To Love A Wicked Scoundrel. Anabelle Bryant

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      The musicians took up their instruments and as she stood on the cusp of the marble floor, dance card on her wrist and champagne glass in hand, Isabelle could almost hear Meredith’s rehearsed plan of strategy and see her stepmother’s diligent gaze darting around the room. Any stranger would assume the lady had something in her eye or was bothered by the huge candle filled chandeliers that bathed the dance floor in soft golden hues. Isabelle rolled her eyes and caught a glance of the elaborate crystal lighting overhead. The shimmering display gave her pause.

      The ballroom did look uncommonly beautiful if she allowed herself to appreciate it. Every colour of the rainbow was represented by the beau monde’s extravagant mode of dress. Ample arrangements of flowers graced each available surface not covered with syllabub, sweets and savouries. Much to her delight, Isabelle had noticed a rare bouquet of tulips on the entryway chiffonier as they had whisked though the doorway earlier. Servants bustled about and elegant laughter wafted over the delicate strains of the orchestra. The evening did feel a little enchanted. She took a small sip of champagne and rationalised how it proved impractical to be ensconced in the ballroom and not take full advantage of the situation. Isabelle prided herself on resourcefulness.

      With a bemused smile, she relaxed in her new satin slippers. How she had fussed and complained throughout the entire shopping trip to Bond Street, protesting she had no time for foolish vanity. But now she could not be happier she had heeded Meredith’s advice. Dressed in a deep glittering shade of green, she complemented the lovely ladies surrounding her. An unfamiliar, but welcomed feeling washed over her.

      ***

      Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, was not currently ensconced in conversation with a bevy of fluttering females, nor otherwise occupied with a Johnny raw anxious to copy his style or listen to tales of his exploits. Instead, he’d retreated to the study with his closest friends to enjoy an aged brandy courtesy of Lord Rochester’s liquor cabinet. Beside him, Devlin Ravensdale, Duke of Wharncliffe, and Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst, discussed the purchase of a new barouche. The three of them enjoyed a solid friendship although Devlin rarely mixed with society. Phineas, the tallest and most reserved, balanced family obligations with social responsibilities. He presented himself as a fine gentleman and was considered a prime husband candidate by those who compiled such lists. A stark contrast to Devlin, a dark, reclusive man who lived in secret and shadow. Yet no matter their differences, the men had formed a strong bond, one for which Constantine was grateful.

      For the umpteenth time his thoughts returned to the runaway hack and the loss of his artwork. He did not fear discovery as no one in their right mind could decipher the scrawled signature in the lower corner of each work as his name. But the paintings were a part of him, an expression put upon canvas, and he wanted them returned. The hackney yard had record of Brooks ordering a hired vehicle, yet two had shown instead of one, the second carriage arriving nearly twenty minutes later than the first, the driver flustered and apologetic. The entire situation vexed Con immensely.

      Taking a long sip of brandy, he glanced to where his friends played at the bagatelle board. The clicking noise of the ivory balls as they struck the pins distracted him from his dark thoughts and he snatched up the cue stick as soon as it was thrust in his direction.

      ‘How is it that you never tire of these evenings? Were you to take count, how many events of the ton have you attended over the years?’ Devlin asked the question, although his tone implied he did not expect a serious answer.

      ‘Do you regret your abrupt absence from the social scene, or do you merely prod me towards wedded bliss to help me avoid the monotony of these evenings?’ Constantine paused and realigned his stick. ‘It is not all as it appears. While I attend these functions out of obligation, there is little to spark my interest. I suppose the ton and I share an unhealthy dependency. Lately, more than anything else, these gatherings feel an exercise in tedium.’ He completed a difficult shot and grinned with confidence. ‘Although last week Lord Croft accidently dropped his quizzing glass down the bodice of Lady Hemphrey’s dress. I might not have known anything had happened as I was seeking fresh air on the terrace, but Lady Hemphrey cornered me and made me aware of the mishap. She proceeded to suggest I be the one to retrieve the monocle. I narrowly escaped. She is much stronger than I presumed a sixty-year-old woman to be.’

      ‘Better that than to be pursued by a matchmaking mama at her daughter’s first come out.’ Phineas missed his shot, but appeared no worse for it.

      ‘Con? With an innocent?’ Devlin stifled a laugh. ‘I cannot imagine such a thing. Too much potential for disaster there: angry fathers; duel-threatening brothers. Our friend is all about pleasure easily found.’ He aligned his cue and took the next shot.

      ‘Indeed, you have a point.’

      The three men shared a chuckle and the evening continued in a jovial manner. When they had completed two rounds of bagatelle and knew they could no longer remain preoccupied in the study, the men walked to the main ballroom and out among the crush. Too many couples occupied the dance floor now the event was in full swing. As Con contemplated escape, he eyed the double doors leading to the foyer and stalled. His entire body pulsed with awareness.

      ‘Who is she?’

       Bloody hell, she was a goddess.

      He waved his gloved hand towards the doorway and his friends turned in the direction indicated, although Con was hardly aware of anyone talking beside him.

      ‘Haven’t the foggiest?’ Phineas spared a fleeting glance.

      ‘I have never seen her before. Leave it to you to find the newcomer in the crowd. There are easily three hundred people crammed in this ballroom. Your attention to detail is a gift.’ Devlin excused himself and Phineas remained, his expression dark as he considered the dense crowd.

      A footman walked by and Constantine paused him with a touch to his shoulder. ‘Do me a favour, good man, and inquire as to the name of the lady near the arched doorway. I will await your return. If she will allow it, inform her Lord Highborough requests the last waltz of the evening.’

      The footman scurried away without hesitation and Phineas whirled in his direction, his brows raised and eyes wide.

      ‘I have just witnessed a miracle. No one will believe me when I retell the story.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘The profligate Earl of Colehill enlisted the assistance of a footman to secure the midnight waltz.’

      ‘And it was good of me to do so,’ Con rebutted in defence. ‘The crowd is so thick I have already lost sight of the lady. I can only hope she has an opening on her card.’

      ‘Indeed, this is something new altogether.’

      ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Con refused to shift his focus, although he could no longer locate the breathtaking beauty under the arch.

      ‘Nothing. The footman is a very useful device when considering how dangerous it is for you to move about society with all the ladies falling at your feet.’ Phineas smiled, seemingly pleased with himself.

      Con speared him with a cautionary stare.

      His friend continued. ‘Take heart, the evening is already half spent. In no time I suspect you will find the lady in your arms and later in your bed.’

      His friends were well aware of his habits. There seemed little sense in denying what he hoped would СКАЧАТЬ