Despite echoes of that anger, she scanned the rake puppies, trying to be a tad more circumspect in her search for the delectable young man, even as she tried to talk herself out of it. When she spied his profile, desire jolted her again, shocking her. His hair was the color of the peach roses in her garden, containing blonde, gold, and ginger highlights. Straight as straw, he wore it parted in the middle, and cut to shape around his ears, with sideburns. The fringe had a tendency to make parentheses on his forehead before he’d brush them back toward his hairline. His clothes were plain, dark colors with only the waistcoat being bright—tonight’s was black and red paisley on a gold background—and fit him well. Her pulse leaped, but she managed to restrain herself from scanning down to view his hips from the front, along with whatever might be showing between them.
His hips? Really, Char? What business do you have ogling a man’s hips at your first few balls without Charles? Much less on someone who probably hasn’t reached his majority.
She blamed Belle. Her friend was outrageous, even to Charlotte’s liberated mind. Charles used to say that Belle’s views on sex were more progressive than most of his university friends’. But even Belle would not go so far as to leer at a callow youth, not even old enough to become a Member of Parliament. Or would she? Who was she kidding, Belle would be encouraging her to touch as well as look. Certainly, her friend would never have made it a year without intimate relations like Charlotte had. But until her first sighting of this gentleman, she hadn’t missed it, her focus on losing Charles had been more emotional and intellectual, despite their fulfilling bedroom activities.
Oh la, he is pretty, though, she conceded.
She clenched her fists, moisture pooling in her mouth, as she fought to pull her gaze away.
He turned and froze as he caught her gawking again.
Turning her back to the group, she watched the doorway for Cheltie to come in from greeting guests.
Cheltie was over six feet tall, and she spotted him as soon as he entered the ballroom. Plucking a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, he sipped and scanned the crowd. When his gaze landed on her, he grinned and plowed into the sea of clothing, perfume, feathers, and fans.
Unsurprisingly, he was stopped every few feet by a guest. In addition to being the host, Cheltie was perhaps the most easygoing and approachable earl she’d ever met, at least on the surface. Most did not realize that he allowed only a select few into his inner circle. It included his two closest friends from Oxford and her, and Charles once upon a time. In part, his walls remained up because he was one of the wealthiest men in the country. Hence their competition.
After long minutes, he was beside her, tugging on her hand for a finger squeeze.
“How are you faring?” he leaned in so she could hear him.
“I shall be fine.” Perhaps if she said it, she could will it to be so. She pressed his hand before intertwining hers at her waist. “But I do appreciate you checking on me. Now go enjoy your fête.”
“Never fear, I plan to. You know me, though. I like to ensure that everyone enjoys it. Even guests who are just dipping a toe back into the cesspool that is polite society.” He said the last words in a mocking lilt.
“Hush.” She shook her head at him with a smile. “Do I need to be wary of rooms upstairs or salacious invitations, or is this one of your tamer parties?”
“Define ‘tame’…” Cheltie trailed off on a teasing note. “I’m joking. I would not have thrown you to the dogs in your first Season back without warning you.”
His phrasing made her glance over to the cluster of men, especially the one from the last ball whose hair was one shade lighter of gold than her host’s. To her surprise, the young man was almost to them.
“Stanton. Good to have you here. How is your family? Is your cousin with you?” Cheltie asked as the young man bowed.
“Yes,” the stranger gestured behind him.
“Good, good. If you’ll excuse me, Charlotte.” Cheltie started to step toward the group of young men, jerking back when Stanton cleared his throat.
“Lord Cheltenham, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your lovely companion?”
“I beg your pardon. Of course.”
Charlotte snickered at his quick agreement. Cheltie was always too casual for his own good, and his parties were likewise structured. It was no surprise when he shortcutted the introduction.
“Charlotte, may I present William Stanton, heir to the Earl of Harrington.” He waved a hand and William bowed. “Stanton, Lady Peterborough. Now I must find the other Stanton for a moment, if you’ll pardon me.”
At her title, William’s gaze shuttered. How odd.
As the earl rushed off, William bowed over her hand. “’Tis lovely to meet you, Lady Peterborough. My mother asked me to find you tonight, if possible.”
Charlotte’s brows rose in polite question, masking her disappointment that he was there on orders from his mother. How singularly disappointing when she was fighting physical attraction to him.
“Well, she bade me to find your husband, in truth. I understand our political views—”
He cut off when Charlotte choked and put a gloved hand to her mouth. Shocked, she could only stare at him in horror for a moment. She’d thought she’d done her mourning and was ready for any and all questions from the Ton. However, this felt like a horrible prank someone was playing, pretending Charles was alive, and it threw her.
“Lady Peterborough?”
“Is this a joke?” she hissed.
