How and why, perhaps he would never understand. The reporters who covered these events so tomorrow’s scandal and fashion sheets could report all the on-dits snapped their gazes from her up to the high balcony where he lingered within its shadows. Once again, Miss Danvers would be the cente
rpiece of their articles, and surely they would paint him as the besotted fool who had stood frozen and stared at her arresting presence.
Alexander was uncertain how to feel about the adoration the ton claimed he owned for her. He was not the kind of man given to softer sentiments. Not that he did not believe in the higher power of love. He did. In the past there simply had never been any lady in his life to inspire feelings beyond mild affections and fleeting lust. Even his fiancée of the time had been about power and connection, the brightest diamond of society paired with the coveted rising star of politics and the heir to a dukedom.
The paper hadn’t dared then to mention the words “love match.” Yet now the cartoons painted him slavishly in love and spoke about his adoration of the delightful Kitty in mocking tones. Another sin to punish Miss Danvers for, surely—he should not be remiss in that.
Miss Danvers wore a brilliant dark green gown, a provokingly stunning jewel in the midst of pastel and warm colors of the other gowns. He allowed his gaze to unabashedly travel over her. Through the elegant drape of her dress, he could see the lines of her hips, round and lush, the slender curve of her waist, the beguiling weight of her breasts. A few young bucks, and even one or two more stately gentlemen, sent her quick, covetous stares.
Miss Danvers seemed unaware of her own desirability, for she did not blush or preen, merely assessed the atmosphere as she made her way down the stairs. She was petite, sleek, lushly curved, and the raw sensuality of how she moved held him momentarily spellbound. His fiancée was remarkably pretty, with an inviting mouth which was unmistakably provocative. Alexander could only marvel at the dim-witted idiocy of the men of the ton for not marrying such a delight.
Another young lady descended behind her, and she was garbed in a pale pink gown that also clung to her willowy frame. The two women spoke briefly, then made their way through the crowd toward the sidelines. The whispers floating about revealed her to be Miss Danvers’s sister.
They were lovely ladies. It was a pity the men of the ton decided to judge their worth based only on their family’s purse strings and connections.
Lady Carnforth approached him in a swirl of golden ruffles and glittering diamonds. “My dear boy, how wonderful to see you; it has been years!” she gasped dramatically. “Though I do hope it is you under that mask, Alexander. How I missed you. Quite dreadfully.”
He leaned in and dutifully kissed the cheek she lifted to him. “It is I, Cousin Miranda. I missed you as well.” Alexander was mildly surprised to feel the truth of his response. He had missed Miranda’s eccentric, flamboyant manners and opinions.
Alexander straightened as Kitty’s gaze unerringly found him atop the balcony. She went remarkably still before lifting her chin in acknowledgment. There went that unusual warmth pouring through his heart again.
Perhaps he needed to see one of his doctors.
The curious brown eyes of his cousin settled on Miss Danvers, then swept the crowd below. Miranda cast him a curious sidelong glance. No doubt she anticipated his reaction to the ton’s inquisitiveness. Many matrons of society and several debutantes blatantly ogled him. He could feel society’s rabid stares and ceaseless speculations like poisonous ants crawling over his neck and back.
“Our society can be a tad bit ridiculous,” she said with a sniff. “I’ve ordered the most lavish food for refreshment, decorated the room in an Egyptian theme. They are all the rage, you know. And invited everyone who has some secret attachment or scandal swirling around their name. But they are too busy watching you and Miss Danvers. You’ve quite upstaged me, dear boy.”
“It was not deliberate, I assure you.”
“Hmm, I gathered after your order to send her an invitation, you would actually attend. Why was it so important for Miss Danvers to be here tonight?”
“It simply was.”
She harrumphed, no doubt irritated he would not divulge anything noteworthy for her to gossip about.
“She is a trifle…loud, my boy; I’m surprised at your choice,” Lady Carnforth said, sidling closer to him. “I confess I knew nothing about Miss Danvers or her family until a few weeks ago. I was shocked the girl already had four seasons. Truly some people ought to know when to give up, though I must declare she should be ecstatic at snagging you.”
His cousin had missed the mark entirely. “You are loud and flamboyant, Cousin Miranda. Miss Danvers is something altogether different. A rare hothouse flower in the midst of hardened diamonds.”
Another sniff. “You sound as if you admire her. Clearly the newspapers were right about your adoration!”
He made no answer, content to watch Miss Danvers’s interactions within society. Stares of stern disapproval and envy followed her stroll across the expanse of the ballroom. It was in the bold way she stepped, the daring green of her exquisite gown, the proud angle of her head. He sensed she hadn’t worn such colors before her transformation to Kitty Danvers. What had she been like before? The same? Different? A timid mouse or the tigress before him now?
He truly liked the exuberant way she sashayed to the edge of the ballroom. There was a haughty lift to her chin, and it was bravado, as if she dared anyone to remark on her presence. It was a defense, and he wondered if she had a difficult upbringing to be this prickly…to be this different.
And it seemed an injustice to use such an inane word to describe the woman below.
She wasn’t the sensible, proper sort of lady he’d been told lovingly by his mother years ago would make him the perfect duchess. Odd that had been her recommendation, for his mother hadn’t been the well-behaved sort.
Miss Danvers was the opposite of anyone who’d ever held his attention. She appeared to be a woman who could be as brilliant as a flame and as fickle as the wind.
Would my mother have liked you, Katherine Danvers? Would you have appalled her…or would you have fascinated her, as you’ve seemingly bewitched me?
Alexander caught himself studying the way her hands moved, the turn of her head, and the sweet, oftentimes earnest expression on her face as she spoke with her sister. “My fiancée is fine as she is, Cousin Miranda,” he replied to her silent glare.
“My dear boy—”
“And I will not take kindly to anyone who implies otherwise,” he murmured coolly. “She is to be treated with all cordiality and respect.”