No doubt fashionably late, just to make him suffer. Titus ground his teeth and stalked to a position against the wall opposite the main doors, so that he would be the first to see his godmother make her entrance.
If either woman thought for a second that he intended to stomach this matchmaking carnival for a single moment longer than absolutely necessary, they were about to discover how badly they had erred.
The moment she strode in the door, Titus would intercept her—and the package. A twenty-year-old unruly orphan by the name of Miss Dodd. At which point, Titus would summarily stuff said orphan into his carriage, and drive the hell out of Marrywell, even if they didn’t arrive at his London town home until dawn.
The plan was simple: Get the ward, and get out.
That easy. Or it would be, if his ward and godmother showed. Titus clenched his jaw. For a man whose painstaking plans were legendary, it was absolutely galling for tonight’s handoff not to be going according to plan.
Lady Stapleton and her ward were supposed to be here first.
Waiting for him.
He was supposed to swoop in and scoop up the ward, press a kiss to his godmother’s cheek, and then exit these premises before anyone had a chance to recognize him. Never to be seen in rural Hampshire—or, indeed, outside of the capital’s borders—again.
He hadn’t planned for this.
“Oh, pardon me,” said a well-coiffed young buck with an affable smile. “The Earl of Gilbourne, I daresay. Do you know where they’ve tucked the card room?”
Titus incinerated him with a glare.
The young buck slunk off like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs.
A matchmaking fair was a mindbogglingly silly place to take possession of a ward. Titus chafed at being forced to mingle with other people. If the rumor got out that an unmarried earl walked amongst them… The onslaught of fluttering lashes and dropped handkerchiefs would be untenable. If indeed it was possible to keep his identity hidden. One look, and the astute would know.
They should also know that this reclusive earl wasn’t interested in exchanging a single word with any of these teeming strangers. Much less stand up for a dance with some desperate debutante. No doubt Lady Stapleton knew exactly what she was about when she’d arranged for him to meet her here on this battleground. Although Titus had told her time and again that the title would die with him, she insisted it was just a matter of meeting the right person.
Titus hated meeting anyone. The last thing a man like him needed… was…
All coherent thought fled from his brain.
There, cutting across the ballroom floor as if absolutely oblivious to the hundreds of whirling couples waltzing in time around her, was the most beautiful woman Titus had ever seen.
Thick, chestnut hair with just a hint of red. A flawless oval face with flushed pink cheeks and plump lips the color of a ripe pomegranate. Not too slender or too round but right in the middle, with an abundance of soft curves. Tall for a woman, though she would barely crest Titus’s shoulder in height. Eyes the color of… He couldn’t quite tell from this distance.
He found himself tracking her every move, in the hopes she might glance in his direction and allow him to solve the mystery of the hue of her irises.
Titus willed his boots to stay rooted into the ground, but found himself taking a step closer.
She’d crossed the ballroom and was now on Titus’s side of the room. The refreshment tables were here as well, sandwiched between awkward rows of presumably decorative potted ferns that could double as privacy screens.
Was that what she wanted? Privacy? Titus empathized viscerally with the desire to suck in a restorative breath of sweet solitude to escape this crowd, before stepping out from behind a folding screen—or a wall of potted plants, as it were. The thick fronds partially obscured her from view. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.
Her thick waves of red-brown hair looked so touchably soft. As did her smooth ivory skin and, well, everything else about her. To look at her was to yearn to pull her close, to draw her into his hungry embrace and never let her go.
Which meant the last thing a creature like Titus ought to do was edge closer.
And yet…
He tried to shake this strange stupefaction from his spinning head. He and the mystery woman hadn’t been formally introduced, which meant he was not to approach her under any circumstances. Nor did she appear to have a nearby companion, chaperone, or relative from whom he could beg an introduction—not that he would.
To do so would be to imply interest, and Titus was militantly careful never to show interest.
Even in someone who looked this sweet and lost and kissable.
He swallowed hard. Thank the lord above his godmother had not yet arrived. If she caught the tiniest whiff of temporary infatuation, she’d pull a parson out of her bonnet and have the wedding rites read here and now.
Lady Stapleton had tried everything in her power to convince Titus to marry. The last remaining straw to grasp was his commitment to duty. Lords must beget heirs was a primary mandate, and the reason a good number of those in this ballroom were present tonight.
