Page 10 of One Night for Seduction
Indeed, the rules were the least of his concerns. The next time he crossed paths with the unpredictable Miss Middleton, she was just as likely to toss a cup of ratafia in his face as she was to rip off a painted mask and reveal herself to be an articulate kangaroo.
“You would remember,” Eastleigh agreed. “I’ve never seen a man memorize so many obscure particulars as when you were on that Foreign Packets Act committee.”
Cole shrugged. “I like committees.”
They didn’t just make him feel useful. Theywereuseful. Importation, exportation, debt reduction, peace preservation, pillory abolition… all those were just in the past year. It had been a joy and a privilege to do his part.
“If you like them so much, you should take over for Lord Fortescue.”
Worry creased his brow. “Did something happen to the earl?”
“Gravity happened whilst sledding too close to a tree,” Eastleigh answered dryly. “He’ll be confined to his bed with a fracture-box to keep him company for the next six weeks. When Parliament opens on Tuesday, the first act will be determining someone to replace him in the committees he helmed.”
Colewas a member of both the committees Fortescue helmed: Public Works and Fisheries, and Offices of Exchequer. Excitement rushed through his veins.
This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. If he could convince the Lords to choose him as interim leader, he could prove himself to be as knowledgeable, passionate, and capable as any of the peers that had been born to their roles. Because he’d only been “important” for half his life, Cole had worked twice as hard. He didn’t want to be “as good as” any other. He wanted to be exceptional. This would be visible proof that he was worthy of the title he’d inherited.
“You think they’ll put it to a vote on Tuesday?”
“I think they’ll accept nominations on Tuesday,” Eastleigh answered with a shrug. “They probably won’t put it to a vote for another week.”
Then the clock was set. Cole needed the Middleton dare sorted by Monday evening at the latest. On Tuesday, he would present himself as a serious, dignified contender. Then no more wagers until after he was elected interim committee leader.
No—until after he was designated head of some topic in his own right. Perhaps passenger vessels or night poaching. Cole wasn’t picky. He would simply have to mind his Ps and Qs for the next several weeks. Once he threw his hat into the committee leader ring, he could not risk some blunder of comportment preventing him from being considered as an equal.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Eastleigh murmured. “I believe I’ve caught sight of the very reason I accepted this invitation.”
Under normal circumstances, a statement that suspicious would have piqued Cole’s curiosity.
Nothing was normal anymore.
He’d already completely forgotten whatever intrigue the duke might have afoot, because his gaze was now sharpened on a slight bend in the shadows against the far wall of the crowded ballroom. He moved closer, weaving between passing lords and ladies, careful not to give his position away.
Diana Middleton. He was sure of it.
Swathed in a pale rose gown that matched the silk wallpaper so precisely he could almost believe she’d specifically selected the color in order to become a livingtrompe l’oeil, more than capable of fooling the average eye.
What the devil was the chit about? Irritation tickled his skin. He was not fascinated by her, Cole assured himself. Rosy lips and beautiful blue eyes would not sway him. He believed in honesty and transparency and fairness above all things, and Diana Middleton was nothing but lies and disguises.
She did not appear to be in conversation with anyone else. She was not eating, not drinking, not smiling, not frowning, not blinking so much as an eyelash… Cole wasn’t certain whether he should be suspicious or concerned. “Wallflower” was supposed to be a metaphor. Usually due to shyness or plainness or some other so-called flaw that kept unimaginative gentlemen from taking a second look.
This—whatever “this” was—appeared to be by design. Miss Middleton was not seated amongst the spinsters and chaperones, but plastered to the shadows far behind them. Even a gentleman who wandered this far expressly for the purpose of inviting a wilting rose to dance could be forgiven for failing to notice the spitfire doing her best to blend with the wall.
Cole turned before she noticed that he was onto her ruse. Finding her a suitor was not going to be as simple as calculating which gentleman of his acquaintance possessed a personality that best complemented Miss Middleton’s. That was no longer step one, but rather step fifteen.
His first act would apparently need to be peeling Thad’s ward from the wainscoting. And since he couldn’t be seen influencing the wager by paying special attention to her himself… Cole required reinforcements.
When in war, there was no better general to have on one’s side than Lady Felicity.
He caught her just as she was sidling toward the refreshment stand.
“A dozen lemon tarts,” he murmured as he blocked her path. “I’ll bake them personally.”
Her brown eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he protested as he steered her toward a more private corner. “There’s something I need you to do.”
She arched her brows. “I’m listening.”
