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“I see little has changed.”
The smooth voice slid under her defenses with ridiculous ease. Her heart lurched, and her hand reflexively tightened on the champagne glass. Westfall. What was he doing at Lady Beaufort’s ball? The past several months had seen him shunning the glittering whirl of high society. Many rumors swirled about Richard because none understood him, and Evie had begun to realize the small part of him that she thought she knew, the part she had fallen in love with, might exist no longer. Some called him vindictive, merciless, others called him the dissolute Westfall, and shockingly, it was gossiped that those in the dregs of London slums referred to him as the Saint. She had heard that tidbit from maids as they whispered below stairs. The Saint. She had hardly known at the time what to do with such revelations.
“Will you not face me?” His drawl was mocking.
“Perhaps I need a few moments to gather my composure.”
“Rattle you, did I?”
“You must admit your presence after ignoring so many of my invitations is decidedly…discomfiting.” The more notorious his reputation had become, the less frequently they’d had opportunities to socialize. She had dreadfully missed their friendship, and the opportunity to seduce him to her way of thinking.
A breath of air passed too close to the nape of her neck, and she stifled a gasp. Surely he had not dipped his head and inhaled. Had he? It was not in his nature to act so wickedly toward her. Though the ball was a crush, and everyone seemed overly busy just trying to maneuver through the crowd, an eagle-eyed gossiper might have seen.
“Walk with me to the gardens,” he commanded softly.
She faced him and tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. “Hello, Richard.”
A smile tugged at his lips, drawing her gaze to the mysterious scar running from his forehead down to his chin on the left side of his face. Around the time he had found his daughter Richard appeared with it and had been indifferent to society’s rabid curiosity. She, too, was curious but trusted him to reveal how he had attained the disfigurement when he was ready. He seemed so dark and sinister in appearance tonight. A fierce, painful longing surged through Evie’s heart as years of deeply held yearning pulsed through her.
His gaze moved over her appreciatively. “Hello, Lady Evelyn.”
The warmth with which he’d normally greet her had been replaced by cool, polite constraint. She arched a brow. “When did our friendship change to standing on such formality?”
He shifted inappropriately closer, a deceptively graceful quality in his movement, one that she most assuredly admired. She stood her ground, refusing to allow the dratted man to rattle her.
“You are beautiful tonight…Evie.”
She’d dressed in a high-waisted rosebud pink silk gown with a daringly low neckline. It bared her shoulders, and three rows of lace alternating with gauze ribbon edged the hem. At the front of her dress, a small corsage of white silk rosebuds emphasized her perfect skin. Her hair was piled atop her head and wound with more gauze ribbons and silk rosebuds. She wore tiny pearl earrings that matched the three strings of pearls around her neck. “I’m always lovely.”
He watched her with impenetrable eyes. “Still ungracious in accepting compliments, I see.”
“Did you expect some change because we have not seen each other in four months and a week?”
A dark eyebrow arched at her precision in recall, and a blush warmed her cheeks. Drat.
“It sounds as if you missed me, dreadfully, too.”
“I also see you are still adept at self-flattery, my lord. I am relieved some of the former traits from the old Richard remain.”
He smiled, and she forced her silly heart to beat to its normal rhythm. He was still such a handsome devil. Though he had a distressing and myst
erious scar running from his forehead to his cheek, it did not detract from his innate beauty. Most in society were hard pressed to meet his regard directly, and even a few debutantes had fainted upon looking at him, creating quite a stir. But not her, never her. He was decidedly wicked, with an air of danger, inherent power, and ruthlessness that surrounded him. It should have made her wary; unaccountably, Evie only found him more appealing. If only he would conform himself to the norms expected to those belonging to their society, then the battle she waged to capture his heart would be less…difficult.
“Four months and three days are more accurate,” he said unexpectedly.
Warmth slid through her veins, and it was impossible to contain the smile bursting on her lips. “I am reassured of our mutual affection.”
“Are you well, Evie?”
“As can be expected.”
“And Lady Gladstone?”
“Mamma is cheerfully employed with urging my brother to find a wife and provide a new heir for our family line.”
A soft noncommittal grunt escaped him.
“And how is your daughter?” she asked softly.
