Eamon studied the filling ballroom. “Well, someone knew how to entice us out of our holes.”
“Ah.” Wolfe stilled, his gaze becoming fixed. “I believe I have discovered who.”
Eamon turned to see what had caught Wolfe’s attention, and froze.
Caro stood in a corner of the large room, framed by a garland of spring flowers draped over an arch. She was speaking animatedly to the two young women beside her, her face alight, eyes sparkling.
Her gown tonight was the color of rich cocoa, trimmed with lighter braids and ribbons. Eamon kept himself cognizant of the latest fashions, and that gown could have been made yesterday. Not for Caro—his trained eye observed where it had been modified here and there, and it was slightly too short, though only a keen eye would catch this.
He suspected the gown had been created to fit the slim, blond woman at Caro’s side and altered for Caro’s taller and more curved form. Skillfully altered. Eamon saw the work of a talented dressmaker in it.
A lady’s maid must have dressed Caro’s hair, which was coiled into a tight knot. As Caro’s hair wasn’t meant to be contained, the coiffure already drooped and locks dangled, intensified by the vigorous way Caro nodded when speaking to her friends.
So intent was Eamon with taking in her whole being that he almost missed the glittering diamonds that encircled her throat. The modest necklace lay subtly on her covered bosom, sparkling softly against the dark gown.
Even at this distance, Eamon suspected that either the diamonds weren’t real, or she’d borrowed them from the same friend who’d lent her the dress and lady’s maid. A family trying to sell off its paintings to clear debts had probably run through its jewels long ago.
The third woman in the trio had hair darker than Caro’s, and her participation in the conversation was more subdued. The cut of her dark violet gown was simpler than those of the other two, but no less elegant. The frock hung on her easily, as though she could go for a brisk walk if she chose.
Her muted colors indicated that she, like Caro, was a widow. Their fair-haired friend, on the other hand, dressed in bright pink, was obviously an unmarried miss.
The pink-clad lady rapped Caro on the arm with her fan and indicated Eamon and his companions, who were all staring intently at the three women. Caro started, her eyes widening.
Did Caro’s surprise turn into delight, she happy to see Eamon? Not at all. She mastered herself after her slight jump and bathed Eamon in a disapproving frown.
“Is that your duchess?” McCormick asked with great interest.
“Not my duchess,” Eamon corrected him. “At least, not yet,” he finished under his breath.
“They seem to be debating about whether to speak to us,” McCormick said.
Eamon had no intention of waiting until the coy choreography of a society ball let him meet with Caro as if by chance. That might take an hour or more, and he didn’t have the patience.
“Let us settle the question, shall we?” Eamon said. “Are you with me?”
“Not the thing to approach ladies uninvited,” McCormick answered, though he did not sound alarmed at the prospect. “Even I, a rough-hewn islander, know that.”
“We haven’t been introduced,” was Wolfe’s tight-lipped contribution.
“I know the duchess, and I can make your introductions,” Eamon said. “Fortune favors the bold, gentlemen.”
“It favors you,” Wolfe muttered.
McCormick nodded. “Aye, every time you say something like that, Stony, disaster follows. But lead on.”
Both men fell into step behind Eamon as he began his journey across the ballroom.
Caro’s countenance did not grow any more welcoming as they approached. Her polite expression became fixed, but her eyes held vast annoyance.
Caro’s friends, on the other hand, turned interested gazes to Eamon and his companions. Sizing them up, Eamon understood. Caro must have told the ladies about him, possibly even including their frenzied kiss. Eamon warmed at the memory, but Caro looked full of regret.
He halted courteously in front of the three ladies, and McCormick and Wolfe moved to flank him. Preparing for battle, even in a ballroom.
“Good evening,” Eamon said with a formal bow. “Please forgive my forwardness, but I wished to greet Her Grace.”
“Mr. Stone.” Caro’s voice evoked a chill she must have learned from the dowager duchess.
Eamon pretended to be undismayed at her coolness. “Allow me to present my friends, Mr. Hayden McCormick, who originally hails from the Shetland Isles, and Lord Dominic Wolfe, who kicks about Berkshire when he is not in London. We were thrown together as lads and now continue the habit.”
