Page 26 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

The moment she spotted Mr. Marsh standing half a pace behind Corinna, the calculating anger on the woman’s face vanished entirely.

Corinna watched in complete fascination as the stranger’s red lips curved upward. Her expression shifted into profound, terrifying amusement. She looked exactly like a woman who had just arrived at a theater and realized she was the only person in the building who understood the punchline of a wicked, secret joke.

She knows them, Corinna realized, a freezing dread pooling straight in the center of her stomach. She is looking at the secretary, but she recognized the earl first. Why does she look so terribly entertained?

Corinna turned her head to look at the man standing beside her.

Mr. Marsh had gone completely still.

The controlled vigilance she had observed in him over the past fortnight had vanished completely. The proud posture of a man managing a difficult job was gone.

In its place was a rigid, horrifying paralysis.

He stood perfectly frozen, his face draining of color so fast his sharp cheekbones looked as though they had been carved from cold marble. His square jaw was locked tight, his breath caught entirely in his throat, and his blue eyes were fixed on the copper-haired woman with an expression of unadulterated dread.

He looks as though he has just seen his own grave, Corinna thought, her heart giving a painful squeeze as she watched a violent tremble overtake his large hands. He is terrified.

He quickly clenched his fists, hiding the tremor, but he could not hide the absolute devastation written across his pale features.

Corinna glanced across the wide corridor toward the main boxes to check on the earl.

The earl was still standing beside Vivienne, but the bright, charming smile on his dark face had frozen into a horrifying, wooden mask. The lively spark had completely drained from his expression, leaving his dark eyes wide, vacant, and fixed on the approaching emerald dress as if he were watching a nightmare stride across the polished floorboards.

“And then I told the modiste that pink is simply out of the question for autumn,” Vivienne was chattering merrily at his elbow, gesturing toward a box across the way.

She was entirely oblivious to the fact that the man beside her had stopped listening to a single word she said.

Beside Corinna, Aunt Phoebe said absolutely nothing.

Corinna cut a glance at her aunt, seeking some form of rational explanation for the sudden madness taking over the room.

Phoebe was no longer looking at the grand staircase, nor was she observing the bewildered crowd. She simply stood with her hands folded tightly together over her fan, her jaw set firmly. Her observant artist’s eyes were fixed entirely on the secretary’s pale profile, watching the blood drain from his face in unnerving silence.

The copper-haired woman did not hesitate. She glided across the marble floor, ignoring the whispers and the stares, heading directly toward their quiet alcove. Her emerald skirts whispered against the runner with every unhurried step.

As she drew near, the heavy, luxurious scent of her perfume reached them first. It was a rich, intoxicating mix of crushed cloves, dark vanilla, and bitter orange that smelled entirely of Paris, completely overpowering the delicate, powdery lavender and rosewater of the London room.

She stopped precisely three paces from their group, her dark eyes gleaming with a brilliant, predatory light as she surveyed the small gathering.

She did not greet them. She did not introduce herself or offer a polite curtsy. She did not even look at the earl standing across the wide hallway, though a proper acquaintance certainly ought to have done so.

Instead, her eyes darted from Corinna’s confused face to the rigid posture of the secretary in the cheap wool coat. She looked him up and down, taking in his subservient position, his plain clothes, and his total silence.

She simply stood before them, looking directly into Mr. Marsh’s frozen face with a moving, luminous, and utterly dangerous smile.

“My goodness,” the copper-haired woman purred, breaking the suffocating silence.

Her deep contralto voice dripped with a velvety French accent that cut cleanly through the ambient noise of the corridor, carrying a weight that made Corinna’s skin prickle with alarm.

“What a very interesting tableau,” the stranger observed smoothly.

She paused, letting her dark eyes linger on the secretary’s terrified face for one agonizing, endless second before her red lips parted in a smile that looked truly lethal.

“I think,” she added softly, her gaze flicking briefly to Corinna before settling firmly back on the silent, trembling secretary, “we have a great deal to discuss.”

Chapter 10

The air in the grand marble corridor suddenly felt entirely devoid of oxygen, replaced instead by the heavy, expensive scent of crushed cloves and dark vanilla that that Cecily carried with her. Edmund stood perfectly still.