“What miracle convinced you to show your face tonight?” Tristan asked, smirking. “And what ungodly force persuaded you to host this ball willingly? If you say that it was your grandmother and Lady Isabella again, I will be utterly impressed.”
Cassian shot him a glare sharp enough to wound. Tristan only laughed, but Cassian froze as the ballroom doors opened.
And Isabella entered with her family.
She wore a gown of soft blue silk, the color bringing out the delicate warmth of her complexion. Her dark hair was swept back elegantly, curls framing her face with an effortless grace that made his breath shorten. She moved with quiet poise, unaware, or perhaps too aware, of the admiring gazes drawn toward her.
“Good God,” Tristan murmured, amused. “Try not to drool publicly.” He scoffed.
“Shut up.” Cassian snapped, tearing his gaze away from her.
“You are staring at her as though she has stolen your very soul,” Tristan chuckled.
Cassian said nothing, but the truth of it carved itself deep in his chest. He could not look away. He did not want to.
He wished, just for a moment, that his life wasn’t so cursedly complicated.
Had he been more like the other men of the ton, more stable, and hadn’t endured the trauma he had endured, then he would have walked up to her and whisked her away.
I want her.
He finally allowed himself to admit. He wanted her for more than just the kiss he had stolen from her and the secret glances they had shared upon every occasion.
Cassian’s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed her parents briefly separate themselves from her to greet acquaintances, and Tristan made no attempt to hide his grin as he observed the way Cassian leaned slightly forward, instinctively tracking the lady’s movement.
“You wish to go to her, do you not?” Tristian teased with a nudge at his side.
Cassian stiffened entirely when he noticed two young gentlemen approach Isabella with earnest smiles and deep bows. Jealousy coiled in him like a slow-burning fuse, his jaw locked, his shoulders tensed, and his hands curled in a quiet, controlled fury he barely contained.
And Cassian wished he had never agreed to host the damned ball in the first place.
“I can’t say I’ve ever attended a ball with this many people,” the young lord who’d just walked up to Isabella said to her, peering down at her with a wide smile playing on his lips.
He had a boyish air about him with his curly hair and freckled face. He seemed to be at least a year or two younger than Isabella.
Actually, the Everthorne townhouse ballroom was scarcely packed, unlike the fencing competition a month ago, which was so packed with guests that there was barely any space to move without bumping into another guest.
She’d been just as surprised as her father when the invitation had come in. She could hardly believe that Lady Kendrick was hosting a ball on behalf of the club, but it was only when she’d arrived and seen the number of guests present that she realized that must have been the compromise Lady Kendrick made with the duke.
Isabella focused her attention on the young lord and nodded. “Indeed.”
He had not been the first young man to approach her, and she had been hoping to catch her breath, but it did seem unavoidable with at a ball with so few guests.
“I don’t despise it, though, because it has awarded me this opportunity to ask for a dance. Lord Woolridge, at your disposal. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, and it would bring me even greater pleasure should you accept my request for a dance.” He bowed low once again, dipping his gaze before coming back up.
Isabella found herself reluctant to hand over her card to him for reasons unknown to her. Her actions further confused her when she found herself looking around the ballroom as though in search of something.
Or perhaps someone.
Is he here?
She found herself wondering if Cassian would even attend the ball, or if he would hide away in his workshop again.
As if sensing her reluctance, the Lord stepped forward.
“You would find me very entertaining, My Lady,” the young lord assured. “I have taken note of you at every event you’ve graced, and I am strongly confident I am what you need, My Lady. I am not like all of the other lords who would bore you with talk of hunting and horses. I believe that conversations should at least warrant a slight amount of… indecency. Should you not agree?”
Isabella’s eyes widened at the directness and absurdity of his words. Was this what men thought of her now that she had co-founded the Laurel club? The gossip had certainly spread across London faster than a brush fire, but to have someone be so bold as to assume that she would entertain indecent, and possibly even immoral topics of conversation…
