On his right, a voluptuous blonde in a scandalously low-cut scarlet gown laughed a little too loudly at whatever he’d said, nearly toppling out of her bodice in the process. Her décolletage could scarcely be contained, and Winnie swore she saw the earl’s gaze flick downward—only for a moment, but it was enough to make her blood heat.Beast!
On his left, a sharp-featured brunette leaned in far too closely, her gloved hand grazing his sleeve as she whispered something that made him smile.
Smile.
The very same smile he’d given Winnie not half an hour ago.
A ripple of something unfamiliar moved through her. Not anger. Not exactly. But the smallest, sharpest pang of…jealousy.
She hated it.
And yet she couldn’t look away.
The long table was elegantly dressed in white damask linen and set for twelve guests, a vision of restrained opulence. Crystal vases held roses fresh from the garden—blush pinks and deep reds—filling the air with their sweet perfume. The place settings glittered with polished sterling and fine Limoges china, while each guest’s name was inked in an elaborate script on thick ivory cards. Not that anyone needed them. Everyone knew why they were here.
At the head of the table, seated in a throne-like chair of dark, carved mahogany, was the formidable Mrs. Dove-Lyon. The candlelight caught in her silver-streaked hair and the violet satin of her gown, giving her an almost mystical glow. She raised her crystal goblet and gently tapped it with the stem of her spoon.
The room fell quiet.
“As we are, for the most part, strangers,” she began, her voice clearand commanding, “I suggest we introduce ourselves using only our given names. I am aware many of you are titled—but titles can be barriers to conversation. I would much prefer we speak tonight as equals, as individuals, rather than as social constructs. It allows for greater intimacy.”
A ripple of polite surprise moved through the room, followed by intrigued murmurs.
Winnie couldn’t help but admire the woman. It was an unusual request—bold, even—but it instantly changed the air. Formality dissolved. Curiosity bloomed. It was precisely the sort of maneuver someone like Mrs. Dove-Lyon would make—subtle, clever, and entirely effective.
As the introductions began, Winnie allowed herself another glance across the table. Lex was speaking again, effortlessly charming both women beside him. The blonde giggled like a schoolgirl. The brunette had angled her chair toward him entirely, as though attempting to eliminate the space between them.
He laughed—softly, indulgently—and took a sip of his wine.
Winnie’s grip tightened slightly on her fork. The thought of impaling the buxom brunette crossed her mind.
She wasn’t sure what irked her more—that they were flirting with him…or that he didn’t seem to mind.
Still, when he looked up, across the roses and candlelight, his gaze found hers—and held it. His eyes lingered for a beat too long to be casual.
His smile curved again. This time slower. More deliberate.
And the flutter in her chest told her she hadn’t imagined a thing.
Chapter Twelve
During the dessertcourse, Edwina stood and excused herself, casting him a captivating last glance before disappearing from the room. Moments later, Hammond slipped away. Lex could feel a heated fury building inside him.
Basil, although engaged in conversation with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, missed nothing. He read the situation, and the two men exchanged a silent communication. Excusing themselves, they rose simultaneously from their chairs, but not before Mrs. Dove-Lyon grabbed Basil’s hand and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded, answering, “I will see to it, madam.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon missed nothing, and Lex knew she had appraised the situation and wagered on the possible outcomes in her mind. He was grateful that she hadn’t sent the enforcers. If the bastard dared to take any liberties with Edwina, it would be his pleasure to take him apart limb from limb.
Lex was grateful that Basil was with him to assuage his temper should things go awry. Besides, Basil knew his way around the Den, whereas Lex did not know the lay of the land.
“What did the widow say?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him as the door closed behind them.
“I’m to prevent things from getting out of hand.”
“We will see about that.”
“Lex, you must control your inclination to dismember the rogue. It will not help your pursuit of Lady Sinclair. Nor will it raise Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s opinion of you and further your prospects.”
“The wretch had best not lay a hand on her, or he will be dancing with the devil.”
The sound of voices silenced their conversation, and they quickened their pace down the hall. Basil’s hand stayed Lex, and they paused.
