The Ice Baron.
Lord Henry Stanley.
She might as well have been struck by a ton of bricks.
The room seemed to darken.
Charlotte’s mouth went dry.
Her heart thrashed frantically in her chest, and a strange buzzing filled her ears.
For a dizzying moment, she seriously considered dashing for the terraced doors and running for the hills—but it was far too late. What was he doing here? Had he found out she was here? Had he discovered what Anne had done? A million thoughts raced through her mind.
He was the brother of Mrs Wilberforce.
She resisted the urge to smack her forehead. Charlotte had thought she looked familiar, but was appalled to realise it was because the resemblance between them was so strong.
He greeted his sister and brother-in-law with reserved warmth and acknowledged the other guests with the same measured civility. He appeared well acquainted with everyone present. In contrast to the Captain’s easy manners, he was cool and precise.
Charlotte shrank back in her chair, hoping the shadows afforded her some concealment.
Then, as he acknowledged the two elderly spinsters, Lord Stanley looked straight at her with those intense, knowing eyes.
She swallowed hard.
He had found her.
Her face drained of colour; her hand instinctively rose to her throat, as though the gallows were already there.
He walked towards her as though he were a force of nature.
‘I believe we have not been introduced.’
A flood of relief rushed through her.
He was not here for her—he still did not recognise her.
Charlotte’s thoughts tumbled over one another. If he was not here for her, what was he doing here instead of investigating in London?
His eyes did not leave her face as he approached, and Charlotte instinctively rose; his scrutiny was unnerving.
Mrs Wilberforce came to her side and said warmly, ‘Ah yes, Henry, this is Miss Lucas, our new governess.’
He tilted his head slightly; a faint crease marred his brow.
‘The governess,’ he repeated, his expression turning instantly cool. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Lucas.’
Charlotte curtseyed, her movements stiff and mechanical. ‘How do you do, your roy—I mean, my lord.’ She swallowed, correcting herself just in time before royal haughtiness slipped out instead.
He quirked an eyebrow, as though he had already decided she was some sort of imbecile who did not know how to address him properly.
Any moment now, he will recognise me.
But the moment stretched—
And then... nothing.
He turned away as though she were of no consequence at all.
