“The painting or my money is expected tomorrow. I debated whether I could force him to tell me the whereabouts of the original, but after contemplating that, I doubted he would even admit to the crime, let along give information that might get him transported.”
Gareth set the picture down next to the divan again. “Give me his name, please. And leave this here for now, in case it is needed.”
Information in hand, Gareth went to his chamber and wrote a note to Ives informing him of the need to call on a picture seller in the morning. After that he read for two hours, until the manservant he was using at Langley House arrived to help him dress. At ten o’clock, he left his chamber, walked downstairs,and poured some sherry in a chamber that flanked the reception hall.
He did not have to wait long. Soon a genteel commotion hummed and echoed on the stairs. Feminine giggles and whispers, and one “Head high, now.” He went to the reception hall and looked up the stairwell. He caught a glimpse of pale silk and flickering glints, of Sarah’s red hair and Rebecca’s young face.
They turned on the landing and descended. Eva looked resplendent in a blush silk gown dripping with tiny pearls and priceless lace. A matching headdress with two feathers decorated her curled brown hair and a downy shawl draped low on her arms. She all but floated down to meet him.
Beautiful. Poised. Regal. She knew it too. She glowed.
He took her arm. “You are stunningly beautiful, Eva.”
As she entered the coach, he spotted something unexpected. Entwined amid her curls, almost hidden by the headdress, a spot of color offset all the whites and creams much the way a few violets caused a white night garden to appear all the richer. The artist had tucked a simple ribbon in her hair, to vary the palette just enough to avoid it being predictable. A lavender ribbon.
CHAPTER21
Eva managed not to gawk and coo like a shopgirl, but the DeVere ball proved to be everything any woman ever dreamt a ball to be. The candles, the gowns, the musicians, the dinner room—she memorized all she saw, so she could tell Sarah and Rebecca.
Gareth claimed the first dance with her, as her escort. She enjoyed it so much she could not stop smiling. Then Gareth introduced her to other people. A great many people. Some of the gentlemen also asked to dance. After the fourth one, she looked for Gareth but could not see him.
She decided to find a chair near the wall. No sooner had she sat when another gentleman approached. She already knew him. It was the Earl of Whitmere, to whom she had been introduced her first day in London.
“Miss Russell! I thought that might be you.” He bowed, then glanced around. “I don’t suppose Aylesbury came after all.”
“No. Mr. Fitzallen escorted me.”
“Only to desert you? Well, what can one expect. He has many friends to attend upon, if you know what I mean.” He smiled confidentially. Insinuatingly. “Aylesbury thought I should amuse him tonight, but I chose to amuse myself. I am so glad that I did.” Another smile, full of meaningful flattery.
This earl was flirting with her.
For the Earl of Whitmere, flirting included talking about himself a great deal. She let him, wondering if there were some special etiquette involved in avoiding a peer’s company.
“Are you rested? Shall we dance?” he finally asked. “I would be most honored.”
“Mr. Fitzallen—”
“Fitzallen must have fifty ex-paramours here, dear lady. For reasons unknown, they all remain his friends. I daresay you will not see him again until the night is over.” He offered his hand. She took it and they joined the next dance.
She felt some obligation to be more vocal. As the country dance brought them together, she found a few questions to ask about his estate. He found a few to ask about her family. By the time it ended, he did not bore her as much.
To her surprise, one of the other men with an introduction asked for a dance. Lord Whitmere stood down, looking regretful. “Perhaps I will see you later, Miss Russell.”
While she danced this time, she noticed that Gareth did as well. His partner never took her eyes off him. The lady was a very fair woman of incredible beauty; her gaze communicated too much for a public place.She looks the way I feel sometimes. That reminded her of Lord Whitmere’s comment about Gareth’s paramours and of Jasmine Neville describing how highborn ladies never wanted to give him up.
Rather suddenly she did not feel magnificent and beautiful, but very ordinary. Foolish too. What she had known with Gareth was not at all specialto him. She was but one affair in a long line of them, enjoyed by a man who anticipated enjoying many more. How stupid of her to lose sight of that.
A nice young man, close to her in age and appearing very young, she thought, asked to accompany her to dinner. So she sat with him while he regaled her with talk of his horses.
Afterward, while she sat on a bench close to the musicians, listening to them play, Lord Whitmere again asked for a dance.
It was different this time. She could not name why or how, but his attention seemed more set on her. Their talk remained small, but she could not shake the sense that some assessment was under way, as if he were determining whether she measured up and had been worth the trouble. His gaze made her uncomfortable, even though he was as friendly and gracious as before.
When you are dancing at the ball, remember how you feel right now, Eva. Remember the bastard brother who can make you weep with desire.
She did remember, and a nostalgic simmer warmed her blood. Yet every time she saw Gareth, he conversed with another woman, making it clear that his blood warmed for many, not only her.
“Will you remain in London long?” Lord Whitmere asked as he led her away after the dance.
