Chapter Two
Edmund Holt, the Earl of Darlington, looped his arm around the cinched waist of the amorous Lady Grimshaw and led her away from the sewing room and its curious occupant.
He berated himself for not taking more care to ensure no one observed him leaving the ballroom.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been followed by a woman with passionate intentions.
Typically, he encouraged and rewarded such boldness.
Responding to Lady Grimshaw’s offer with a refusal would spark instant suspicion.
It was simple enough to find a private corner just a bit farther along the hallway to give the lady what she craved.
She was a frequent but circumstantial lover—a woman who enjoyed taking advantage of random opportune moments to experience a quick thrill.
Edmund was familiar enough with her desires and knew just how to bring her swift satisfaction.
They parted ways again some twenty-five minutes later, returning to the ball separately.
On his way back, he slowed outside the sewing room. The door was closed.
Was the dark-haired young woman still there, tucked up in that over-sized armchair?
Did he dare to enter when doing so would make it impossible to deny he’d sought her out on purpose? His intentions would immediately be in question.
He smiled. His intentions were always in question.
With unexpected reluctance, he continued down the hall toward the ballroom. There was still a great deal of the evening to be had and no reason to think he wouldn’t see her again.
The ballroom was as he’d left it—a blasted circus.
During his first couple years of society, he’d admittedly enjoyed himself a great deal.
Then, the lights and colors and food and wine had seemed to him a decadent celebration of luxury.
Luxury of the like he’d never expected to experience in his life.
But the glitter soon dulled and the shallow ugliness that lay beneath all the gilt and sparkle eventually became too difficult to ignore.
London’s elite haute ton was not the representation of perfection they liked to present themselves as.
Everything bright has a dark side, just as anything gilded can also be tarnished.
All the finest accoutrements in the world cannot fully conceal a core of selfish entitlement or distract from ugly intentions.
In truth, Edmund liked high society better for knowing its slimy underbelly.
Perfection was boring.
And so was this damned ball.
He spent the next couple of hours trying to appear as though he was enjoying himself while keeping a keen eye out for a dark-haired female gowned in pale blue with a stern expression and annoyed manner.
He admittedly had no idea what he’d do if he spotted her out here amongst the masses.
His interest in her was decidedly atypical, and his initial interaction with her had made it clear that he wouldn’t be able to rely on his usual methods of initiating a clandestine relationship.
The lady’s strangeness was not the only factor out of the ordinary in the scenario.
This was the first time he’d ever been specifically tasked with ensuring a young woman’s downfall.
Toward that purpose, he’d been given a comprehensive report outlining the pertinent details necessary to accomplish his goal.
His quarry, Lady Lydia Balcomb, was the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Loxmarch and, via her mother’s line, a member of the grand, illustrious Fairchild family headed by the Duke of Lindley.
She had a significant dowry and strong social and political ties through both of her parents.
Any young gentleman of some ambition would be stupid not to consider her a perfect candidate for bride.
Yet, she had been out in society for three years and from all he could gather, she’d never received any offers.
Not even inappropriate ones, it would seem.
Every young woman he’d met since coming to London had been of a desire to snag a well-positioned husband. Even some of the widows, who one would think might better appreciate their independence, were still open to recommitting to another union.
Lady Lydia was the first exception. Yet, she’d have to wed eventually.
And Edmund had agreed to become an integral part of that.
After wandering about the room, he took up position near the doorway to the smoking room.
Near enough that he could slip into that masculine den if he felt a need to escape the approach of anyone he might wish to avoid, but still in view of the ballroom.
He rarely stayed long at events filled with so many marriage-minded debutantes, but he forced himself to feign at least some casual interest in the activities around him.
Though he had no intention of approaching Lady Lydia again tonight, he still felt compelled to witness her here in this setting. Such an observation might give him more insight into the lady’s curious character.
At the very least, he’d get a good look of her full figure not folded into a chair.
Lady Lydia hadn’t been wrong in her accusations.
He was—undeniably—a rake. He enjoyed female company and didn’t deny himself the enjoyment of admiring women in all their shapes and forms. He’d committed to seducing the prickly creature, but his task would be much easier if he found some bit of pleasure in the pursuit.
Especially since he had a great suspicion, she was going to make it as difficult as possible.
A point proven as the hour grew later with still no sign of her.
When his continued presence became more and more noted by the masses, he grew restless.
He couldn’t have the ton suspecting he was actually interested in finding a bride.
The thought made his stomach twist as he suppressed a genuine shudder of disgust.
It had taken years to convince society he lived only for hedonism and debauchery; he had no desire to make people doubt his purpose now. He’d have to wait for another time and place to intercept his dark little prey.
He made it through the ballroom to the entry hall and was about to cross toward the front door when he sent a quick glance to the narrow corridor that led back to the small sewing room.
He didn’t expect to see anyone, so he was startled when his glance landed upon a lovely figure dressed in pale blue with dark hair framing a serious expression.
Sharp awareness coursed through his body as he came to an abrupt halt.
He’d had a similarly odd reaction when he’d stepped around the chair to see the young lady curled up with her book.
Then, he’d been shocked to find her there.
And though he was once again surprised to see her suddenly appear before him, he wasn’t sure his physical reaction could be completely explained by that fact.
There was too much pleasure in the discovery.
Pleasure that spread his mouth into a smile when the lady’s steady gaze found him staring at her. Her expression hardened as she also came to a swift stop and gave a heavy sigh.
Edmund almost laughed, but she would assume he was laughing at her.
She was the first to move, fixing her gaze to a point several meters past him as she strode confidently across the hall. The lady intended to ignore him. With outright boldness.
A chuckle bounced in his chest.
Though he didn’t say anything, he openly followed her movement with his eyes, noting the way her silk gown lovingly lifted her breasts before falling to the floor in a waterfall cascade that suggested a trim torso and subtly rounded hips.
She was taller than he expected, though still at least half a head shorter than his six-foot height.
Her stride was purposeful and confident, yet there was a natural grace in her step and in the way she held her head.
Very aristocratic. Her manner was evidence of generations of elite breeding and years of etiquette training.
Her pristine, untouchable demeanor likely came as easily to her as breathing.
Edmund might’ve been jealous if he hadn’t sensed the discomfort in her.
It was very carefully concealed, of course, but he could see it in the firm muscles of her clenched jaw.
In the way her shoulders were slightly pulled back and down, as if she were bracing herself.
And by the very faint vertical line between her winged brows.
He considered forcing her to acknowledge him.
A bow of his head. A low, murmured greeting.
A light quip. Or an intimate smile. But before he could decide on anything, the lady’s fixed gaze flickered as she lifted thick black lashes to sweep him with a glance that could only be described as dismissive.
He hadn’t been able to determine the color of her eyes in the dim lighting of the sewing room. But now—as she walked past him in the well-lit hall, only a few arms’ length away, he found himself diving headlong into the dark gray-blue mystery of a night sea.
Within a moment, she’d passed by him. He turned to see her melt into the ballroom, disappearing into an ocean of swirling pastels as he came back up for air.
The chuckle he’d trapped earlier rolled from his chest. The warmth of anticipation flowed swiftly through his veins.
Lady Lydia Balcomb was going to be a pleasurable challenge.