a few steps from the bottom and glanced around her, looking bored, as if they were her minions and she was honoring them with her presence.

Patrick wanted her with a desperation that was not comfortable for a man who liked control. However, he would never act on that desperation because she was a fraud. He hated nothing more than people who deliberately sought to deceive others.

“Did you just growl, Coulter?” Stephen asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Patrick snapped, following her progress until she reached the bottom step and became motionless once again. It was as if she held her breath, yet those eyes moved in every direction, seeking, searching, but for what?

“To be her lady’s maid for just one day.” Stephen sighed.

Reluctantly, Patrick pulled his eyes from the countess once more to look at the man who lounged beside him. Stephen Sumner had been Patrick’s friend since childhood and knew him better than anyone. Knew his secrets—well, most of them—and why he was the man he was today.

“There is something off about that woman.”

“For pity’s sake, Colt,” Stephen said, reverting to the nickname Patrick had been given in his school days. “Just because she has not fallen prostrate at your oversized feet whilst declaring her undying love does not mean she is a fraud. Surely you have tasted rejection before.”

“She has not rejected me,” Patrick said calmly. There was no point raising his voice or showing frustration at his friend’s words, as that would signal to Stephen he had got under Patrick’s skin, and that rarely happened, and never in such a setting.

“Excellent. We know how fragile your ego is.”

“I have no idea why I keep you as a friend,” Patrick added.

He then held up his hand as Stephen opened his mouth.

“Three days before the Earl of Monmouth passed away, I paid him a visit at Monmouth Hall. He was in his bed, clearly near death but still lucid.” He paused to make sure Stephen understood exactly what he was saying.

“There was no Countess of Monmouth at that time, Stephen. No wife and most definitely no son.”

“What are you saying, Patrick? That she is some sort of imposter?” Running a hand through his golden locks, Stephen shot his friend an irritated look.

“Why must you always suspect people of wrongdoing? Maybe she was away from the estate? Good Lord, Colt! The old man was absent from society for years and lived like a recluse. He could have married a whole bevy of beauties, and we would have been none the wiser.”

Shaking his head, Stephen continued, “Your investigating days are over, and for what it’s worth, I like the lady and cannot see her capable of treachery or deceit.”

Patrick snorted, his disbelief obvious. “You don’t even know the woman and are too trusting. There was no wife, I tell you. The old earl’s man of affairs was there, but there was no mention of a countess.”

“Well, good for her. If she got that old goat to marry her before he passed away, I’d say she deserved his money.” Stephen followed Patrick’s gaze back to where the countess now stood. “Let it be, Colt. No good can come of your meddling.”

“Me? Meddle? I’m insulted.”

Laughing at the foul comment Stephen hissed in his ear, Patrick lifted both hands in surrender, his demeanor once again serious.

“All I’m saying is that I quite liked that ‘old goat,’ as you so delicately put it, and something about the countess does not seem right. I’ll add to that we have never seen her in society before. She just appears this season, and you don’t find that odd?”

“Yes, it is odd when you put it like that, but surely she and Lady Carstairs, the late Lord Monmouth’s sister, would not be as close as they seemed to be if something were off about her?”

“Do we even know her family name?”

Stephen frowned. “I don’t think anyone has mentioned it.”

“Which is yet another odd thing in a list of many about the woman.”

“Well, if you want to investigate further, I suggest you make haste to put your name on her dance card, as her circle is forming,” Stephen urged.

Patrick eyed the men moving to intercept the countess and then pushed off the wall to join their ranks.