Page 4 of Deceiving an Earl
“I’m surprised to see you here.” Her voice was musical. Deep and rich with a slight rasp that stirred his loins. He looked at Ellen, and he immediately thought of bedding her. It was an ungentlemanly thought and one he tried to banish, but it persisted nonetheless.
It had always been this way with her. She stirred him in ways that no other woman had since, and he had definitely tried hard to erase her memory with other women.
“Are you?” he asked. “Surprised?”
She smiled, a slow seductive smile that made all the blood rush to his cock. “Shocked might be a better word. You’ve never attended any of my salons before.”
He shrugged, almost forgetting that he was holding a glass of wine. It sloshed. He steadied it. “I wanted to see what it was all about.”
She tilted her head and studied him. “You despise poetry.”
Why was he so inordinately pleased that she remembered that about him?
“I’m a changed man.”
Her smile slipped. “I hope not.”
…
Why are you here?Ellen desperately wanted to ask Oliver, but she refrained from being rude.
When she’d seen him enter, her blood had run cold. For all these years they’d had an unspoken agreement to steer clear of each other. If they happened to be at the same ball, they remained on opposite ends of the room. They hadn’t spoken since…
She pushed the memory away.
Why was he herenow?
“The poetry reading will start momentarily. You might want to head in to get a good seat.”
He barely disguised his grimace. She did not disguise her grin. So, he still hated poetry. She was right. He had not changed, and that comforted her.
He tilted his tawny head toward a man a few feet away. “Who is that?”
“Antoine Bertrand?” she asked in surprise. He was here to see Bertrand? There was a curious feeling in her chest that was absolutelynotdisappointment.
“Bertrand,” he repeated, as if memorizing the name.
“Do you know him?”
He seemed to shake himself and turned back to her with a slight grin. “Never met him. He seems passionate about whatever it is he’s discussing. His audience is captive. And not in a good way.”
She studied Bertrand. She didn’t know the man well, but he was a part of the eccentric crowd that Ellen was drawn to.
“That’s unkind,” she said. “They don’t seem too miserable.”
He made a noise in his throat, and she was suddenly irritated with him. “Why are you here, Oliver?” This wasn’t his crowd of people. In fact, the idea of Oliver socializing with any of these people was laughable.
He turned the full force of his intense blue eyes on her, and she wished she’d not asked. She wished she’d walked away. She wished she’d not approached him at all. Those eyes had been the subject of her dreams for years before she’d finally forced herself to stop thinking of him.
“How have you been, Ellen?”
She set her back teeth together in frustration. Lord Armbruster was a charismatic man. He drew people to him like bees to flowers, and she did not want to be another bee. Not again.
Never again.
“I should mingle. Enjoy the poetry.”
She caught another grimace before she walked off and felt a small thrill that he wasn’t happy about the poetry reading.
