“What do you mean, what she suffers? She appears perfectly content to me.”
As long as you didn’t look too closely.
For the first time Devon’s cool composure slipped, and Julian got a glimpse of what lay underneath the almost unreal handsomeness of his face.
It would be a drastic mistake to underestimate this man.
Iris Somerset had called Devon an angel. It would be easy to see him as one—to be lulled into complacency by the golden hair and the perfectly sculpted cheekbones. But Devon’s looks were misleading. The bright blue eyes, which appeared so languid at first glance, were quick and shrewd, and his dissolute manner masked a fierce intelligence.
“Jesus, West. You haven’t the vaguest idea, do you? And her family assignedyouthe task of protecting her? What bloody fools.”
Julian held on to his control by the merest thread, even as he pictured his fist closing around Devon’s throat. “Nevertheless theyhaveasked me, and I intend to fulfill my obligation. I’ll escort her everywhere from now on, Devon. Not just tonight, but every night, so you may as well find some other widow to seduce, one who won’t be so much trouble to bring to your bed.”
Devon’s lip curled again, but this time he wasn’t amused. “Ah. You mean to say one widow is much like another, and I should simply exchange Lady Hadley for a similar one, as if she were a pair of Hoby boots? You insult her ladyship, Captain. Thereisno other woman like her, and you know it yourself, don’t you?”
Devon waited for him to say something, but this time Julian had no ready reply.
I knew it once, a lifetime ago.
“Just as I thought.” Devon kicked his horse into a trot, but he didn’t get far before he slowed again and turned to look at Julian over his shoulder. “Oh, and West? You talk a great deal about what Lady Hadley’s family wants, and about what you want, but none of you seem at all concerned with whatshewants. Curious, that. Perhaps one of you should ask her.”
With that, Devon wheeled his horse around and trotted over to join Charlotte and Amelia.
Julian watched him go.Bloody hell. What had just happened?
But he knew. He, Captain Julian West—the toast of London, the Waterloo hero, the man Charlotte’s family had chosen to protect her fragile reputation—had just been soundly put in his place by a scandalous, licentious, ruinous earl, who, if rumor could be trusted, was also very probably a murderer.
Chapter Twelve
It pleased Lady Tallant to call her evening party a rout, but Annabel wasn’t a typical London hostess, and her routs weren’t the predictable, mannerly affairs characteristic of respectable members of theton. There would be cards—there were always cards—but no genteel conversation and no music, at least no music that could be heard above the din. There may or may not be a supper, but there would be enough champagne on offer to overflow the banks of the Thames. A drawing-room was not sufficiently large for such a riot of people, so guests were ushered into a ballroom ablaze with light, aside from a few corners and alcoves that would remain conveniently dim throughout the evening.
In truth, it wasn’t so much a rout as a mêlée. A handy thing, a mêlée. Charlotte had two purposes tonight, and a mêlée would do well for both.
“Good God, what a tumult. I’ve seen calmer battlefields.”
Or not. What good was a mêlée if one couldn’t disappear into it? She glanced up into Julian’s face, then down to his fingers wrapped firmly around her upper arm. She’d thought to shed him easily in this crush, but he hadn’t taken his eyes or his hand off her since they’d set foot in Annabel’s ballroom.
“I did warn you this wasn’t your kind of party, Captain. It will only grow more debauched as the evening progresses. Perhaps you should leave now, before it deteriorates further.”
As if to prove her point, Lord Ambrose sauntered by at that moment with a woman in a masque whose prominent décolletage proclaimed beyond a shadow of a doubt she wasnotLady Ambrose.
Julian raised an eyebrow at them as they passed. “And miss all this? I think not. Unless you find yourself fatigued, Lady Hadley? If so, I’ll happily escort you back to Grosvenor Square.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not at all fatigued—”
Then again, perhaps she was fatigued. So fatigued he should take her home at once.It would be a rather neat way to get rid of him. Then she could come back on her own and find Devon. “That is, I do have a bit of a headache. Perhaps you should take me back to Grosvenor Square.”
“Grosvenor Square? Nonsense! We’ve only just found you.” The widows came up behind them and Lissie linked her arm with Charlotte’s. “Such a crush! Why do you invite so many people, Annabel? If I didn’t know better I could swear I just saw Lord Ambrose pass by.”
Annabel shrugged. “I don’t invite them. They just come. But I did invite you, Charlotte, and you, Captain West, and I shall take it very ill indeed if you leave my party before you’ve even had a glass of champagne.”
Aurelie snapped her fingers and a footman appeared out of nowhere, his silver tray rattling with full glasses of champagne. Lissie took one and drained it at once. “Thank goodness. I’m parched. How did you do that, Aurelie? I’ve been trying to secure a glass for an age.”
Aurelie smiled. “I’m French. It’s champagne. C’est tout.”
“Now we’ve had a glass together, I will ask Captain West to escort me home.” Charlotte raised a feeble hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, Annabel, but I have a dreadful headache.”
Aurelie patted her hand. “You only need more champagne,ma chèrie. It cures the headache, you see.”
