CHAPTERONE
TheMarquis of Vereton entered the ballroom at a slow, steady pace, like he did most evenings. Fashionably late, Leo was in no rush to join the other guests. He glanced left, then right, then walked straight ahead. He nodded, smiled when he saw someone he actually liked—a rarity—and continued on. With three weeks to go in the season, the room was full, which indicated most had accepted the invitation to attend the Tottingham ball.
“My lord.”
“Lady Gilbransen.” Leo bowed deep over the hand of the woman whose breasts he knew intimately. “Your beauty puts many to shame, as always.”
She tittered, and tapped his glove while managing to give him a look that suggested she would like to reacquaint him with said breasts. Leo, however, moved on.
Yawning, he wondered if tonight would be a monumental bore like most other nights. He hoped his friends were in attendance. At least in their company he would have intelligent conversation.
“Christ!” The word burst from his lips as he noted a woman to his left. She wore lavender, her midnight hair styled elaborately, and she was still as exquisite as the day she had ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.
“Lord Vereton.”
Leo’s eyes shot right, where Miss Elizabeth Whitlow, cousin to his friend the Earl of Attwood, now stood. Focusing on her, he battled the stabbing pain in his chest.
“G-good evening, Miss Whitlow.” He bowed over her hand as he scrambled to understand why she was here. Not Miss Whitlow, he’d known she would be, as she always was... just there each and every evening looking as bored as he, but why was Harriet, Lady Hyndmarsh, evil breaker of hearts, back in London?
“I wonder, my lord, if you would assist me.”
“I—ah, of course, Miss Whitlow.”
The second shock of the night was that Elizabeth Whitlow was conversing with him by choice. They loathed each other, and had since she’d called him an arrogant idiot with the manners of a barnyard animal. Unfortunately, Leo remembered all too well, he deserved the accolades.
“If you’ll come this way then.”
She rested her fingers on his arm and directed him away from Lady Hyndmarsh. Leo followed, simply because he couldn’t think past the thought that Harriet was back in London.
“Are you well, Miss Whitlow?”
“Perfectly. You, however, are not.”
He couldn’t dispute that. His heart still thudded, his palms were sweaty, and he felt light-headed.
She led him through a set of doors and outside onto the terrace. Leo inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp London air. Needing distance from the woman who had nearly destroyed him, he took over the lead and walked down the first set of stairs and into the gardens.
“A few more deep breaths, Lord Vereton.”
It was galling that she was right, especially considering their history. As he breathed, the tightness in his chest began to ease. Their feet made a crunching sound on the stones as the night closed around them. The only light was coming from the torches along the path, and a weak moon sitting high behind clouds in the inky sky.
Leo dragged in another breath before speaking.
“Thank you.” It was gruff, but gratitude nonetheless. He didn’t clarify, because she knew why he had said the words, having witnessed his humiliation along with most of society six years ago.
“I feared you were about to faint and offer more fodder for the scandalmongers. I may have enjoyed the spectacle given my feelings for you, however, I have never been able to stomach Harriet Hyndmarsh and had no wish to see her crow over the fact that you still hang on her dampened skirts.”
“Dampened skirts?” was all Leo could come up with. What the hell was Harriet doing back in London?
“Oh Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “You of all people should know that women dampen their skirts so they cling to their bodies.”
“Good God. It must be terribly drafty, especially at this time of year.”
A sound remarkably like a giggle erupted from Miss Whitlow. Leo found he liked it. Usually the woman’s mouth was pursed, and her face disapproving, but that was only when it actually carried an expression.
“I don’t know. I have no wish to partake in such silliness, nor impress any man.”
“Why is it you think I should know this?”
