Page 125 of Enemies with an Earl
Felix was right.
It was the perfect battle plan.
The sacrifice?
Sam’s heart.
62
Sam
April 1818
London, England.
Chesterfield Ball.
“The Right Honorable, The Earl of Dalreoch.”
The Chesterfield butler’s voice boomed through the ballroom. The contents of Sam’s stomach also threatened to make an appearance. He let out a slow breath and stiffly approached his hosts. Which was a difficult feat considering his muscles had turned to stone and his knees and elbows decided they no longer knew how to bend.
After that announcement, it was like the panic in his mind drowned out all sound; the lively chatter in the ballroom fading way. Or maybe that was because the announcement of his presence had actually silenced the room.Shite.Breathe.But he couldn’t rid himself of the notion someone was going to yellsodomite!at any moment.
He politely greeted the Chesterfields, hoping he succeeded at a warm smile. His lips were so numb he wasn’t certain they moved at all. He knew he wasn’t the most approachable of men; the last thing he needed to do was make himself more intimidating. Though perhaps his overly masculine persona might serve as another level of protection, feed into the public’s preconceived notions and ward off rumors.
“Dear Lord,” Lord Chesterfield said, his gaze sweeping over Sam. “What have you been eating these past years, Dalreoch? You always towered over me at Eton, but good Lord, you’re like a Norseman.”
The man’s voice echoed harshly in the silent ballroom, and the guests’ stares sliced into Sam like a thousand tiny pinpricks. Sam and Chesterfield had been the same year at Eton, moved in the same circles, and on occasion, Sam had lent him a hand with his mathematics. But Sam hadn’t expected the man to remember him after over two decades, nor be so delighted to see him.
“You were always a favorite of the wenches back at Eton,” Chesterfield was saying with a chuckle. “But I can only imagine the attention you’ll draw from the fairer sex now. The gentlemen of society will stand no chance.”
Well, that comment workedverywell in Sam’s favor, and there was no doubt the entire ballroom just heard it, even as the murmur of conversation had returned.
“Fairersex?” Lady Chesterfield turned on her husband, the red and orange feathers adorning her brown hair fluttering like flames, which matched the fire her eyes were currently shooting at her husband. “Do I need to remind you who had everything well in hand when you decided to show up in Scotland and get us into the biggest bungle known to man? I—thefairersex—was the one who silenced the highwaymen.”
Sam’s jaw went slack, and he looked around helplessly. Perhaps he should just…quietly step away? His attention caught on a familiar, commanding stride heading his way, and his gaze clashed with a set of piercing blue eyes.Thank the bloody gods.
Ash stepped up to him, a warm smile on his face. “Dalreoch,” he greeted; that one word infused with a lifetime of friendship. He clasped Sam’s hand, squeezing his reassurance. “It’s damned good to see you.” Ash turned to the still-bickering Chesterfields. “I need to steal Dalreoch from you. My sincerest apologies, Chesterfield.”
The man waved Ash off with a smile, and Ash directed Sam toward where a dark-haired man with overlong black hair stood. He had sharp features and even sharper green eyes.
“I’m about to introduce you to the Marquess of Dunmore. However, you two will act as though you are bosom chums, understood?”
Sam nodded discreetly. As they neared, the man’s lips curled up in an arrogant smile. One that somehow managed to make it clear he thought everyone here was scum except for Ash and Sam approaching him.
Dunmore stepped forward as they reached him and extended a hand, shaking Sam’s with overt familiarity. “Dalreoch, old man. It’s bloody good to see you.”
Sam winged a brow. “I take offense to old man, Dunmore.” He canted his head toward Ash. “Have you seen the grey hair on that man? I’m a youth in comparison.”
A laugh burst from Dunmore, and fans fluttered, guests whispering frantically. Sam was certainly making an impression. How much it would serve his cause was still in question.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to laugh, Dunmore,” Ash said. Then turned a pointed glare at Sam. “I did know Dalreoch was an arse, though.”
Sam’s lips broke into the first real smile of the evening.
“I may be a surly bastard, but that’s because I know what kind of filth exists in society.” Dunmore’s gaze slowly scanned over the ballroom of revelers, many of whom were still staring at their trio, though they quickly glanced away at being caught. But the man didn’t care to hide his contempt for them. “Those of us with exceptional caliber need to stick together.”
“You think quite highly of yourself,” Ash murmured, amusement lighting up his blue eyes.
