Page 21 of When Dashing Met Danger

He spun around, only to be faced with another lady altogether.

“Well, I can see I’m not who you’d hoped for,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “But I trust I’m an acceptable substitute.”

Alex scoured his brain for her name. Behind her, the open French doors of the ballroom cast her in stark light. She was plump, curvaceous, her hair an unnatural shade of blond. Her lips were full and pouty, and she wore rouge to enhance her features. Cheap. Easy. She was exactly what he needed right now.

Then why was his lip threatening to curl with distaste?

“I certainly hope you haven’t forgotten me because I haven’t forgotten you, Alex.” She purred his name, hands crawling to rest on his chest.

“Amelia.” Like a bad habit, the name tumbled effortlessly from his lips.

She huffed. “I must say, your manner used to be somewhat warmer.” She licked her lips.

“My mind was on something else.”

“Or someone else.” She pouted. “I saw the way you were looking at the Dashing chit tonight. You used to look at me that way, and I can assure you, you’ll get better results from me.” Her gloved hand snaked across his chest, inching downward toward the flat of his stomach. Her other hand toyed with the hair touching his collar, twirling it about her plump fingers.

Thoughts flooded his brain. She’d been his lover several years before. They got on well, but he’d broken it off after only a few encounters because— well—because that was what he did with women like Amelia. He’d had his share of mistresses, but he tired of them quickly and ended the affairs before the women came to expect too much.

Amelia was definitely the kind to expect too much. True to form, she pressed up against him, her actions bold even for the isolated terrace. Alex felt nothing for her. The once-hot fire of attraction had been replaced by the icy smoke of distaste. He opened his mouth to rebuff her when he heard a gasp.

Bloody hell.

Chapter Eight

“Oh!” The exclamation sounded tight and strangled. Cracking his eyelids open, Alex looked past Amelia to Lucia—her expression shocked and indignant. He closed his eyes again, unable to believe even he could have committed enough sins to warrant this much misery. Whatever mistakes he had made, he didn’t deserve the scene that was coming.

“Excuse me,” Lucia began, “I—I—” She broke off and turned to leave.

“Miss Dashing.” Alex cut her off, barely resisting the urge to grasp her arm. “May I introduce Mrs. Amelia—” He stopped, realizing his mistake too late. A woman of Lucia’s station did not associate with members of the demimonde, even the more reputable ones like Amelia Cox. Lucia’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened.

“Mrs. Amelia Cox,” he finished weakly. Lucia stared at him almost a full ten seconds before recovering herself, turning to his former lover, and bowing very, very slightly.

Amelia was far more gracious in her curtsy, taking the opportunity to exclaim, “How fortunate! I was just asking Alex to introduce us.”

Alex winced at her familiar use of his name.

“I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Amelia said, seeming to enjoy his discomfort. “I find that it’s always to one’s advantage to form new acquaintances, don’t you agree, Miss Dashing?”

Alex grimaced, Amelia’s gloating tone ramming his mistake home.

“Yes, of course,” Lucia replied, her voice stiff as her spine. “If you will excuse me.”

“No, Miss Dashing, pray excuse me.” Amelia put a hand on Lucia’s arm. Lucia stared at it pointedly. Amelia only smiled. “Don’t leave on my account. I was just going back inside.” Flashing him one last smile, she brushed past Lucia and disappeared through the French doors into the ballroom.

Alex took a breath, preparing for the coming storm. Lucia stood perfectly still, then, raising her chin a notch, she sliced him a withering glare.

“Good night, sir.”

Alex blinked. That was it?

She whirled on the heels of her white satin slippers, but before she’d taken two steps, he clasped her arm. “Let go!” she hissed, trying to wrest her arm away. Ignoring her struggles, he tugged her into the shadows at the end of the terrace. “That introduction was thoughtless,” he heard himself say, and she stopped fighting. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” But he did know. He’d been thinking that he had to do something—anything—to stop Lucia from leaving.

She stared at him, the surprise in her eyes at his apology turning to frosty disdain. “Your romantic liaisons are certainly none of my affair, but in the future refrain from introducing me to your Cyprians!” She yanked her arm free.

“She’s not my mistress.”

Lucia snorted.

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