Page 43 of Deceiving an Earl
Good Lord. He shouldn’t go. He should go to his club, drink himself into oblivion, and lose some money in cards. And that was exactly what he had decided to do, but instead he found himself in front of Ellen’s home, staring at the bright lights coming from the windows and listening to the laughter and chatter floating out the open front door.
And he found himself not entering his club, but walking through Ellen’s entryway, taking a glass of wine off a passing tray and moving farther and farther inside, away from his club.
He saw her immediately. Tonight’s color was green. He was not wearing green but rather a boring black. She was laughing at something someone said. He thought it was an actor but really didn’t know. Next to her was William Needham, smiling, nodding, and talking.
And suddenly, Oliver had an urge to put his fist through Needham’s perfectly ordinary face and rearrange his thin nose. He didn’t know why he didn’t like the man. There was no reason to not like him. He was a well-known surgeon, serving the royal family, for God’s sake. He had a sterling personality and was obviously very gifted.
Oliver turned his back to the couple and took a sip of his wine. He should leave before Ellen saw him. He felt like a fool, mooning over her this way when she was being courted by Needham. Their past meant nothing to her and should mean nothing to him as well.
Just as he was about to leave, a glimpse of color caught his attention. Or rather, a glimpse of pale ivory, the hem of a gown around the corner.
Amelie Bertrand.
He hadn’t seen her at the last few salons and was curious as to how she was getting along and if Josie had been a good friend. He followed the gown and entered into the music room where he came face-to-face with not only Amelie but Josie, too.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Josie looked startled, then guilty. Amelie took a step back, her gaze flitting between brother and sister.
“Oliver.” Josie licked her lips.
“This is not a place for you to be, Josephine.”
She winced, hating the use of her full name.
“I brought her,” Amelie said softly, stepping forward. “I invited her.”
“Amelie is allowed to attend the salons,” Josie said defensively.
“Amelie has the permission of her father, and he is here with her. Did you get permission from Mother? Is Mother your chaperone?” He was absolutely certain that she had not received permission, nor that his mother was here, because their mother would never allow Josie’s reputation to be tarnished by being seen at a salon that hosted actors and actresses and singers.
By Josie’s guilty look Oliver knew he was right.
“You must return home. Now.”
“But Oliver, I was so looking forward to this night. Amelie says it is interesting to meet all of these different people from different backgrounds.”
She sounded so much like Ellen when they were that age that he almost winced.
“Mother will have a fit and no doubt blame me.” He may be a grown man of thirty-four, but he still feared his mother’s wrath.
“I will tell her it was my idea,” Josie said, nearly pleading.
“Go home.”
Her lips pursed and her eyes took on a mutinous expression he’d seen too many times in the mirror.
“Josie,” he warned.
“Armbruster. Who do we have here?”
Oliver closed his eyes before turning around. He knew that voice too well and, by the look on Josie’s face, she was taken by the lad behind her. Of all the bad luck. Oliver had never seen Philip at any of his mother’s salons. Why this one?
He stretched a smile across his face and turned around. “Fieldhurst, fancy seeing you here.”
But young Philip had eyes for only Josie.
“Itismy home,” Philip said, still not taking his gaze off Josie.
