“Of course—how forgetful we become with time.”
Lex shook hands with Charles, but his attention was riveted to Edwina, who somehow managed to avoid his eyes. While he was relieved that Edwina and Charles were cousins, he was disconcerted that she avoided his gaze.
Basil brilliantly pulled Charles aside and engaged him in conversation,allowing Lex an opportunity to chat with Edwina alone.
“I’ve thought about our meeting at Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s,” he said.
“Have you?”
“Yes, I hoped we might run into each other again.”
“And here we are.”
Before Lex could engage Edwina in deeper conversation, Charles and Basil returned to the table, and there was no time to say more. But there would be plenty of time to speak with her again at Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s soiree. He’d found the proverbial needle in a haystack and was beyond encouraged. He felt as if destiny was at work and the gods were smiling on him.
Two days without a glimpse of her suddenly seemed an eternity.
Chapter Eleven
The Lyon’s Den
London
Two nights later—the night of the dinner
“Good evening, LadySinclair.”
“Good evening, Lord Capel.”
Their greeting was civil. Polished. Deceptively ordinary. But the current between them suggested otherwise.
Only minutes earlier, Lex had been standing near the bar with Basil, brandy in hand, when he caught sight of her.
He’d been expecting her, of course.
She’d entered the room just as Basil was relaying some anecdote about an especially humiliating cricket match. Lex never heard the end of it.
She was radiant—not the over-polished shine of a debutante or the cloying shimmer of a social climber, but something far more arresting. She wore an empire-waisted gown of sage-green gauze, embroidered with delicate silver thread that sparkled in the candlelight. The color set off her copper hair and warm brown eyes with devastating effect. The fabric floated around her like mist, clinging in all the right places before settling softly as she paused to observe the room.
Lex’s chest tightened. Her posture was poised, her expression calm. And yet something was simmering just beneath the surface—a quiet fire that made every man in the room take notice. Which made his teeth grate.
Basil let out a low whistle. “Your quarry arrives,” he said, not without humor.
“Hardly quarry,” Lex muttered, unable to look away. “She’s more like a siren.”
“Don’t get too close, then,” Basil said, already sliding over to intercept Charles. “You know what happens to men who chase sirens.”
With one smooth maneuver, Basil drew Charles into a discussion about fencing schedules and local gossip, leaving Lex exactly where he wanted to be: at her side.
“You look…well,” he said, then cleared his throat. It was the closest he could come toravishingin polite company.
“So do you, Lord Capel,” she replied, her tone gracious but edged with curiosity. “I see you are as punctual as ever.”
His lips twitched. “What can I say? We must put our trust in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s reputation.”
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “And what reputation is that? As a gambling doyenne or as a matchmaker?”
“Both. Though tonight, I’m banking on the latter.”
