When she was finished, her countenance appeared remarkably composed, betraying nothing of her inner turmoil. Almost like the composed, sharp-tongued Lady Vanessa Wayworth that society expected to see. Only the shadows in her eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath.
It would have to do.
***
The drawing room was mercifully empty when Vanessa descended the stairs, her steps slow and careful, as though the floor might give way beneath her at any moment. She had dressed in a simple day dress of pale green, nothing special and nothing that might attract attention and pinned her hair back in a style that was neat but unremarkable.
Invisibility. That was the goal now. To be so utterly forgettable that no one would think to mention her to Martin, to discuss her in his presence, to create any connection between them whatsoever.
She settled into her usual chair by the window and picked up a book she had no intention of reading. The familiar routine was soothing with the weight of the book in her hands, the afternoon light streaming through the glass and the distant sounds of the household going about its business.
Perhaps this would not be so terrible. Perhaps she could simply exist here, in this quiet room, and pretend that the outside world did not exist. She could read and embroider. She could stare out the window and contemplate the slow passage of time.
She could definitely not think about Martin Hale.
Do not think about Martin Hale.
She thought about Martin Hale.
His face swam before her mind's eye, unbidden and unwelcome. That sharp jaw, and those grey eyes. The way his mouth curved when he was about to say something cutting. The way his laugh sounded…low and warm and utterly devastating.
Stop it.
She forced her attention back to the book. The words blurred before her eyes, meaningless shapes on a page. Something about a heroine in distress. A crumbling castle and a mysterious figure in the shadows.
The front door opened.
Vanessa's head snapped up, her heart suddenly pounding. It was probably nothing…a delivery, perhaps or Edward returning from his club.
She discerned the sound of footsteps and then the soft murmur of voices… in the entrance hall.
"Thank you, Mrs. Abbott. Is Lady Wayworth at home?"
The book slipped from Vanessa's nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a thud.
That voice. She would know that voice anywhere, in any crowd, across any distance. Low and warm and carrying just the faintest edge of amusement, as though the entire world existed primarily for his entertainment.
Martin washere, in her house, and she was sitting in the drawing room with nowhere to hide.
Panic seized her, cold and immediate. She looked wildly around the room, searching for an effective plan of retreat… The window? Too high, and she would likely break her neck. The servants' door at the back of the room? Too far…she would never reach it in time. The settee? Perhaps if she crouched behind it…
No. No, that was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, not a child playing hide-and-seek. She could not simply disappear behind the furniture because the man she had been writing love letters to for six years had decided to pay a social call.
Perhaps if she remained very still, he would not notice her. Perhaps she could blend into the wallpaper, become invisible through sheer force of will. Perhaps…
"His Grace, the Duke of Montehood," Mrs. Abbott announced from the doorway.
Too late.
And there he was.
Martin Hale stood in the entrance to the drawing room, looking exactly as he always looked immaculate in his afternoon clothes, his dark hair artfully disheveled, his grey eyes sweeping the room with lazy confidence. He wore a coat of deep blue that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, a waistcoat of pale silver, cravat tied in an elaborate knot that somehow managed to look effortless.
He moved like a man who owned every space he entered, every conversation he joined, every heart he chose to claim. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. It was everything she had spent six years trying not to notice.
Those grey eyes found her and held her.
And then…impossibly, incomprehensibly…he smiled.
