She stared up at him with uncertain eyes… eyes that reminded him of a storm brewing in the North Sea.
“Should I ask Lady Ravensdale for a fichu?”
“No. I mean, yes. You look…” He shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry. How had he missed this about her? How had they all missed this?
Her skin was flawless, her hourglass shape generously perfect.
If he thought he could get away with it, he’d kiss her on the spot. Instead, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and held it there—much longer than was considered appropriate. “You look beautiful. Don’t change a thing.”
Her lips parted, and he alone heard the longing in her sigh.
A burst of laughter broke the quiet murmurs around them. Bethany glanced nervously over her shoulder in time to see Rachel Somerset’s mother, along with two unfamiliar ladies, raise their chins and then, in an exaggerated move, avert their eyes.
“They’re giving me the cut. What should I do when that happens in the ballroom?”
Ah, this was something he’d once discussed with Lady Starling. As a widowed lady of thetonwith a questionable reputation, she’d been all too knowledgeable as to how to cope with such situations.
“Drag your gaze—slowly—past them until you see someone sympathetic. Then smile and approach that person as though she was who you were seeking out all along. So in effect, you’re giving them the cut right back.”
Bethany was nodding, biting her lower lip and filling her lungs with a fortifying breath. How did he know she was filling her lungs? He forced his gaze to remain on her eyes, not allowing himself to be distracted by two of her other particularly eye-catching attributes.
He’d never considered himself a breast man. He’d always preferred a lady’s legs. And that natural dip of her waist. Although he was eager to reacquaint himself with her bottom.
She nodded. “I can do that.” Another nod. More determined this time. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Good girl.” Instead of offering his arm, he steered her toward the line at the majordomo by placing his hand at the small of her back where he brushed a soft caress at the base of her spine. Her shiver ensured him that she wouldn’t be thinking about being shunned when they entered.
“Lord Chaswick and?” The stern gentleman stared pointedly at Bethany. Chase had met the majordomo on several occasions as the man performed numerous other tasks for Blackheart when the need arose.
“Lord andLadyChaswick.” Chase would have expected alarm at the reminder that he was now a married man, but none came.
Bethany clutched his arm as they stepped through the threshold.
“Lord and Lady Chaswick.” The words echoed into the room. The silence that fell wasn’t subtle at all, neither were the whispers that rose up ten seconds later.
And so it begins.
They’d managed to get past the first thirty or so people they’d run into since the… incident, only two or three hundred left to go.
Chapter 19
A Reformed Rake?
Chase had told her she wasbeautiful.
And he’d kept count of the times that he’d kissed her. It was almost as though he…cared.
Bethany was practically unaffected by the ocean of guests watching her and Chase as they descended the cascading stairway to the parquet checkered-patterned floor.
“It used to be larger, but Blackheart closed off part of it and added an indoor pool three years ago,” Chase whispered in her ear.
The ceiling was, at minimum, three stories high. Seven windows along one wall stretched from floor to ceiling, each draped with silver velvet hangings all tied back with black roped tassels.
She’d never seen anything like it.
“A pool?”
“A bathing pool,” he explained. “The other half of what used to be part of the ballroom features a tiled pool instead of a dance floor.”
