She could have floated to the ceiling over that smile... until she realized he was looking past her—
“There is Mr. Brogan,” Elise said happily before adding in a giddy undervoice, “Why, he is looking right at me.”
Of course he was.
Every man in the room was eyeing Elise. Most discreetly. A few were like Lord Royston. If they weren’t looking at her youngest sister, they were glancing at her oldest. Elise and Gwendolyn were a mighty pair with one so light and the other so dark.
“Perhaps he is the one who had us invited,” Elise said, turning to Dara and blocking her view of Mr. Brogan. “We should say hello to him. Come, Tweedie, chaperone us over to Mr. Brogan. I want to make Sophie and Helen and their terrible mother frightfully jealous.”
She would have taken off across the ballroom as if it was a Wicklow dance, Tweedie in tow, if Dara hadn’t gripped her arm. “The lady doesnotpay the respects first,” Dara snapped, her words sharp as the roiling bile of jealousy once again reared its ugly head.
And she was being silly.
Mr. Brogan was too fine a gentleman for her. Of course, he’d be interested in one of her beautiful siblings.
She was the useful one. The planner. After all, if it had been up to Elise, they wouldn’t be in London right now but at an Assembly dance in Wicklow—
“He’shere,” Gwendolyn said, looping her hands around her sisters’ arms as if to hide them behind one of the hanging silk draperies.
Elise frowned. “Mr. Brogan? We just said that. And Dara won’t let me greet him...” Her voice trailed off as both she and Dara realized Gwendolyn wasn’t looking at Mr. Brogan.
No, she stared at the ballroom entrance.
It was obvious Someone Important had arrived. People were already moving out of the way to create a path, even as they gathered round.
Dara strained her neck trying to see past those who blocked her view of the door. She even rose on her tiptoes. Elise could see. She had a slight frown on her face.
Tweedie, who was as petite as Dara, whispered, “Who is it? What is happening?”
No one answered, or moved, not even Gwendolyn.
The crowd shifted. Lady Royston became suddenly very visible. She walked toward the entrance, her hands outstretched in warm greeting, and then Gwendolyn, the tallest of them, made a choking sound. “I’m trapped. There is nowhere to go.”
Dara was uncertain. “What are you saying?”
Gwendolyn swayed slightly as if needing support and reached for Tweedie. In a low voice that only the sisters could hear, she said, “You don’t recognize him?”
Dara frowned at the dashing, broad-shouldered man with crisp dark curls and a hard, square jaw.Fans fluttered rapidly as the women whispered about him. Men didn’t hide their jealousy. Lady Royston looked as if she was practically purring with excitement.
“Should we know him?” Elise asked.
“Most certainly,” Gwendolyn said. “Dara gave him quite a blow in Dublin that night.”
Dara whirled back to look at the man in disbelief. “He is the man who attacked you? Why is Lady Royston acting as if he is some honored guest? Why iseveryone in the roombehaving in that manner?”
“Well, now we know we didn’t kill him,” Elise said.
“But what is to stop him from wanting to kill us?” Gwendolyn responded. “Quick, we must leave. Isn’t there a garden where we can go to hide?”
“Who is he?” Dara demanded.
Tweedie spoke up. “It is too late to run. He is walking in this direction. I think he is coming right for you, Gwendolyn.”
“Oh, good Lord, no,” Gwendolyn whispered, her face draining of color.
Dara, Elise, and Tweedie bravely flanked her. “I shall confess I am the one who hit him,” Dara promised, even though he seemed to grow bigger and stronger the closer he came. Lady Royston practically danced at his side. She acted proud to have him there.
“Brazen it out,” Tweedie warned under her breath, and she stepped her diminutive self in front of her nieces.
