Almeria’s mouth pinched as she eyed Alice’s dress. After a brusque greeting she pulled Alice aside and said in a low, angry voice, “I don’t want this nobody of yours setting her cap at my son. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” Alice said calmly. “If it’s any comfort, Almeria, my goddaughter has no designs on Gerald or any other titled gentleman.”
Almeria made a scornful sound. “You always were a fool, Alice. Just keep her away from him, all right?” She turned away to speak to her other guests.
* * *
* * *
James was restless. He should never have accepted Gerald’s invitation. A family party, as insipid as he had feared. As Thornton had warned him, the company was heavy on hopeful young unmarried misses and their mamas. He knew a few of the other gentlemen, some from the army and one or two acquaintances from school days, but there was nobody he particularly wanted to talk to.
He sipped the wine, which was inferior, made small talk and found he was surprisingly popular—until he realized that for some of these females he was as much a target as Thornton. Married ladies on the hunt for a lover, and unmarried ladies on the hunt for a title.
James had no interest in either. All that was behind him now. He’d had the best with Selina and had no interest in second best.
He was aware that his daughters might need a mother figure, so he’d sent for Nanny McCubbin, who was as motherly a figure as anyone could want. And as the girls grew older, a good governess could provide all the female guidance they would need.
He surreptitiously checked his fob watch. How soon could he make his escape?
He observed the hopeful young misses clustered in groups, following young Thornton with their eyes.
He’d met Thornton’s parents—they’d invited him for dinner before the party—and now he understood why Thornton seemed so restless and unsettled. They treated him like a schoolboy instead of a man who’d commanded troops—damned well, too, keeping a cool head under fire and showing a talent for tactics and strategy.
Musicians began setting up in the other room. Time to leave. He was a good dancer, but he wasn’t in the mood tonight, especially here, with the eyes of ambitious ladies on him.
He drained his glass, set it on a nearby side table and prepared to make a discreet exit. And halted.
She must have only just arrived: he would have noticed her earlier. Tall and slender, she was dressed in a soft lilac dress that clung in all the right places. As she walked forward to greet her hostess—with an unselfconscious grace that caused his mouth to dry—the dress seemed to caress her limbs, floating around her like a cloud.
“Who is that?” he breathed. But there was no one near to answer.
Her companion was a younger lady, a girl with light brown hair wearing a yellow dress. Her daughter?
The woman glanced around the room, saw someone she knew, gave a little wave and smiled. He swallowed. The sweetness in that smile lit up the room.
Her dark hair was arranged simply in a loose knot on her crown, revealing the graceful line of her neck. Her neck was bare—she was the only lady there who wasn’t draped in jewels—revealing smooth, creamy skin. He wasn’t close enough yet to tell the color of her eyes, but they were striking, framed by lashes that were long and dark.
And her mouth—dear lord, her mouth. Lush, soft, vulnerable. Rich, dark rose against the creamy pallor of her skin. A mouth made for kissing.
And why the hell was he thinking about kissing a woman he’d never even met, when not two minutes before he’d been telling himself that all that was behind him now? And believing it.
He couldn’t drag his eyes off her.
His gaze dropped to her left hand, but of course she was wearing evening gloves. Was she married?
She had to be. A woman like that would never be left on the shelf. And she wasn’t in black, and though lavender was considered by some to be a color for half mourning, that dress was very far from being widow’s weeds. So, not a widow. Damn. He didn’t dally with married women.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Thornton and his mother passing—his mother gripping her son’s arm like an arresting sergeant and towing him determinedly along. Going by Thornton’s resigned expression, their destination was some young lady his mother particularly favored.
“Thornton.” His arm shot out, and Thornton came to a grateful halt. James indicated the tall lady on the other side of the room. “Who is that lady?”
Thornton followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “She looks vaguely familiar, but . . .” He shook his head. “Mother”—he turned to his mother, who hadn’t relinquished her grip on his sleeve—“who is that young lady with Aunt Alice? The one in yellow.”
His mother snorted. “Some nobody that Alice has befriended. She claims the gel is her goddaughter, but I’ve never heard of her. Ignore her, Gerald—she’s not worth your time or attention. She comes from I know not where, I don’t know her people, she has no fortune that I can ascertain, and she’s no beauty. I’m very cross with Alice for bringing her along, but of course, you know Alice—she lives to vex me. Now come along. I want you to meet Lady Ledbury’s daughter, Lally.” She tugged on her son’s sleeve.
Thornton didn’t move. He stared, his expression intent. “I’m sure I’ve seen that girl before.”
“You can’t have,” his mother said impatiently. “She’s a complete nobody and new in town. Now come along, Gerald.” They moved off.
So, his tall dark lady was Thornton’s aunt Alice. James couldn’t take his eyes off her. If he’d had any expectations of an aunt of Thornton’s, particularly one who was a dowager countess, it would have been an older lady, a kindly old gray-haired dear.
Not . . . her.
* * *
* * *
Alice moved through the room with Lucy, nodding to this person and that, and offering brief greetings, but not really engaging in conversation. Alice knew many people here; Lucy knew no one. Then she noticed a small group of young ladies, some of whom she knew slightly. She led Lucy toward them. Lucy needed to make some friends her own age.
“Good evening.” A tall, grave-faced gentleman stepped into their path. Dressed in severe dark evening dress, the same as every other man in the room, there was, nevertheless, something about him. Perhaps it was his height or his broad shoulders, or maybe it was his unconscious air of command. Among the soft, pampered company, he stood out like an eagle among pigeons.
Alice didn’t know what to say. She was aware of thick dark hair cropped short; a bold, aristocratic nose, which looked as if it had been broken at least once; a firm chin and piercing gray eyes that bored into her. They were almost hypnotic.