Well, that was it, then. Benedict got to his feet with far less regret than he should have felt at being doomed to God knew how many more weeks of celibacy. He turned toward the door, reasoning that the least he could do was save her the trouble of tossing him out of her dressing room, but before he could escape, she stopped him.
“Will your sister, the Duchess of Kenilworth, be attending my ball this evening, my lord?”
Benedict turned back to her with a shrug. “I’ve no idea. If you recall, I’ve just arrived in London. I haven’t yet spoken to my sister, but as I’m sure you’re aware, the duchess doesn’t attend many entertainments during the season.”
Particularly not any entertainment hosted by Lady Wylde. Thetonmight receive her ladyship without batting an eye, but the Duke of Kenilworth was a high stickler, and he was particularly protective of his wife. Benedict doubted he’d consider Lady Wylde a proper companion for Jane.
Lady Wylde went back to her toilette with a shrug, but there was a spiteful glimmer in her eyes. “Oh, I understand completely, my lord. I don’t blame the duchess at all for wishing to avoid company just now, but her favorite is meant to attend tonight, and I thought perhaps she longed to see him.”
“Her favorite?” Benedict’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t care for Lady Wylde’s tone, or her insinuation. “I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, madam.”
“Oh, I’m certain it’s just idle gossip. You know how thetonis, my lord. There’s likely not a grain of truth to it.” Lady Wylde’s crimson lips curled in a smirk. “Still, perhaps it’s not so surprising the duke won’t let her outof his sight.”
Benedict took up the coat he’d draped over the back of the settee and offered Lady Wylde a polite bow. Whatever the latest rumor was, he’d be damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of telling it to him. “I’m certain the duke isn’t so foolish as to credit whatever damnable lie is on the tip of London’s wagging tongues this time. I wish you a pleasant evening, my lady.”
But Lady Wylde had no intention of letting him go without spilling her secret. “Oh, but how silly of me! Of course, you wouldn’t have heard of it, rusticating in Surrey as you’ve been. I beg you’ll forgive me for repeating something so ugly, my lord, but the gossip has it the duchess and Lord Draven are engaged in a scandalous affair.”
Benedict paused halfway to the door. Jane, having an affair withDraven?
How imaginative. He’d give the gossips that much. Utter bollocks still, of course. Jane had married the Duke of Kenilworth less than six years ago, and the union was a happy one. Even if she was disappointed in her marriage, why should she choose the Earl of Draven as her paramour? The man was practically a hermit—
“You look skeptical, my lord. It might interest you to know Her Grace was spotted leaving Lord Draven’s townhouse one night this week,alone. But I’m sure it’s all perfectly innocent.”
Lady Wylde’s voice rang with malice, and Benedict let out a weary sigh. Perhaps he should have remained in Surrey. It was as dull as a bloody tomb there, but at least he was spared this sortof foolishness.
“Now, if you’ll forgive me, Lord Haslemere, I must dress. Do enjoy the ball tonight, won’t you? It’s rumored Lord Draven will come out of hiding to attend. Perhaps you should ask him yourself if the rumors about his affair with your sister are true.”
Benedict left Lady Wylde’s bedchamber without bothering to give her the satisfaction of an answer. Her mocking laugh followed him through her private sitting room, persisting even after he’d escaped into the hallway, but he hardly registered it as he made his way down the stairs to the first floor.
The doors between the large and small drawing rooms and the music room had been thrown open to serve as a ballroom. He came to an abrupt halt as he neared, knocked back a step by the deafening din of music and footsteps pounding across the dance floor.
Good Lord, what a crush. The acrid scent of sweat and the heat were so stifling he might have been standing at the very gates of hell. Half of London’s upper ten thousand were stuffed inside cheek to jowl, and ready to burst from the seams, much like Lady Wylde’s breasts from her corset. Even if Draven was here, it would be a devil of a business to find himin this crowd.
Benedict stifled another sigh as he took in the familiar sight of London’s fashionable set, their jewels flashing and faces flushed with heat and champagne. Didn’t anyonenewever come to London? These were all the same people who’d been here last season, except for—
Benedict paused, his gaze catching and holding on a tall lady in a bronze-colored gown and masque. She was some distance away from him, tucked into a far corner of the ballroom, removed from the restof the crush.
Wasn’t that…that is, she looked just like—
No, it couldn’t be. It was ridiculous, impossible. This was the last place in the world he’d ever expect to findher.
No, he’d mistaken another lady for her. Yes, he must have done. There was no way Georgiana Harley, with her scolding tongue and prim gowns, her manners so stiff and proper she put him in mind of a marionette whose strings had been pulled too tight, could behere, at Lady Wylde’s masque ball.
He peered over the sea of bobbing heads with far more interest than he cared to explain to himself, trying to catch another glimpse of the tall, graceful lady in the dark silk gown.
Ah, just there.
Hell and damnation. There was no mistake. He knew it as soon as his eyes lighted on her once again. She didn’t look anything like he’d ever seen her before, but for good or ill, he couldn’t forget her face. Georgiana Harley lingered like a bad taste in his mouth, or a stinging slap to his cheek.
Itwasher. There was no confusing her with any otherlady in London.
The drab hat and stiff brown cloak were nowhere to be found. Her gown wasn’t nearly revealing enough to catch the lascivious gazes of the rakes who frequented this sort of entertainment, but now he’d spotted her, Benedict found it difficult to take his eyes off her.
Her gown and masque were a deep, rich brown. They were both plain, severe even, her only adornment a bronze and black striped ribbon tied around her waist. There wasn’t a single feather or frill to be seen, but the ensemble suited her somehow. Her thick, chestnut hair was gathered into a simple knot at the back of her neck, and a length of the same striped ribbon that made up her sash was wound throughout the thick locks.
He gaped at her, struck dumb, feeling as if he were staring at a ghost. A ghost of a different Georgiana Harley, from another place and time—a ghost of a lady who, despite her obvious efforts to avoid notice and blend into the scenery, outshone the gaudier birds that fluttered around her, with her sleek,rich feathers.
Benedict didn’t make any move to enter the ballroom, but lingered in the doorway, watching her. What the devil was shedoinghere? Had she come here alone? No, surely not. He turned his gaze toward her companions, expecting to find Lady Clifford, but instead it was Darlington who was standing beside Miss Harley, and on his other side, her hand on his arm, was Lady Darlington.
