“The theater,” he cut in, rolling his eyes. “You can abandon your ruse, Miss Snow.”
“My–myruse?” she sputtered indignantly.
“Yes.” Leaning forward, Lord Clearfield put his hand on her knee and squeezed. “You wanted to get me alone, and you succeeded. Congratulations, sweet. Now what would you like to do with me?”
Her stomach contracting in disgust, Lillian shoved his hand off her leg. “I don’t want to do anything with you. Nor was my theater a ruse to get you alone. You’ve overstepped your bounds, Lord Clearfield. I demand you return me to Foxhaven House at once.”
“Feisty,” the earl murmured. “I like that.”
Lillian shrieked when he suddenly launched himself forward and made a clumsy attempt to grope her breast. She brought her knees up to fend him off while simultaneously striking out with her elbow and catching him in the side of the head. With a grunt, he toppled sideways and struck his skull against the window with a hardclunkthat she found quite satisfying.
“I’m–I’m bleeding! You made mebleed.” he cried, touching his hair and then holding his hand out to reveal his white glove covered in a slick sheen of red. For a so-called adventurer with two grand tours under his waistcoat, Lord Clearfield’s face turned an interesting shade of green at the sight of a little blood.
“So you are,” Lillian said dispassionately. “And if you do not order this carriage to stop this second, I’ll do it again.”
“You’re…you’re a Goddamned madwoman!” Lord Clearfield declared even as he thumped his fist on the roof and his driver immediately pulled off to the side of the street and reined the horses in to a stop.
“No,” she said, stepping over him to reach the door. “Iam an actress. And you are sad, pitiful, bit part of a man.”
The fallen snow went past her ankles when she jumped to the ground. She barely had time to gather up her skirts and stumble out of the way before the carriage took off, Lord Clearfield’s parting remarks lost to the wind.
Her eyes wide and her heart tight in her chest, Lillian turned in a circle under the weakly flickering glow of a gas lamp. She was on a well-to-do street lined with a mixture of manors and townhouses, all of which were closed up tight. The street was empty, partly due to the storm and partly due to the fact that everyone who lived in this opulent section of London was still at the Yuletide Ball. If there were any hackneys for hire, they wouldn’t be coming around here anytime soon. She was, in essence, stranded a mile or more from her cozy flat above thetheater. With only a rudimentary grasp on what way to go and nothing more than her own two feet to get her there. In an unprecedented winter storm–
“And the pitch dark,” Lillian groaned when the gas lamp sputtered, reignited, and then went out. Tucking her chin down, she began to walk.
* * * *
Abel wantedto leave.
Every fiber of his being was telling him to leave
Why, then, was he climbing the steps to the ballroom? Why was he standing in the arched doorway? And why thebloody hellwas he scanning the crowd for a bewitching pair of bronzed garnet eyes and lush pink lips curved in a smirk?
“Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?” A butler, distinguished from the other staff by the superior cut of his clothing, joined Abel at the ballroom entrance.
“No, I…” Frowning slightly, he tore his gaze from the dancing couples. “Actually, yes. Yes, maybe you can. I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you’ve seen them.”
A long pause, and then….
“A name or description would be helpful, Your Grace.”
“Of course.” Feeling foolish–not an emotion he was familiar with–Abel clarified his request. “Her name is Miss Snow. She is about this tall”–he held his hand up to his shoulder–“and she is wearing a dark red gown.”
“I am afraid nearly half of ladies here are wearing gowns of that color, Your Grace.”
“But do half of them have the countenance of a goddess and the tongue of a witch?” he snapped, running his hand through his hair in a fit of exasperation. In addition to foolish, he also felt…warm. Feverish, almost. Maybe he was coming down with an ailment. Maybe his kiss on the terrace had been nothing morethan a hallucination. Maybe he wasn’t even at the Yuletide Ball. Maybe–
“Ah.” The butler nodded solemnly. “You meanthatMiss Snow. She left in the company of one Lord Clearfield approximately half an hour ago.”
“She…left?”With another man.In an instant, Abel’s temple cooled as ice water poured into his veins. “She left,” he said flatly. “Very well. That’s that, then. Thank you for your help.”
“You’re quite welcome, Your Grace. May I ask if you are enjoying the festivities? I noticed you have not yet entered the ballroom.”
Abel’s frown deepened. “Are you watching me?”
“I am the head butler, Your Grace.” Clasping his hands together behind his back, he lowered his torso in a short bow. “It is my duty to watch overallof the guests at Foxhaven House and ensure they are getting what they need.”
“And how is it you know what they need?” he asked suspiciously.
