Page 58 of No One's Bride
She had glimpsed the carefree man in Mr Hibbet’s apartment, and the sight had stolen her breath. She had tasted surrender on his lips. Seen the vibrant glimmer of freedom in his compelling blue eyes.
“He would be hurt if he thought ye’d kept the news from him.” Ailsa’s lungs constricted as if anticipating the viscount’s pain. Despite beginning the journey annoyed at the lord’s sudden disinterest, a desire to comfort him took hold. “Perhaps he needs something positive to cling to, a reason to look forward to the future.”
Nicholas tilted his head and arched a brow. “When did you decide to champion Denton’s cause? I thought you could barely tolerate him.”
Words from an old book had changed everything.
“When working together on a case, one gains a different perspective.” Her disdain had grown into an obsession. An obsession that began in the auction room when he offered his seat and explained why he wanted the rare copy ofUtopia. “Lord Denton has gone to great lengths to help me. I shall be forever grateful.”
They arrived promptly in Mortimer Street, and talk turned to their hostess’ lavish birthday celebration.
“Only Lady Winfield would invite every member of thetonand instruct them all to arrive at eight.” Nicholas yanked down the window and peered out. “Unless we want to sit here shivering for the next two hours, I suggest we walk the last fifty yards.”
They agreed and alighted.
Carriages blocked the street in a scene of pure carnage. Coachmen yelled amid their horses’ agitated snickers as a hundred or more guests descended like an army of ants on Lady Winfield’s London abode.
“It’s sure to be a crush tonight,” Helen said, as if she would rather be at home nestled in her husband’s embrace.
Ailsa scanned the horde of people jostling to beat the crowds and be the first to reach the matron’s front door. Some were loud and far too boisterous. Perhaps that’s why the hairs on her nape stood to attention. Why every muscle tensed as if intuitively sensing danger.
Instinct drew her gaze to the entrance of the mews.
That’s when she saw him—the ominous figure dressed in black lurking in the shadows. He raised his head and peered at Lady Winfield’s townhouse from beneath the rim of his overlarge hat.
A gasp caught in Ailsa’s throat.
It was the man from the auction house. The sinister fellow who wished to purchase the grimoire. The potential murderer.
Why would the fellow come to Lady Winfield’s ball?
Was he following her or Lord Denton?
She dared to look again but the devil had disappeared. Was her mind playing tricks and conjuring frightening visions?
Consumed with thoughts of the baleful rogue, Ailsa was still picturing his pale, skeletal face when she curtsied to Lady Winfield, was still trembling when the attendant coughed and offered to take her cloak.
“Good heavens! Ailsa! You look beautiful in blue.” Helen grasped Ailsa’s hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “It’s unlike you to visit a London modiste. And your hair looks divine in a softer style.”
Ailsa spoke of Delphine’s desire to play fairy godmother. “Miss Chance gets a thrill from turning a spinster into a temptress.”
“Well, her efforts have been noted by the masses. Men are gawping.” Amid a flurry of curious whispers, Helen led the way into the mirrored ballroom. “Prepare to be hounded by every man under forty.”
With her pulse pounding in her throat, Ailsa dared to raise her gaze. Fifty pairs of eyes stared back, stripping her bare, scanning her as if she were the fatted calf and they’d not eaten for a week.
Mother Mary!
Surely they weren’t compelled by the love spell.
And if they were, why was she not drooling and lovesick at the sight of them? Why was she frantically searching the sea of heads for one man in particular?
“Has your father increased your dowry?” Helen asked, sounding equally baffled by their sudden fixation.
“If he has, he’s nae said a word to me.”
Had he hired a matchmaker?
Employed an agency to find unmarriageable ladies husbands?
