At Last
Jacquie D’Alessandro
One
“Dear God, what is he doing here?”
The words rushed past Sophia Mallory, Countess Winterbourne’s lips in a horrified whisper, her gaze riveted on the tall, raven-haired man who stood framed in the carved archway leading into the elegant ballroom.
The sounds of Lord and Lady Benningfield’s annual soiree – laughter mixed with the hum of conversation, the lilt of the musician’s waltz, the clink of fine crystal – all faded to a dull buzz in Sophia’s mind, as did the more than two hundred guests milling about. Everything fell away except him.
Ian Broderick.
His name reverberated through her brain and she blinked, certain he was some figment of her imagination – not a completely farfetched notion as, in spite of her best efforts to forget him, he’d invaded her mind daily since she’d left him six months ago.
She blinked again, but his image remained in the doorway, larger than life, striking panic in her heart.
How had he, a man of no social standing, managed to secure an invitation to one of society’s premier events of the season?
Her stunned gaze flicked over the midnight blue cutaway jacket that exactly matched his eyes and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.
The intricate knot of his snowy cravat, the burgundy and green plaid waistcoat that proclaimed him a Scot.
Perhaps his current elegant attire, freshly shaved face and neatly trimmed hair – all the complete antithesis of the rough, workmen’s clothing, day-old stubble, and untamed locks he’d sported the last time she’d seen him – might have rendered him unrecognizable to some, but Sophia would have known him anywhere, would have sensed his presence even had the room been completely dark instead of illuminated by dozens of candles.
Where on earth had a groundskeeper from the small Scottish town of Melrose procured such expensive, perfectly tailored clothes?
The questions flew from her mind and her stomach clenched when her attention returned to his face and she noted his sharp gaze intently panning the room.
He couldn’t possibly be looking for her – could he?
No, she’d been very careful to hide her full identity from him.
Yet, the very fact he was here rippled a fissure of terror through her that his unexpected appearance somehow had something to do with her.
Escape. She had to escape. Immediately. Before he saw her. For even if he weren’t at this soiree because of her, his discovering her here would set in motion any number of scenarios, none of which would end well for her.
He hadn’t seen her yet – but based on the way his gaze scanned the room, those intense eyes would fall upon her within seconds.
In spite of the crowd, her unfashionable height unfortunately made her easy to spot.
With her heart pounding hard enough to bruise her ribs, she started to turn away, her every instinct intent upon escape.
A gloved hand grasped her upper arm, stilling her.
“Heavens, who is that utterly divine man?”
Sophia tried to shake loose of Christine Archer, Viscountess Handley’s, hold, but her best friend’s tenacious grip tightened. As Christine was staring towards the archway across the room, Sophia didn’t question to which “utterly divine man” Christine referred.
“I … I must go.” Sophia pulled her arm free and desperately looked for the nearest exit.
Her gaze lit upon the french windows leading to the terrace and she quickly stepped in that direction.
But her hopes for a fast escape were thwarted by the seemingly endless wall of revellers standing between her and freedom.
“Sophia, are you all right?” asked Christine. She stepped directly in front of Sophia and her expression immediately turned to one of deep concern. “Darling, you’re pale as wax. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I have. In the form of a man she’d hoped never to see again. A ghost from her past she’d been trying desperately to forget, lest it cost her everything. And right now that past stood terrifyingly close. If the truth were to come out—
She ruthlessly cut off the thought and, keeping her back towards the man on the opposite side of the room, she offered Christine what she hoped passed for a sheepish expression.
“Too much champagne, I’m afraid,” she lied, praying her very observant friend wouldn’t recall she’d imbibed nothing stronger than lemonade.
“I’ve the most dreadful headache and simply cannot stand the noise and this crush. ”
Christine’s gaze turned sympathetic. “A good night’s sleep is what you need. Although I hate that you’re leaving, especially since that luscious stranger just appeared in the doorway. I’ve no idea who he is, but I intend to find out.”
Dread rippled down Sophia’s spine. “Your husband would surely object to such fascination in another man.”
Christine laughed. “Darling, I’m married – not dead.
There is no sin in merely looking.” Her gaze shifted over Sophia’s shoulder and a mischievous grin curved her lips.
“Although I’d wager that man knows a great deal about sin.
” She returned her attention to Sophia. “I’m certain my Henry would object to my fascination – if that fascination was purely on my behalf.
However, it is you I’m thinking of, Sophia.
You need something – or someone – to lift your spirits.
” Christine reached out and gently squeezed Sophia’s hands.
“It’s been nearly three years since Robert’s death.
It’s time to stop mourning. Time to live again. ”
An image of her deceased husband’s face, his warm brown eyes sparkling with humour flashed through Sophia’s mind, a mental picture that was instantly replaced by one of intense dark blue eyes that seemed to burn a hole through her skin.
“I’m fine,” she said, her battle to remain calm rapidly slipping away.
“I’ll start living again tomorrow – after a good night’s sleep to rid me of this headache.
” She slipped her hands from Christine’s and with her head down and knees bent to minimize her height, she began weaving her way through the throng towards the french windows.
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” Christine called after her. “Expect me to call upon you tomorrow afternoon.”
Sophia nodded without turning around and focused on fleeing.
When she reached the windows, she grasped the curved brass handle and opened the paned glass panel just enough to slip outside.
A gust of unseasonably chilly air, heavy with the threat of rain, swirled around her, pebbling her skin, but she barely noticed the discomfort.
Heart pounding, she anxiously peered back into the ballroom, her staccato breaths fogging the glass.
Dread seized her when she noted Ian no longer stood under the archway leading into the ballroom, but then she spied the back of a dark head standing on the far side of the room, near the punch bowl.
The man’s height identified him as Ian and Sophia sucked in a quick breath of relief.
Thank God. Now she just needed to circle around to the front of the mansion then request her carriage be sent.
She cursed the delay that would entail, but intending to ask Christine and Henry to escort her home, she’d dismissed her driver.
At least she’d escaped the ballroom undetected.
And once ensconced inside her vehicle, with the velvet curtains drawn, she’d be safe.
She turned. And froze at the sight of the snowy cravat mere inches from her nose.
“Going somewhere, Sophia?” Ian’s husky voice, rich with the flavour of Scotland, filled the darkness between them.
And with a sinking heart Sophia knew, that with those three simple words, everything she’d tried to escape had found her.
Two
Ian stared at the woman who, for the past six months he’d moved heaven and earth to find and two words pounded through his head, in perfect time to his thundering heart.
At last.
She looked at him through those huge, golden brown eyes that had grabbed him by the throat the first moment he’d seen her.
He’d been taking his customary solitary walk through the cool forest that marked the border between the outskirts of Melrose and the secluded, back acreage of Marlington Hall.
As he’d neared the forest’s end, where the shade melted into a golden blaze of late summer sunshine, he’d been so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t notice her until a mere twenty feet separated them.
She’d stood in profile to him, framed in sunlight, amidst an explosion of colourful wildflowers, holding a bouquet of pink roses obviously picked from the abundance surrounding her.
He’d halted, surprised at the unexpected sight of her, and irritated at the disruption of his solitude.
A visitor to the area, he decided, as the locals all knew and respected Marlington Hall’s property boundaries.
In no mood for company, he was about to withdraw without making his presence known when she reached up and slowly pulled the pins from her hair.
Suddenly transfixed, he watched a curtain of glossy sable curls unfurl down her back.
After shaking her head, she closed her eyes and raised her face.
A slow smile spread across her sun-gilded features, and with a delighted laugh, she spread her arms wide and spun around in circles, her glorious hair and plain brown gown flying around her.
The sight had enchanted him. When was the last time he’d felt such pure joy?
He couldn’t recall. Couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
Couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to be alone.
Then, with her cheeks flushed and lips still curved in a smile framed by a pair of beguiling dimples, she’d stopped and caught sight of him.