Page 23 of While You Were Spying

No sooner had Ethan spoken with his superior than he’d been besieged by a horde of matrons and their giggling, pink-faced daughters. He had wanted nothing more than to go home, climb into bed, and sleep for a week. But Lady Harcourt had stood like a sentry on the fringe of the masses, and if he left without dancing even one set, he’d offend her. He had been at Cambridge with Harcourt, and since the baron and his wife were two of the members of thetonhe actually liked, he’d surrendered.

Nodding to the first pushy woman Lady Harcourt had presented to him, he’d taken the arm of the woman’s wide-eyed daughter and prepared to suffer through the half-hour ordeal. He’d been so distracted by hunger and sleep, he had barely glanced at the girl he danced with and had completely forgotten her when Victoria entered the ballroom.

Victoria. Resplendent as ever, he’d thought. He’d been unable to stop himself from staring. Haughty as ever too. He’d watched with disgust as her disdainful glance deigned to touch on the other guests. She sickened him. Even his fondness for the Harcourts wouldn’t keep him in the same room with her.

So he’d walked away, his one thought to put as much distance between himself and Victoria as quickly as possible. But when he’d turned to exit, he’d inadvertently glimpsed the scene in the ballroom. Standing motionless in a swirl of dancers had been this girl, his partner. When he’d walked away, he’d never even considered her.

He had considered her in his carriage on the way home, though, and the image had flicked through his mind at various other idle moments. He cursed himself silently whenever it did. He knew he was a bastard, knew he shouldn’t have allowed Victoria to affect him like that. The girl, now standing before him wearing almost the same look she’d worn that night, hadn’t deserved to be treated so callously.

He’d toyed briefly with the idea of sending a note of apology—he could probably uncover her name from Lady Harcourt. Then he’d been called back to the Continent, and he’d thought it for the best. There weren’t enough words, enough pieces of vellum, or enough ink in the world for him to make amends for all the mistakes he’d made in his life.

And he wouldn’t begin to attempt to do so now.

“We danced at the Harcourts’ ball,” he said matter-of-factly. She nodded, probably waiting for his rote apology. “I didn’t remember you until just now. You look”—he let his eyes sweep over her, a petite woman in a dark mantle and worn blue dress, the vast expanse of Hampshire spreading behind her—“different.”

He wanted to saybeautiful, but that wasn’t quite right. She wasn’t beautiful, not what he considered beautiful. But something about her, something intense and haunted in her eyes, attracted him.

“Different?” she said, those cocoa eyes flashing. “I shall add that to my journal tonight under the Compliments section, right below Good Teeth.”

Ethan winced.

“Good day, Lord Winterbourne.”

She spun away from him and marched down the hill toward the estate. He took two steps, caught her arm, and twisted her around.

“Release me!” She jerked her arm, but he tightened his hold.

“I would accompany you. I intend to have a few words with your father.”

She stopped struggling. “Concerning?” Her forehead creased, worry clouding her eyes.

“Come.” Ethan, still holding her arm in one hand, grasped Destrehan’s reins with the other and started down the hill. He pulled her along, her resistance irrelevant on the downward slope of the terrain. But her protests would have been futile in any case. As he’d said, he’d carry her kicking and screaming if he had to. He wanted to know what kind of father permitted his daughter to wander about the countryside without an escort or even a chaperone.

She continued to pull away from him, showing no signs of giving up, until they reached the hill’s nadir.

“My father’s not at home.” Her voice wavered. “He rode into Selborne this morning.”

He led the way through a pasture, avoiding the manure piles as best he could. The south front of the house rose before them, and as they came closer, the girl ceased her struggles.

“Let go of my arm,” she hissed at him.

Ethan skirted an ornery-looking goat and ignored her request. The matter was settled.

“Let go! I must put my hair to rights and straighten my clothes before we step inside.” She sounded almost frantic, and Ethan spared a glance at her, halting when he saw her. She looked windblown, wrinkled, and wild.

Wild and...ravishing.

He had no idea where the word had come from, he’d never thought of a woman in those terms before, but the description fit her. Fit her so well that he realized it had been on his tongue half a dozen times since he’d first seen her this morning. He’d simply been too preoccupied to notice her.

Hardly a trace of the girl he’d been introduced to at Harcourt’s ball was visible in her now. Her hair flowed halfway down her back in rich, dark curls, and the dangling red ribbon illuminated them like a streak of fire. Her eyes, large and chocolate brown, were fringed with thick black lashes and framed by gracefully arched dark brows. Against her creamy white skin, those eyes gave her an intense, passionate look Ethan knew he would have remembered if it had been in her

expression when they’d first met. A man didn’t easily forget the intensity of eyes like hers. Intensity like that could be turned to passion in the right lover’s hands.

His gaze touched briefly on her other features. She had smooth, unfreckled skin, a small straight nose, and lips the color of faded roses. He wondered if her mouth looked as full when she smiled, if her lips turned dusky pink or wine-red when she’d been thoroughly kissed.

Without a word, he released her hand.

“Thank you,” she muttered and took two steps away from him. “If you would force us to make a grand entrance, I shouldn’t look as though I’ve been rolling in the bushes.”

---