His tone caught Liliah’s attention, and she noted his glare in her direction. “Me? You think they are here on my account?” Liliah asked, though her body warmed at the idea. Yet she didn’t expect it to be true. “Rebecca, I’m concerned about Meyer, he’s acting quite delusional.” She gave a quick wink to Rebecca, who just watched her with wide eyes. Liliah’s attempt to lighten the mood had apparently failed.
“What if he is correct, Liliah?’ Rebecca asked, her gaze on Meyer, then Liliah, then the two men in question. Her gaze widened, as if trying to take in all the small details.
Liliah didn’t blame her. As she scanned the room, she noted that most of the attention of the ton was focused on the new gentlemen in question. Whispers were heard echoing through the hall, as matrons whispered to their charges. Likely warning them, yet secretly wondering if the gentlemen were entering the marriage mart. For if the men were as notorious as Meyer believed, then they were dangerous and delicious—true catches of the season for any unmarried lady of breeding. Their clothing spoke of substantial wealth, and at least Luc was a titled earl. The London social sphere had grown far more interesting.
“You need to stop staring!” Meyer whispered, scolding.
Liliah lowered her gaze, then like a moth to the flame, she hazarded a glance back, watching as Luc’s gaze scanned the crowd. His chin was tipped up slightly, as if finding the attention of the ton beneath him. Restlessly, his eyes searched the crowd with each step deeper into the ballroom. Those around him gave a wide berth, all whispering secrets behind gloved hands, as the gaze of the ton moved as one, focused on the two men.
“Who is the other one?” Liliah asked, turning to Meyer.
Meyer sucked in a deep breath, his expression irritated and concerned, as if realizing his advice to avoid the gentlemen was going to be ignored. “That would be the Viscount Kilpatrick. He’s a titled Scot, so not one of us, but none of the gentlemen here would dare speak it to his face. Liliah . . .” Meyer drew out her name. “He is not a man to be trifled with, neither of them are. Do you understand me?”
Liliah nodded once, for she did comprehend the danger. But the risk didn’t negate the reward. As she searched Meyer’s face, it was as if fate were staring back. Her future played out in a flash—holding Meyer’s arm as his wife, never holding his heart. Always knowing that he was destined for another woman, knowing she was destined for another man. No love, no passion, no secret jokes, no thrilling jolts of electricity through her system with a heated gaze. Nothing.
It wasn’t a future she could resign herself to, ever. As she met Meyer’s gaze, it was as if he saw the same thing, only the reversal. Rebecca gasped beside them, pulling Liliah’s attention to her friend.
“What is it?” Liliah asked, watching as Rebecca’s gaze widened.
“Liliah,” she mouthed, and Liliah turned to see what had caught her friend’s attention.
The air whooshed out of her lungs as she met clear blue eyes not more than ten feet away. A flicker of amusement flashed across his expression before Liliah was frozen by the icy chill of his regard. She glanced to his side, noting the attention of his friend, the Viscount Kilpatrick. But rather than a chilly stare like that of the earl, the viscount’s expression was amused. Full lips spread into a wide grin as he arched a brow in her direction.
Against her better judgment, she grinned back. The viscount gave a slight shake to his head, as if unable to believe her audacity.
She couldn’t quite believe it either.
“Baron Scoffield, isn’t it?” Luc addressed Meyer, even while his gaze was trained on her. Her face heated with a blush and he raised an eyebrow, then turned his attention to Meyer.
“Indeed.” Meyer extended his hand. “Lord Heightfield, is it not?” Even as his greeting was formal, his tone bordered on incivility. Liliah glanced at her friend, shocked and concerned at the potential social implications it could create. Turning to Luc, she watched his reaction.
A corner of his mouth lifted in a half smirk. “Indeed. Would you please introduce us to your companions?”
Meyer’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth, and Liliah held her breath, wondering what course of action Meyer would take. She exhaled as he gestured to Rebecca.
“This is Lady Rebecca Grace.” She dipped a slow curtsey.
Meanwhile the crowd around them had grown thick with people wanting to hear what was taking place. Liliah swallowed compulsively, then glanced back to Luc.
“And this”—Meyer sighed—“is Lady Liliah Durary.”
Chapter Eight
Luc studied the beauty in front of him as she dropped into a graceful curtsey. Damn it all if that wasn’t the same minx who had been haunting him since her abrupt disappearance from the club. Heathcliff was right about her identity, but what was most confusing was why the daughter of a duke would deliberately seek out the dark shadows of his club, presenting herself as a courtesan. Her perceptive blue eyes flashed with intelligence, daring him to call her out.
He wouldn’t . . . yet.
He resisted the urge to tug on the collar of his stiff white shirt. The damn ton were circling him like vultures, all fighting for a delicious piece of gossip to take away and titter about with their friends. It reminded him anew of why he avoided these parties and these people like the black plague. Irritation rose within him as he considered his situation. It was Heathcliff’s idea, and he had no one to blame but himself for agreeing. Although a measure of his irritation melted in the heat of his curiosity directed toward the woman before him, he still didn’t feel at ease.
Heathcliff was too bloody comfortable with the situation; rather, he was too bloody amused. Which he made blatantly apparent when he stepped forward.
“I don’t believe I’ve had a proper introduction, my ladies. I’m Heathcliff Marston, Viscount Kilpatrick. You may call me whatever you wish.” His brogue made the scandalous words even more seductive, and Luc barely resisted rolling his eyes. The crowd whispered loudly behind them, conveying his rakish ways to the rest of the ballroom.
Delightful.
“A pleasure, Lord Kilpatrick.” Liliah gave another delicate curtsey, her expression amused.
Which pulled Luc up short.
