Page 24 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“I should be going,” she rushed to say when an embarrassed flush rose in Camille’s face. “I have a lot of reading ahead of me.”
They both rose, and Camille followed her out with Mrs. Barnes on their heels.
“Please say that you are coming to the ball?” asked Camille.
“Yes, of course.” She wouldn’t miss it now if for no other reason than to see her friend again. “Can you confirm that the gentleman in question is due to attend?”
Camille smiled. “Confirmed, yes.”
“Good, I will endeavor to keep him far away from Violet.”
Her friend laughed, as August had intended, and said, “Then the entertainment is sorted. I’ll turn my attention to the decorations.”
Chapter 8
Action may not always be happiness; but there is no happiness without action.
Benjamin Disraeli
Evan smoothed down the lapels of his tailcoat and checked the length of his sleeve again. Both were fine. Stewart was an excellent valet who would have thrown himself bodily across the threshold before allowing Evan to leave without every stitch of clothing in place. Knowing that, however, did not stop him from checking his bow tie in the gilt-framed mirror they passed. Perfectly straight as expected, but the silk felt as if it was about to choke the life out of him. Perhaps sharing that he would be selecting a bride tonight had pushed Stewart toward fastidiousness that bordered on desperation.
“You are fidgety tonight, as if it were your first ball.” Christian Halston, Earl of Leigh, gave him a cold once-over with a raised brow before turning his attention to the couples twirling on the dance floor below them. They stood along the gallery above the open room, where Evan had hoped to catch a glimpse of his intended bride before approaching her.
“No, but thisismy first bride.” When his finger slideasily between his collar and throat, Evan was forced to admit the tailoring of his suit was not the problem. It was the woman dancing somewhere below.
Taking one last look at his bow tie, he turned to try to find her. It did not take long for his eyes to make their way to the golden-clad woman dancing a quadrille with several couples around her. She moved gracefully and with confidence, an easy smile on her face. A tasteful collar of diamonds set in gold glittered at her throat, with a matching bracelet encircling her gloved wrist. She dressed with the extravagance of a seasoned duchess, not the demure pearls and semiprecious stones of a young, unmarried woman. But that was to be expected when her family was wealthier than most peers.
Her partner, a young viscount who was heir to an earldom, was no match for her. His movements were practiced and lacked her natural grace, and he kept stealing glances at her as if he were saving them up for later. Finally, he leaned over and said something near her ear that made her laugh. A polite laugh that lacked enthusiasm, Evan noted with satisfaction. Nevertheless, the melody of that sound reached him through the music of the orchestra and the din of the crowd. Surprised to find that he wanted her laughter for himself, his hands tightened on the balustrade as she leaned in and replied, making the man lose his rhythm as he joined in her laughter.
“Where is she?” Leigh’s straightforward voice broke through his jealous stupor.
“She’s there. Dancing with Atherton.” The gold fabric fell artfully off her shoulders and dropped to a low bodice that emphasized her narrow waist before draping elegantly in folds that cascaded like liquid waves down to the floor. The gown was almost definitely a Worth original. The cost of one of those alone could keep Charrington Manor afloat for several months.
That was the goal and what he should be focusing on. And while the thought was there, lurking in the dark and decidedly mercenary recesses of his mind, it had been shoved to the side by a much more pressing and visceralconsideration. He wantedher. He wanted her laughter, her sharp tongue, her quick mind, but even more urgently, he wanted to strip the gown from her body and feast on the lush curves hidden beneath. And to find all the places the honey tones of her skin turned to cream.
“The one in gold?” Leigh interrupted his thoughts again as he brought himself closer to balustrade to peer down at her. “But that is not the young Miss Crenshaw.”
“No, it is her older sister. She’s the one I have decided to take as my bride.”
“Ah, well, lucky for you she is not mannish at all, despite what they say.”
“Mannish?” It was likely the only word that would have removed his attention from the woman and put it on Leigh.
Leigh shrugged and continued to stare at her. If he’d had opera glasses, he probably would have used them. “She sits in business meetings with her father, she reads financials in theTimes, and she belongs to one of those women’s clubs in New York. They call the younger one the pretty one and the elder one the... well, the mannish one.” His sharp gaze turned on Evan. “Surely, you have heard this?”
Evan had not heard that. “No, but I am hardly surprised. Our group never handles differences well, do they?” He regretted the words as soon as he had said them. Leigh knew better than anyone how flaws were not tolerated among most.
Leigh gave no indication that the words had bothered him. “I confess, it never occurred to me to not imagine her with a square jaw in need of a shave.”
“But you saw her at the ballet.”
“Did I?” Leigh looked up toward one of the two chandeliers hanging above as he searched his memory. “I only remember the younger one at the ballet. Are you certain the elder Miss Crenshaw was there?”
“Yes. It is how I recognized her at the fight.”
“Ah yes, shewasat your fight. I thought she was familiar.” Sardonic humor was evident in Leigh’s tone. “Does she know that it was you she kissed?”
“She does.”
