“You are such dears,” Fi said gratefully.
Glory’s hazel eyes danced. “What are bosom friends for?”
Fiona found the balcony blessedly unoccupied. A cool night breeze stirred the orange blossoms in her long ringlets and brushed over her bare shoulders as she wandered to the balustrade. Here, the streaming moonlight made the paillettes on her white gown glitter like a thousand stars. Leaning her gloved arms on the stone railing, she drew a breath to clear her head.
I’ll put off marriage for as long as I can,she decided.Instead, I’ll focus my energies on investigating…and not getting caught.
Voices interrupted her musings. The door to the balcony was opening… Botheration, had her admirers found her already? Quickly, Fi retreated to the back of the balcony, taking refuge in the shadows.
A gentleman strode out and took her place at the balustrade, the moonlight limning his tall, broad-shouldered frame. He had wavy dark hair, his high forehead and slashing cheekbones giving him an arrogant air. Fi recognized him at once: Lord Thomas Morgan, the Earl of Hawksmoor and eldest son of her parents’ friends, the Marquess and Marchioness of Harteford.
As the earl was older than her by a dozen years, their paths had not crossed much. In his thirties, Hawksmoor was an intellectual and inventor whose genius had been compared to Sir Isaac Newton and Mr. Charles Babbage. The earl’s wife had passed away three years ago, and he had a reputation for being a staid and cerebral man.
Fi found herself oddly fascinated by Hawksmoor. He was a man in his prime, the faint lines around his eyes and silver threads in his brown hair adding to his austere attractiveness. During their few interactions, he’d been reserved to the point of indifference. While she excelled at reading people, Hawksmoor’s eyes, the impenetrable grey of London fog, gave away little. She’d had no idea what was going on in that powerful brain of his. One thing had been for certain: whatever he’d been contemplating, it had naught to do with her.
His disinterest had piqued her curiosity simply because it was unusual. Gentlemen typically fawned over her. Hawksmoor, however? If she danced a jig naked with a lampshade on her head, he would likely yawn and glance at his pocket watch. At balls, he gravitated toward ladies who were her opposite: serious-minded bluestockings who discussed politics and science and disdained frivolous pursuits.
As Fi watched, the earl withdrew something from his pocket. He held the small object up to the light…and her breath hitched in surprise. Suspended from a hoop, the earring consisted of a golden semi-circle the shape of a boat.
It looks likemyearring.The one I lost that night at von Essen’s.
She furrowed her brow. It couldn’t be, of course. Why would Hawksmoor have her earring? It must be a strange coincidence. Her earring had been a bit of cheap costume jewelry found in countless shops; the one the earl was holding and looking at so intently just happened to be similar. Perhaps the piece had belonged to his wife…or to his current lover.
As if on cue, the door opened again. Hawksmoor smoothly pocketed the earring, turning to greet the newcomer. A widow known for her high-brow salons, Lady Melinda Ayles typified the sort of female company he preferred. Fi’s gaze widened as Lady Melinda wound her arms around the earl’s neck and kissed him passionately. He took control of the kiss with a natural dominance that caused an odd quiver in Fi’s belly. Behind Hawksmoor’s reserved façade apparently lay a rather hot-blooded man. His partner’s moan, like that of a cat in heat, caused a wild giggle to tickle Fi’s throat. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she willed herself to remain silent.
Hawksmoor set his paramour aside, saying in a deep, firm voice, “Not here, Melinda.”
“Why not?” Lady Melinda pouted.
“This is a ball. My parents are in attendance, for Christ’s sake.”
“You’ve been ignoring me all night.”
“I am practicing discretion,” he said calmly. “I suggest you do the same.”
“You are not discreet when you look ather,” Lady Melinda flung back.
A lover’s quarrel?Fi could not help but be intrigued.Who is Lady Melinda accusing Hawksmoor of being interested in? The owner of the earring, perhaps?
In the moonlight, Hawksmoor’s countenance looked carved from granite. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Don’t lie. I saw you staring at that simpering Miss Garrity.”
Two thoughts struck Fiona simultaneously.
I donotsimper.And was Hawksmoor truly staring atme?
“You’re being ridiculous,” Hawksmoor said shortly.
“I saw you,” his lover insisted. “When she was on the dance floor, you could not take your eyes from her.”
“That frivolous chit is the last woman I would be interested in.”
Frivolous chit? Last woman?Outrage burned in Fi’s bosom.Why, the pompous ass!
“I’m sorry, darling.” Now apologetic, Lady Melinda rubbed against Hawksmoor like a hungry cat. “Of course you’re not interested in the daughter of vulgar parvenus. They call herMiss Banks, you know.”
Her sharp laugh pierced Fi like shards of glass, releasing trickles of humiliation.
