CHAPTER1
The Theater Royal, Drury Lane, London – 1817
Lucy Montgomery had missedmany things about England, but William Arden, Viscount Ware, hadnotbeen one of them.
Three years had not been long enough.
Three decades probably wouldn’t suffice.
Some men were simply too vexing for words.
Her stomach somersaulted with an unwelcome combination of anticipation and dread as the man in question pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for the quiet corner she’d chosen for herself in Lady Carrington’s ballroom.
His desire to torture her clearly hadn’t abated during her time abroad.
Lucy narrowed her eyes, studying him as she’d once studied a jaguar in the steamy jungles of Brazil; with the same fascinated wariness. She hadn’t seen him since her family had docked in London several weeks ago, and despite her dislike of the man, she could grudgingly admit his physical appeal.
He’d always been attractive, but the scar that now slashed across his eyebrow and cheekbone—courtesy of a French saber at Waterloo—had inexplicablyimprovedhis appearance. There was no justice in this world. He’d been annoyingly handsome before; a dark-haired, indolent playboy, but this new imperfection added an air of dangerous, rugged maturity that had been previously lacking.
Damn him.
Lucy took a fortifying swig of punch and schooled her expression into one of polite neutrality even as her heart beat faster in her chest. She was three years older now. Three years wiser. She’d survived a shipwreck off Madagascar and the snake-infested forests of South America. She could certainly face one infuriating, sarcastic scoundrel in a ballroom.
However handsome he might be.
Still, her stomach tightened as he stopped in front of her.
“Lucia.”
He said it the Italian way, as he’d always done.Lou-chee-ah. Three syllables, drawing it out like honey gliding from a spoon, and all her good intentions evaporated at the hint of teasing laughter in his gravel-deep voice.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “It’sLucy. Only my mother ever calls me Lucia—and only then if I’ve done something particularly dreadful.”
His dark brows rose in amusement. “I expect you hear it on a weekly basis, then.”
She ground her teeth, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he knew precisely the effect he had on her. Hadalwayshad on her, ever since he’d first come to stay with her older brother during the school holidays, when she’d been a girl.
She forced a sunny smile. “Not at all. I haven’t done anything dreadful for weeks. Months, even.”
“Then you’re probably long overdue.”
An inelegant snort escaped her. “Not me.Lenore’sthe scandalous one.”
She tilted her head toward the dance floor, where her twin sister was laughing up into the face of a clearly besotted partner. “Most people still get us mixed up. Although I don’t see why, when we’re hardly identical.”
“Ah, but I’m not ‘most people,’ am I? I’ve never confused the two of you.” Arden’s mocking expression didn’t change, but something flashed in his eyes as he studied her. “You, Lucy Montgomery, are . . . unforgettable.”
His deliberate pause—and choice of verb—were hardly flattering, and Lucy tried not to wince at the reminder that he’d been witness to some of her most humiliating childhood escapades. She hated the way he always seemed to be laughing at her.
“Yes, well, I’m a grown woman of twenty-three now,” she said haughtily. “I’m past all that foolishness.”
It was Arden’s turn to snort. “Really? Because the LucyIremember couldn’t pass up the opportunity for an adventure. Or refuse a dare.”
She lifted her chin and met his eyes, despite the quivery, weightless feeling it always produced.
“Not true.”
“Sotrue,” he drawled. “Which is why I bet you’ll be the one to unmask the Phantom of Drury Lane.”
