Chapter Seven
“The Marquess of Westfall…”
Richard ignored the undulating ripple through the crowd as his name was announced. The whispers, the stares, and the inevitable gossip had never bothered him. He had been branded a degenerate, the most dangerous of libertines. Richard’s lips twitched. The hypocrites. The darlings of society hid their dissipation behind closed doors, while they crucified others for the same debauchery they partook in. Propriety was feigned while deceit and licentiousness ran rampant. The ballroom glittered with the dashing elegance of the lords and ladies below, the beauty of the ton exciting, yet deceptive and cruel. He ignored everyone and descended the stairs of the Gladstones’ grand ballroom.
“Lord Westfall…I thought he shunned these events, why is he here?”
“Perhaps for Lady Honoria. Rumor suggests he may offer for her…”
Curious that. He had been discreet in his enquires, not wanting to create any false expectations, but the carrions had somehow unearthed his interest, and the rumormongering had started. Two of his closest friends, the Duke of Wolverton and the Earl of Blade, had already made enquires to his supposed attachment to the lady in question. While he’d not made his intentions clear, because there were days he had no damn idea what he wanted, he had some interest in Lady Honoria.
She was suitable—she understood he gave nothing but the title, and she had no stars glowing in her eyes when she spoke of marriage. She did not hunger for love and sentiments, nor was she cruel and shallow. Her father had recently inherited a struggling earldom, and she sought a wealthy connection for his sake, gracing Richard with her favor, despite his dubious acceptance by society. She stood almost on the fringe of society, only being invited to a few balls and popular events of the season. Somehow, she was delicately balanced in the middle. Perhaps she would not mind so terribly when society inevitably cut her from their coveted rank if they aligned. She’d met his daughter on two occasions and had always been pleasant and courteous, even having her to tea. The lady’s family had been polite, even if their smiles had been strained. Though Lady Honoria was pretty and agreeable, he was not enamored of her, so there was no web of lies she could entangle him with. So why in God’s name was he hesitating?
Laughing green eyes filled with mischief and aroused awareness swam into his vision… Ruin me. He’d almost robbed Evie’s virtue in a damn carriage. The very memory of their encounter had a groan whispering from his lips. She had been like a burning flame within his arms. He’d never known such sweet torture as her kisses, her sighs, the tart but sweet taste of her on his tongue. Three days later he could still taste the heady scent of her passion, hear her pleasure-filled cries as she rode his fingers with such innate carnality. No one had ever responded to him as Evie had done, and Devil take it, no other woman had ever ensnared his senses the way she had.
What have I allowed to overcome me?
For years, he had lain awake at nights wanting her but never allowing himself to cross the line of no return in the light of day. His heart and his logical mind warned him in equal measure that of all the women in society, Evie was the only one capable of destroying his heart more thoroughly than Aurelia.
Ruthlessly pushing all thoughts of Evie from his mind, he scanned the crowd, seeking his prey in the crush. Tonight, heralded as the ball of the season, only those of influence and power were invited from the ton, and Countess Gladstone preened to have her ballroom crushed to the point of discomfort. At least every other public room was overflowing with guests.
Richard understood tonight for what it was. After all, he could spy every single eligible bachelor present, including the peacock Viscount Ponsby. He’d only attended the crush of the season for two reasons. To ensure that Evie was well, from a safe distance, and to see that Lord Ponsby did not get within an inch of her.
Richard had used his influence and connections, probing deep into the man’s finances and state of affairs, where all had revealed to be well. He had no gambling habits or drinking, nor did the young viscount keep a mistress. Curious at how pearly clean the man was, Richard had extended his arms to the seedy underworld of London and discovered the viscount’s vice—young boys. The man frequented a brothel in the seedier district of Old Nichol and confined himself to pubescent boys. He was not marrying Evie, even if he came with one hundred thousand pounds a year. His depravity was not marring her, and if her parents thought to bend her to their will, Richard would remove the viscount from the equation. He was rather comfortable with the idea of society finding Ponsby’s body floating along the Thames with the rest of the city’s refuse and rubbish.
A murmur traveled through the crush before an expectant hush fell over the throng. He glanced up, and it was as if a fist rammed itself beneath his rib cage and lodged itself there. Evie.
She is loveliness itself.
She was utterly beautiful and effortlessly commanded every gentleman’s gaze. A dark yellow
gown hugged her frame, its neckline far too low and provocative. Her golden hair was caught up in a cascade of curls, baring her elegant neck for display. Damn her. She was so sensually formed his teeth ached. Would there ever be a time he looked at her without needing to touch?
“Do you by chance require assistance in removing your jaw from the floor?” a darkly amused voice queried.
Richard’s good friend, Edmond, the Duke of Wolverton, strolled into view.
“I have it on good authority Lady Evelyn will soon be removed from the marriage mart. It is easy to see the reason. Ravishing, isn’t she?” Edmond murmured.
Unfathomable eyes assessed Richard’s every expression, and he wanted to slam his fist into his friend’s coolly mocking face. Wolverton had always been interfering, pushing Richard to do more than just lust after Evie.
“She told me of her impending marriage,” he said flatly. Despite the fact that she wanted another, she had almost given herself to him. It warmed his heart to know she desired him as he lusted after her, but it also lit a dark fury inside him that she could love another and respond to his touch with such delectable sensuality. Denial burned in his gut like hot coals. Somehow, he had been hoping Evie would be different than the ladies of polite society who only held fickleness and inconstancy in their hearts.
“Did she now? Curious indeed.”
Richard snagged a glass of champagne from a passing footman, at a loss as to how he had managed to maneuver through the throng. While he did not fancy the bubbly drink, he needed something to occupy his hand so he did not grasp Wolverton by the throat when his taunting began.
“We are friends. It is natural for Evie to confide in me, there is nothing else to it.” And the fact that she needed lessons in seduction. He fervently prayed she did not think to lure another gentleman to provide those lessons, for Richard would call out the cad and put a bullet through his heart.
She sauntered through the ballroom and for a moment disappeared behind a Grecian column. He moved with the crowd, discreetly keeping her in his line of sight. Mockery glinted in the duke’s eyes as he took note of Richard’s action, but he too fell into step, and they trailed her. She stood beside a potted plant, a glass of champagne clutched in her grasp, speaking animatedly with her friend Adel. “She is with your duchess.”
“So I see,” Wolverton said. “You do know the manner in which you stare at Lady Evelyn is enough to create a scandal?”
Richard grunted noncommittally, and the duke smiled.
“How are the twins?” he asked, hoping to shift the topic of discourse.
Edmond arched a brow, his lips twitching. “They are healthy, rambunctious, and growing at an alarming rate,” he said, pride and pleasure rich in his tone. “And your Emily, how is she faring?”