“Fiona!”
Saved from Connor’s relentless brutality, she turned with a welcome smile to find Ilona approaching with a gentleman in tow at her side.Or rather, it appeared that he might be towing her along instead.
Fiona blushed as they arrived at her side, the gentleman grinning down at her with unabashed interest.Such confidence might have hung awkwardly on another man but this one carried it well and with good reason.He was as tall as Aylesbury and just as broadly built with blondish-brown hair, blue eyes, and rugged features that bespoke a Nordic ancestry.Uncommonly handsome in an ancient warrior sort of way.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if women often threw themselves at his feet hoping that he might carry them off over his shoulder as the plunder of war.
“Fiona, I’d like you to meet our host, Nathan Ralston-Ryder, Earl of Harrowby.”
“Lady Fiona,” he rumbled in a gravelly voice that she wagered had been practiced and polished to set a lady aquiver.He took her hand, smoothing it flat between his palms before lifting it to his lips.His blue eyes danced over their intermingled hands.“Det er en gledeämøte en vakker kvinne.”
A rare giggle nearly escaped her before Fiona bit it back, though she couldn’t stop the smile that sprang to her lips.She nodded vaguely.“Mmm hmm.”
Yes, he was good.
* * *
Aylesbury frowned atFiona—who had all but melted into a puddle at Harrowby’s feet—before glaring at his neighbor.That unfamiliar jealousy welled in him again.Not only did he begrudge others her laughter, but he definitely begrudged this fellowthatlook from her.“German?”
“Norwegian, actually,” Harrowby answered without sparing him so much as a glance.“My stepfather is of Norwegian ancestry,” he added for Fiona’s benefit, still holding her hand in his.“He taught me.”
“Naturally,” Aylesbury muttered under his breath.
He’d heard gossip that Harrowby was a womanizer.Despite the proximity of their homes on Belgrave Square, their interactions had been bound to meeting on the square and at their clubs.They’d even played a few hands of cards, but having never come across the earl in such a social setting, he’d assumed the label to be based on little truth.Most were.He, himself, had once been considered to be something of a rake.
Rumors were rarely true.But there was always an exception.
At least Harrowby wasn’t set on charming Fiona alone.Ilona hung on his arm looking a trifle dazed herself as she introduced the earl to Connor.The two men shook hands before Harrowby greeted Aylesbury in kind, though he added a flash of arrogance to his look before turning back to Fiona and catching her hand between his once more.“I was wondering if I could persuade you to dance, Lady Fiona?”
“That would be...”
“An invitation she regrets having to decline, Harrowby,” Aylesbury cut in neatly, removing her hand from the fellow’s grasp and taking it in his own.The gaze that was turned on him didn’t hold a fraction of the adoration it had moments before.“She has already promised the dance to me.”
Fiona stiffened beside him.“I did n—”
“That’s right, she did.”Ilona cast a regretful smile at the earl.“Perhaps you could reserve one for later in the evening?”
Her eyes remained narrowed on Aylesbury while Harrowby wrote his name on her dance card, claiming her for the last waltz of the evening.“I shall await it with bated breath,” he added silkily before turning to Ilona.“Are you spoken for as well, Mrs.MacKintosh?I would be honored.”
Ilona smiled, taking Harrowby’s proffered hand.“That would be lovely.Thank you.”
Not without a few practiced moves of his own, Aylesbury smoothly turned Fiona in his arms and slid his arm possessively around her tiny waist.“Shall we?”
When she still hesitated, Connor began to hum under his breath.
“Oh, very well.”
“You honor me with your enthusiastic acceptance,” Aylesbury said with only a trace of sarcasm.
