“I have been doing this job a long time, Your Grace. There are always signs. For example”–he pointed out into the crowd at a middle-aged woman in green staring adoringly into the eyes of a gentleman in black as they waltzed in a circle–“Lady Haywood wanted nothing more than her husband to notice her again and Lord Haywood needed an evening to appreciate what he had right in front of him. In can grow weary, you know.”
“What can?”
“Love. Similar to a rose, it grows quickly in the beginning. Easily. But in order to sustain the long winter and the even longer years ahead, it must be tended. Fertilized. Pruned. Without care and attention, the leaves can start to wither and the stems to rot. Yet for all of the world’s wonders, there is truly nothing more magical than that veryfirstbloom. That delicate unfolding of petals is nature’s own miracle.” The butler’sstudious brown eyes met Abel’s with quiet intensity. As if he wasn’t looking at him, butintohim. “The only thing more rare and wonderful is to experience the first bloom a second time. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”
‘Are you a gambler, then?’
‘Almost as bad. I’m an actress.’
“I’m sure I have no idea of what you’re speaking,” Abel said stiffly.
The lined edges of the butler’s eyes crinkled. “Of course not. Forgive me. If there is nothing else I can assist you with…”
“Wait,” he said with the butler started to turn away. “Can youreallytell what people need?”
“So I have been told.”
“What is it that Miss Snow needs, then?”
“That’s easy, Your Grace. Her theater.” The butler shook his head. “Although I fear she went looking for it in the wrong place.”
“What do you mean?” Abel asked, his brow furrowing.
“After several poor investments, Lord Clearfield is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.”
“How does that have anything to do with Miss Snow? Unless…” At his sides, his hands curled into fists. “He told her that he would invest in her theater.”
“He did imply as much, yes.”
“But the bastard hasn’t any money.”
“No, your Grace, he does not.”
Abel’s thumbs dug painfully into his palms, forming crescent-shaped indents. He hardly noticed the pain as a flash of red hot rage ran through him, like a rod of steel thrust into a blacksmith’s forge. “How long ago did you say they departed?”
“Thirty minutes. The tea house Lord Clearfield said he was taking her closed last year, but his house is on Aldine Street. Should you wish to pursue Miss Snow, I suspect you will find herthere.”
Did he, Abel wondered?
Wish to pursue her, that is.
His jaw clenched.
Damned right he did. If only to rescue her from that lying grasp of a lecher, Lord Clearfield. Not because their kiss had branded his soul. Anddefinitelynot because he considered her to be his second blooming rose.
Lillian Snow, a wife? She was anactress. An actress that had no qualms being kissed by a stranger in the snowy moonlight. Hardly the model of exemplary behavior that he wanted his daughters to emulate. He’d come to Yuletide Ball to find a woman that was mild-tempered, courteous, and sophisticated.Nota gorgeous, garnet-eyed hellion with the body of an angel and the tongue of the devil’s own bride.
“Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?” the butler asked.
“Only my carriage brought round.”
“Of course. Consider it done.”
“Thank you for all of your assistance, Mr…”
“Clause, Your Grace. Mr. Nicolas Clause. And it’s no trouble.” In what was undoubtedly a trick of the light, the butler’s gaze appeared to…twinkle. “It’s no trouble at all.”
* * * *
