At least not from Meghan.
August.
Realizing the tight grip she had upon her skirts, Meghan relaxed her fingers.
The crowded ballroom, the audience, and reel working towards a finish were all forgotten. She and August locked in on one another.
Behind August’s domino, his eyes narrowed to sharp points. He flicked his gaze over Meghan. Each place his hot stare touched, burned.
With none of the effusive flattery of his inferior counterparts, he stretched a possessive hand out, staking a claim.
Breathless, Meghan placed her white satin-gloved fingers into his midnight-black leather-covered ones and let him lead her like a conquering hero and she his vanquished prize.
He slid his spare palm along the small of her back, his touch possessive and familiar. Warmth spiraled through her chest, and her every nerve ending came to life.
He knows it is me…
And while the reel ended, and Meghan and August took their places for the next set, hope blossomed.
Chapter 2
It had been just over one year since August Archdale, the Earl of Culross, had felt anything.
That was, anything other than the scorching burn of resentment over the failed alliance he’d sought with the McQuoids—a rival shipping magnate family. He’d wasted his time courting Miss Linnie McQuoid Smith—one of their many female kin—at the express request of the lady’s brother, Captain Campbell Smith and cousin, Captain Arran McQuoid, whom Culross made friends with.
It hadn’t mattered to Culross either way. He’d gone ahead and courted the lady, only for the chit to choose another—Captain Jeremy Tremaine.
Culross wasn’t a man who settled for no or accepted defeat. He’d convinced Captain McQuoid of his abiding love for Linnie McQuoid-Smith. He’d turned McQuoid and the whole gullible family against Tremaine.
How easy it would have been to drive a wedge between the McQuoid girl and Tremaine, who’d foolishly and openly admitted to marrying the lady to advance his shipping gains.
With the help of Captain McQuoid, Culross had secretly boarded a ship and set about wooing the naïve thing. His success would have been assured. After all, what could be easier for a rogue like Culross than to sweep in and soothe a bereft bride?
As bad luck would have it, McQuoid’s ship was blindsided by the approach of a pirate vessel. They’d been boarded, and a ruthless fight broke out.
Tremaine had sailed in as if out of thin air, rescuing the day, his wife, and killing all of Culross’s grand plans.
Now, when Culross wasn’t riddled with the burn of resentment, he was stalked by nightmares of that bloody battle at sea.
The once-gleaming deck slick and carpeted in the sanguine life force of dead and dying sailors. The blood-curdling screams and the thunderous reports of muskets firing in repetition.
He’d attempted to bed away the memories of his foolishness and the fiery battle at sea.
But the women, no matter their beauty or inventiveness—or how many Culross took at a single time—failed in either use he had for them: a receptacle to pour his hate into and a distraction from the demons of war.
He’d not been discriminating. Nor had his lovers been compelling. They all served the same purpose.
That was, they hadn’t been compelling—until now.
Culross didn’t know his mystery partner’s identity.
It mattered not.
As he took his place across from the woman dripping in crystals, he knew one thing with absolute certainty—it wasn’t a matter of if Culross would have the dazzling diamond under him, over him, and every way in between—but when.
From the minute he’d stood propped against one of the Doric columns, contemplating his boredom—and eyeing the exit—he’d spied her grand entry, and it felt ordained. The lady owned the crowd. Every space her slippers touched belonged to the vision dripping in crystals and diamonds. With Culross’s profound lust for the creature, he—much to his repugnance—was as bespelled as the rest of the room.
There was one slight, but significant, difference between Culross and the others.
