Page 31 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

Corinna enjoyed the sound so much that it startled her. An electric shock traveled straight down her spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks, her pulse hammering in her ears as she stared at the genuine smile transforming his handsome face.

I want to hear that again, she thought, her fingers tightening involuntarily around the edge of the velvet game board. I want to hear that sound tomorrow, and the day after that. I want to be the reason he looks like that.

She shrank away from the realization, terrified of how quickly her mind was making room for a man she barely knew. He was a secretary, an employee. And yet, when he looked at her, she felt entirely seen, entirely understood.

They shared a brief, suspended moment where they simply stared at each other across the wooden game pieces. The noise of the glittering drawing room faded into a distant, meaningless hum. The space between them felt impossibly narrow, heavy with unspoken questions and an undeniable gravity. Corinna became hyper-aware of the way his large hands rested on the table, of the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his plain waistcoat, of the focused heat in his eyes that seemed reserved entirely for her.

“It appears the opera has followed us home,” Phoebe announced suddenly.

Her dry voice shattered the intimate spell into a thousand pieces. Corinna blinked rapidly, pulling her gaze away from the secretary with extreme difficulty to look toward the entrance of the grand parlor.

The heavy double doors had swung wide open. The ambient noise of the room dipped noticeably as a striking figure swept into the space.

It was the copper-haired woman from the theater corridor.

She entered the room with the effortless grace of a queen inspecting her subjects. She wore a stunning gown of shimmering silver tissue that caught every single candle flame in the room, making her look as though she were woven from pure starlight. Her vibrant hair was pinned high with sparkling diamond combs, completely outshining the modest pearls worn by the other young ladies.

“Good heavens, who is that?” Lady Sophronia exclaimed. Her feathers trembled with fresh excitement as she leaned forward to stare.

“That is a woman who knows exactly how much her dress cost, and exactly how many people are currently looking at it,” Phoebe observed quietly. Her sharp eyes tracked the newcomer’s confident progress across the parquet floor.

Without a single moment of hesitation, the silver-clad woman crossed the room and attached herself naturally to the Earl of Ravenswood, who was standing near the pianoforte. She was charming, entirely familiar, and moved with a terrifying degree of ease that suggested she owned the very floor she walked upon.

Corinna watched as the woman greeted the earl. Her bright smile masked whatever words they were exchanging, but Corinna noticed the tension instantly. The earl looked uncharacteristically stiff, his famous charm appearing forced and hollow.

Across the room, the sharp, violent snap of Vivienne’s fan closing drew Corinna’s eye.

Vivienne’s practiced smile had vanished entirely. She stood rigid near a potted fern, her pale blue eyes dropping to where the striking woman’s gloved hand rested lightly on the earl’s sleeve. Vivienne’s chin tipped up, and her shoulders squared like a general who had just realized an enemy battalion had flanked her position. She looked ready to march across the room and demand an immediate explanation.

However, Corinna watched Vivienne’s posture soften almost immediately.

The copper-haired woman had turned her head away from the earl. Her intense, predatory interest was no longer directed at the wealthy peer. Instead, her eyes had drifted across the room, locking directly onto the humble secretary standing at the edge of Corinna’s table.

Vivienne waved her closed fan lazily, a smug, triumphant look settling over her features. She relaxed her shoulders, her expression clearly indicating that a woman who wasted her time making eyes at a servant posed absolutely no threat to her own position as the future countess.

Corinna, however, felt something entirely unexpected and deeply unwelcome watching the scene unfold.

A cold tightness banded around her chest. It was a heavy, sinking sensation of sharp jealousy that made her breath catch painfully in her lungs. She watched Mr. Marsh stand up from his chair, his broad shoulders tensing under his coat as he met the woman’s stare from across the room.

Why is she looking at him like that? Corinna thought, her jaw clenching. She dismissed the earl entirely. Why is she looking at a secretary as if they share a hundred secrets?

Corinna refused to name the ugly emotion twisting in her stomach. She tried to dismiss the sting of annoyance as mere curiosity, yet her eyes remained glued to the way the silver-clad woman finally pulled the earl across the room, steering him deliberately toward Corinna’s table.

“You appear to be gripping your tally peg with deadly intent, Corinna,” Phoebe noted mildly. She poured herself a fresh cup of tea from the silver pot on the side table.

Corinna looked down and realized her knuckles were completely white.

“I am perfectly calm, Aunt Phoebe,” Corinna lied. She forced her stiff fingers to uncurl from the small wooden piece, setting it carefully on the velvet board.

“Of course you are,” Phoebe agreed. She did not sound convinced in the slightest. “But perhaps you should keep your hands away from any sharp objects, just to be safe.”

Phoebe said absolutely nothing useful to help Corinna navigate the sudden storm of anxiety brewing in her chest. The older woman simply sipped her tea and watched the approaching trio with mild, calculating entertainment.

The copper-haired woman came to a halt before their table with the earl trailing slightly behind her. Her smile was brilliant, calibrated to the exact degree of warmth required to disarm a rival.

“My dear Mrs. Cavendish, and the lovely Miss Ashwell,” the woman purred. Corinna recognized instantly her voice from the theater.

“Good evening,” Phoebe responded evenly. She did not bother to stand or offer a curtsy.