Chapter Two
Edward Colwyn Laurence Brelsford, Marquess of Lockhaven, stared in fascinated horror as the confection previously on his plate slowly slid its way into the bodice of the stunned woman before him.
“I am terribly sorry.” He grabbed a passing footman and deposited his now empty plate and half-filled glass on the man’s tray before sending him off for napkins.
He whipped his handkerchief from his pocket and reached toward the woman but froze, coming to his senses just before he began accosting the woman further in an effort to clean the dessert from her—well, her…
He cleared his throat and looked with rising panic between the three women.
The woman beside her—Mrs. Haddon, if he remembered correctly—took the cloth from him with a distracted smile and pressed it into the other woman’s hand.
She took it, but continued to stare at him with wide, piercingly sapphire-blue eyes that were a stunning contrast to the nearly black ringlets that framed her face.
“My sincere apologies,” he said again, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her.
“That’s… quite… all right,” she stammered, turning her back so she could attempt to repair the damages.
“It was so clumsy of me,” he continued. “I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.”
That was a lie. He’d seen no one but her since he entered the room and clapped eyes on her.
She was the entire reason he’d ventured to the refreshment table in the first place.
So that he might get closer and hopefully garner an introduction.
Anthony—Viscount Goodwin and his oldest friend in the world—was still in the corner struck dumb with shock.
So was Edward, to be honest. He hadn’t gone out of his way to be introduced to a woman in…well, ever.
This one though…he had been moving toward her before he’d made the conscious thought to do so.
Like a bee to a flower. A moth to a flame.
A dog to a bone. He simply couldn’t help himself and that fact alone made him more curious about this woman.
And concerned. This was quite out of character for him.
Perhaps he was coming down with something.
He did feel rather ill. Though that might be more due to the terrible social gaffe he’d just committed than any impending illness.
A pity, that. A touch of the grippe or pleurisy, a bit of gout maybe, at least had some hope of being cured. Smearing one’s pudding down a woman’s chest—an activity he might relish under other circumstances—might be the social death of him.
He’d lost sight of her for a moment, however, when he’d turned his back in an effort to make their meeting seem spontaneous. And then misjudged her proximity when he’d turned back around. Horribly misjudged.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but are you ill?”
Edward glanced at Lady Persing, who was looking at him with stunned concern.
Right. Standing staring with one’s mouth agape after committing such an atrocity likely did make him seem rather…off. To put it mildly. “Yes. Quite. That is no, rather—” He stopped and sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.
Contain yourself, man!
“I am dreadfully sorry. My apologies again…”
The poor woman turned back to him, her cheeks stained a deep pink from scooping what she could from her bustline without totally disgracing herself in front of the entire ballroom.
Though he’d at least had the presence of mind to position himself to block her from the view of most in the room.
Still, she’d likely need to excuse herself before she could clean up completely.
He glanced back at Lady Persing, eyebrows slightly raised. The woman finally snapped out of her shock and cleared her throat.
“Yes, of course. Mrs. MacLaren, please allow me to introduce Lord Lockhaven,” she said, her eyes darting between them with growing interest. Nothing got past the old gossip.
Edward kept his face as neutral as he could make it at the word Missus.
“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. MacLaren,” he said, bowing his head slightly before turning to the other woman at her side. “And Mrs. Haddon. I hope you are enjoying your evening.”
“It has certainly taken an interesting turn, Lord Lockhaven.” Her contemplative gaze raked over him. “Mrs. MacLaren has been a dear to keep me company the last few weeks. She is my sister by marriage,” she said.
“Ah,” he said politely, hoping he wasn’t betraying his disappoint—
“She has decided to stay with us for a while now that my dear brother Charles is gone,” Mrs. Haddon explained, giving him a conspiratorial smile.
Disappointment averted. Edward’s eyebrows raised, and Mrs. Haddon softly smirked before turning to Lady Persing.
Well, well. It seemed Mrs. MacLaren was a widow.
And out of mourning, judging by the soft blue gown that cupped her curves and the generous sprinkling of diamonds and aquamarines at her throat, ears, and wrists.
He should be ashamed of the hope that spiked through him.
Flabbergasted was more apt, however. Utterly bewildered and confused.
Hope for what? The most he ever hoped for when it came to a lovely lady was perhaps a lively dance, some innocent flirting, and then he was off to find some not-so-innocent activities in more experienced quarters.
Mrs. MacLaren, it seemed, was already proving quite the conundrum.
“I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. MacLaren. But delighted you have decided to grace us with your presence,” he said, aiming his most charming smile at her.
What had gotten into him?
A quick glance at Anthony, who had moved closer and was now standing, mouth agape and eyes shining with something that looked like befuddled amusement, showed he wasn’t the only one confused.
“Thank you, Lord Lockhaven. You are most kind.” Mrs. MacLaren shot a desperate look at Mrs. Haddon, then glanced back at him with a strained smile.
“If you will excuse me for a moment, I must…um…” Her eyes darted down to her gown, then back to him, then to Mrs. Haddon, before flitting back to his face.
“Of course, of course. My sincerest apologies again. Perhaps,” he said, his words stopping her before she could turn away, “you’ll permit me to make amends with a dance?”
Her mouth dropped open, and he feared imminent rejection, and rightly so after what he’d done to her gown, but Mrs. Haddon stepped in again.
“How lovely,” she said with a smile.
He was growing quite fond of that woman.
“You would be delighted to accept, isn’t that right, Selena?” she murmured to Mrs. MacLaren, though loud enough for him to hear.
When Mrs. MacLaren—Selena—continued to gape, Mrs. Haddon smiled at him.
“She would be delighted,” Jane said firmly, ignoring the way Mrs. MacLaren’s gaze jerked to her. “We won’t be but a moment.”
The women excused themselves and hurried toward the dressing room that had been made available to the guests. Before they were fully out of sight, Anthony was at his side.
“That was an interesting strategy for getting a woman’s attention, I must say,” he drawled. “Accosting them with pastry…who would have ever thought?”
Edward scowled at him. “It was an accident.”
“I should hope so,” Anthony said with a snort. Then he looked around, eyebrows raised. “Is your continued presence in this corner an indication that you intend to wait for this woman to return?”
“Yes,” Edward said warily. He already knew what his friend would say. And he wanted no part of it.
Anthony crossed his arms and shook his head, his expression almost awestruck. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Edward let out a sigh. “What day?”
“That the lover Lord of Lockhaven would be ensnared by a woman.”
The eyeroll that remark elicited from Edward made Anthony chuckle.
“You are ridiculous,” Edward said.
Anthony pursed his lips and nodded. “True. But you have been avoiding marriage since the day you came of age. This is a novel experience for me. I have never seen you actively pursue an eligible young lady. Or even dance with one more than once. Or voluntarily speak at length to one. You are far more wont to hide from them.”
That rang a little too true for Edward’s comfort. Though, hiding was too strong a word. He was still in full view of the rest of the ballroom. But he couldn’t deny that his position in the corner with his back turned to most everyone but Anthony likely broadcast a certain message.
Still.
“First of all, I am not hiding.” He ignored Anthony’s snort. “Nor am I pursuing anyone. All I am pursuing is a dance. And secondly—”
“Thirdly.”
He glared at the correction. “Mrs. MacLean is a widow.”
Anthony’s eyes widened further. “Oh, well now, that does present a few possibilities, I suppose. Or, at the very least, removes a few immediate expectations. As long as the lady isn’t looking for another husband.
In which case, you will be in much the same boat as with the virginal hopefuls over there,” he said, subtly nodding his head over his shoulder.
Edward scoffed and turned back to watch the door through which Mrs. MacLaren had disappeared.
Though Anthony, yet again, wasn’t wrong.
The sudden, intense, and wholly consuming desire to know this woman, the moment he’d clapped eyes on her, was both a familiar and totally foreign urge.
He loved women. Everything about them. The way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they were somehow soft yet hard as steel.
He loved conversing with them, dancing with them, dining with them.
Making them come apart in his bed. As long as their liaison began and ended with the mutual agreement and understanding it would go no further than a blissful night or two.
And that conversation never happened at all if the woman in question was young, inexperienced, or would ever be in search of a husband. Because that man would never be he.