The company of Miss Heloise Hampden is requested by his Grace the Duke of Avondale and his grandson, the Marquis of Ormonde, at a ball to honor the wounded heroes of Waterloo.
Heloise snagged a flute of champagne from a passing servant and took a deep swallow. Parties were no fun if you’d been invited.
She squeezed herself behind a marble pillar and tried to block out the buzz of conversation all around. Coming here had been a mistake of epic proportions; she was in no mood to socialize. She wanted to hit things. Break things. Moreover, she was sick and tired of hearing how bloodywonderfulLord Ravenwood was.
Ravenwood had set up a charitable trust to support wounded veterans.
Ravenwood had healed the rift with his grandfather.
Ravenwood was the matrimonial catch of the decade.
Heloise snorted. For years thetonhad given him up as a lost cause. But apparently a little philanthropy and a lavish cold buffet was all that was needed to forgive a decade’s worth of scandal and neglect. The hypocrisy made her ill.
This joint ball with his grandfather was as clear a public declaration of their rapprochement as an advertisement in theTimes.And despite the ridiculously late notice, the cream of society had flocked to attend, all desperate to see it for themselves. Heloise gave a derisive snort. Heavens only knew why Raven had suddenly decided to forgive his grandfather now, after all this time. She doubted it had anything to do with her lectures on the subject.
She took another long swig of champagne. And speaking of neglect, why hadn’t he—? No. She wasn’t going to think about him. It hurt her chest. She was ice. Marble. Other neutral, inert things. Ravenwood could go to the devil.
For the past few weeks she’d managed to retreat into a blissful isolation, a muffled cocoon where nothing could touch her. She’d been numb and protected; no pain or strong emotions. But it hadn’t lasted. Anger had crept through her defenses, catching her out when she least expected it.
The rational part of her brain reasoned that she should be grateful to Raven for showing her an adventure, for giving her the opportunity to prove herself. She’d vanquished her fear of water, was proud that she’d risen to the challenge.
But he’d also shown her the heights of pleasure her body could achieve, and it would have been better not to know. She would have preferred to exist in blissful ignorance. She couldn’t imagine any other man touching her as Raven had. The idea brought a wave of disgust, not lust.
And then his summons to this ball had come, and her heart had kicked back into painful, pulsing life. She’d missed him the past three weeks, missed him with an ache in her chest: his lazy smile, his company, his teasing. His presence. The way he only had to look at her to make her hot and shivery.
The crowd here tonight was very different from that at the masquerade. Heloise was pleased to see a goodly number of elderly matrons, dowagers, and wallflowers present. Shelikedwallflowers. After she’d received her scar she’d made a point of talking to girls she’d barely noticed before. Not the beautiful ones. The shy ones, the plain ones. And she’d discovered that they generally had far more interesting things to say than the beautiful girls. Ugly girls couldn’t rely on their looks to snare a husband; they had to cultivate humor, wit, and intelligence instead. She was glad Raven had invited them.
She cast her gaze up at the ceiling and found Hades and Persephone among the painted throng. She narrowed her eyes. Traitorous Persephone didn’t seem to be struggling all that hard. Heloise sighed. Perhaps she was tired of living with her mother. Perhaps she, too, craved a little darkness in which to hide.
Richard sidled up, champagne glass in hand. “A penny for your thoughts?”
Heloise lowered her eyes from the ceiling. “Lord Wilton just proposed again. I’m debating whether to accept him.”
Richard sipped his drink. “No you’re not. You’d be bored to tears within days.”
Heloise bit her lip. It was hard to argue with facts.
“Besides,” Richard continued, “how can you consider marrying Wilton when you’re in love with Raven?”
All the blood leeched from her face.
“You’ve been in love with him for years,” he said gently. “We’ve all known it.”
Heloise ignored the aching tightness in her throat and raised her chin. “So? Raven doesn’t even want toseeme, let alone marry me.”
“He doesn’t want you to see him laid low with injury. Male pride.”
“That’s ridiculous. I saw him right after he’d been shot in the head. You can’t get much lower than that.”
Richard shrugged. “That’s men for you.”
Heloise let out a deep huff and scanned the room. “Have you even seen him tonight? Am I the only one who thinks it odd that the host isn’t here?” She waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “No, of course not. It’s Raven. He can do whatever he likes—even fail to attend his own party.”
Richard slanted her an amused glance.
Heloise raised her shoulder. “It’s of no interest to mewhathe does in his own house.”
“Of course not,” Richard echoed dryly. “So what do you think of his plans to open a hospital for veterans, then?”