"Thank you," Ambrose said.
He handed over his worn great-coat, and surprise rippled across the butler's features. Ambrose felt a twinge of alarm. When he'd received the Hartefords' invitation for supper earlier that week, the card had been accompanied by a suit of evening clothes.
We wish to express our gratitude, and we'll take no excuses,the card had read.See you Friday evening at nine o'clock.
Lady Harteford's doing, no doubt. She was nothing if not a thoughtful, gracious lady. In his whole life, Ambrose had never owned any clothing as fine as the black and whites, and when he'd donned the outfit earlier, he'd thought that he looked almost acceptable. Certainly better than he usually did. For once, the clothes did not stretch too tightly across the shoulders or hang loosely from his rangy frame. Though the trousers were still a tad short, they at least accommodated his stride.
But seeing the butler's expression, he wondered if he'd bungled the cravat. Or misbuttoned the charcoal silk waistcoat. For the first time in his life, he wished for a looking glass.
"This way, sir," the butler said.
Ambrose had no choice but to follow. The butler announced his name, and then he was walking into the Hartefords' drawing room. There were many present, but his eyes went directly to Lady Marianne. She sat on the bench of the pianoforte next to Mr. Paul Fines, turning the pages of the music. Fines was performing a soulful ballad about a lovelorn lad. Their heads—his bright gold, hers a platinum shade—were close together. They complemented each other like the sun and the moon. Ambrose's hands curled at his sides.
"Mr. Kent, how splendid to see you!"
He tore his gaze from Lady Marianne—who hadn't bothered to look up at him—to his approaching hostess. As usual, the marchioness looked lovely; she wore a ruffled sapphire gown, and her hazel eyes reflected her genuine warmth. Harteford was a lucky man, no doubt about it.
"My lady," Ambrose said, bowing.
Harteford joined his wife, a proprietary arm circling her waist. "Glad you could join us, Kent. We owe you much for your bravery last week."
"I was glad to be of service, my lord," Ambrose said. "And may I say how relieved I am to see Miss Fines safely returned to the bosom of her family."
"No more relieved than I." The heartfelt words came from Gavin Hunt, who hobbled forward with the help of a cane. He'd sustained a temporary injury during the rescue of Miss Fines, who now ambled along at his side. "Never thought I'd say this to a Charley, but I'm in your debt, Kent," the fierce-looking fellow said.
"Happy to have me back, are you?" Miss Fines grinned up at her fiancé.
"Having you in danger took years off my life and well you know it, minx," Hunt said.
Seeing the expression that softened the man's scarred face, Ambrose felt an odd jolt of envy. Certainly he was glad for the beaming couple. And for the Hartefords, who looked on with affection and approval. Yet out of the blue, yearning struck him: what would it be like to know that joy for himself? He'd been fond of his ex-betrothed, had thought he could grow to love her—but her lack of fidelity had made that impossible.
Of their own accord, his eyes returned to the pianoforte. His jaw tautened as Fines leaned over to whisper something in Lady Marianne's ear. Her husky laugh drifted over, stirring Ambrose's loins.
Does she possess no shame whatsoever? Not even a week ago, she propositionedme—and now she is flirting with that damned Fines! By Jove, the least she can do is acknowledge me.
Before he knew it, Ambrose was making his way toward the instrument.
"Good evening, Lady Draven. Mr. Fines," he said curtly.
Fines rose languidly to his feet. "Hello, Kent. Didn't recognize you for a moment there. Found a new tailor, have you?"
Ambrose refused to be embarrassed over the truth. "The Hartefords kindly lent me the appropriate garb for the evening. As a policeman, I have little use for such finery. Nor can I afford it."
"Well, that's straight talking, ain't it?" Fines' smooth visage creased with a rueful grin. "Always liked that about you. And even more the fact that you saved my sister's life. No offense meant, eh?"
Ambrose shook the offered hand. "None taken."
"I wouldn't worry over it, Mr. Fines. Our Mr. Kent does not take offense easily." The drawled tones stiffened Ambrose's neck. "In fact, he is a man utterly in control of his impulses, aren't you, sir?"
Devil take it, why was she always baiting him?
"No man is always in control. Nor is any woman," he shot back.
Lady Marianne only smiled as she rose from the bench. Her deep purple gown gathered beneath her faultless bosom, flowing in a sleek column to her dark jeweled slippers. Diamonds glittered at her ears and throat, but they were no match for the radiance of her upswept curls.
"It can be amusing to indulge oneself on occasion," she said. "For instance, I must confess to being a creature of impulse when it comes to shopping. For clothing, fripperies… and anything else that catches my fancy."
A foreign emotion ripped at Ambrose's chest. "Gone shopping lately, have you, my lady?"
