Heather shook her head, dislodging a lock of her red-blonde hair. “I don’t know.”
Maria gasped. “You had a—” She lowered her voice and leaned yet closer. “You had an anonymous tryst with someone? Was he a guest?”
“Yes, I believe so. He was in costume—dressed as a peacock.”
Her friend’s gaze snapped past Heather to scan the dancers. “There are dozens of peacocks here this evening. Which one isyourpeacock?”
Heather followed Maria’s gaze into the dizzying array of costumes. “He was a large man, thick, muscularly built…but I’m afraid that I did not see him well enough in the darkness to pick him out in?—”
“You didn’t get a good look?” Maria said disbelievingly. “You mean to say that you didn’t look atit?”
Heat flared in Heather’s cheeks, and she clucked her tongue. “I sawit, but I daresay I cannot expect to examine every cock in the ballroom to identify the man.”
“Who’s examining cocks?” Juliana asked furtively, joining them from Maria’s other side.
“Heather took our advice,” Maria said with a grin and a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Excellent.” Juliana beamed. “Who was the man with the good fortune to capture our dear friend’s attention?”
“It wasanonymous,” Maria hissed.
Heather sighed. “He was magnificent, though. Large and skilled.”
“And you took precautions?” Juliana asked.
“To prevent getting with child?” Maria added in a whisper.
“We did, yes,” Heather returned. “Despite my adoration for children, I’m not the right sort to be a mother.”
“We know, dearest,” Maria said with a soft smile.
Heather sighed.
The earl no doubt expected to sire a child directly upon their arrival in the Americas. She must, therefore, accomplish her task before they reached the other shore.
“Ah.” A familiar—dreaded—voice came from behind her. “My dear Calluna.”
“Lord Hanley, how lovely to see you again.” Maria dipped in a shallow curtsey.
He bowed in return, his thin white hair waving over his domino at the movement. “Your Grace.” The old man extended his elbow to Heather. “I believe that the last waltz of the evening is upon us! Come along now.”
Heather’s pulse hiccoughed with a combination of sorrow and worry, while her stomach buzzed with hope and eagerness over her assignment. She offered the man a small smile as she took his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her into her final waltz in London.
A waveof possessiveness washed over Arnold Fitton, the Earl of Hanley, as he gripped his future bride’s arm and led her to the dance floor.
That’s right, men, this one’s mine.
The wench wasn’t the young lady he’d first intended to ensnare as a means to fulfil his cousin’s demands, but after she had burned the documents tying him to his previous intended, he hadn’t another choice. Threatening her, her family, and her friends with ruination had been more than enough to garner her hand. Foolish lamb.
Of course, her family was eager to be rid of her—and no wonder, with that garish, red-tinged hair and corpulent figure. Her tits were adequate, he would grant, but they added little to her appeal. She was, however,his, and would do well enough to satisfy his dying cousin and earn the entailment he’d been promised.
Arnold gritted his teeth. Christ knew why his blackguard of a cousin’s estate wasn’t already entailed to the man to whom the title would pass—mayhap laws were different in the Americas—but Arnold would see to it that he was given what he was owed.
Calluna was precisely what was required. He would marry the wench in front of his cousin, gain the man’s fortune, land, and title after his imminent demise, and return to England with wealth and a whelp.
Champagne bubbleddown Percy’s throat as he scanned the ballroom. Music lilted through the space, the energy high and the air pregnant with anticipation. Dancers swirled and twirled, the majority of those in attendance participating in at least this last dance. But not Percy. He, like the wallflowers and chaperones of the evening, stood at the perimeter of the ballroom and observed.
He swallowed another gulp of champagne, his gaze searching for a black, feathered gown and artfully styled—if wind-swept—chignon with black ribbons. Despite himself, curiosity ate at him. Even if the woman had no desire to continue a flirtation, and he was bound for the Americas on the morrow, the urge to at least see her face burned through him.
