“But oft still I wonder, I must own,
How Fate can turn on one kiss alone.”
The room erupted into thunderous applause. The crowd surged to their feet.
Allie reluctantly followed suit.
Mr. Penn-Leith bowed, elegant and precise, his kilt swaying.
The man truly was far too attractive for his own good.
The crowd surged forward, everyone eager to speak with the charismatic Scot.
Lord Aberdeen hailed Kendall to her left.
A friend bent to say something to Lady Whipple on Allie’s right, distracting her aunt from her chaperoning duties.
Perfect.
Expression polite and bland, Allie slipped behind two giggling débutantes and strode with purpose toward the servant’s door hidden in the wall to the left of the dais.
2
Hisladrahad escaped.
Again.
Ethan had been acutely aware of her every breath, noting with avid interest the blush darkening her high cheekbones as he described their illicit kiss.
Ithadto be her.
But how?
And . . . why?
She passed not ten feet from him before slipping through the servant’s door hidden in the damask wallpaper of Lord Aberdeen’s third-floor ballroom.
Ethan had tried to capture her attention, but she had steadfastly ignored him.
And now, he stood on the dais, surrounded by enthusiastic well-wishers—aristocrats that Uncle Leith expected him to woo and charm.
What to do?
Scanning the crowd, Ethan smiled at an elderly lady—who chirped her appreciation of his use of metaphor—while simultaneously searching for a way to hasten after hisladra.
“You seem distracted, lad.” Uncle Leith appeared at Ethan’s side, his voice a low murmur. “I need you focused. As soon as Lord Aberdeen lets Kendall go, you must be at His Grace’s side.”
Ethan spared a glance for Kendall and Aberdeen. Given how emphatically Aberdeen was speaking—his gnarled finger pointing and white head bobbing—the two men were going to be at it for a while.
Ethan had a moment or two of time still.
If only . . .
Bending down, Ethan whispered to his uncle. “Iama wee bit distracted. I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine with dinner. I must seek out the water-closet.”
Uncle Leith shot him a monstrous frown. “Truly?”
His uncle surveyed Ethan as if he were ten years old again and too gauche to survive genteel life.
