Page 19 of Sin and Serendipity

Chapter Seven

Tossing back another swallow of champagne, Robert swept his gaze over the crowded ballroom, absentmindedly nodding his head in agreement, though he had no idea what Lord Sattindown was saying.

To be honest, he didn’t much care. He barely knew the man nor the fellow beside him—a Mr. Gatesbury or Gatesburgh or some such—and after several minutes in their company, he had no desire to know either of them any better.

Just another trite, meaningless conversation, he thought, at yet another trite and meaningless ball.

Needless to say, he was in an ill temper this evening.

Thrusting his free hand into his pocket, he took another sip from his flute of champagne and glanced, yet again, at the woman largely responsible for said ill temper.

She was easy to find, thanks in part to her mother’s bountiful, canary yellow hat.

Not that Robert needed the help. He always knew where Ellie was.

Ever since yesterday afternoon, ever since that bloody kiss in her garden, he’d thought of nothing but her, despite his every attempt at expunging her from his mind. He might have had a sporting chance at it if he saw her less frequently, but here she was again tonight, beautiful in her ivory gown with green lace trimming that brought out the sage flecks in her eyes.

He’d spent all of last night at her mother’s dinner party, attempting small talk with the other guests, trying to ignore her, trying to dodge those blasted roses, which seemed to be everywhere, each one a reminder of what had transpired in the garden.

Roses were ruined for him now, it seemed. Every time he saw one, or smelled its sweet fragrance, he would think of Ellie and her lush, petal-soft lips.

God, that kiss had wrecked him.

Downing the last of his champagne, he excused himself from the conversation, ignoring the bemused looks on the two gentlemen’s faces as he turned and headed off in search of a servant bearing champagne. If he had any hope of surviving the evening, he would need another drink. At the very least.

Weaving his way through the crowd, he attempted a smile as he skirted a group of matrons, fairly certain he’d failed and not much caring either way, which only made him grumpier.

This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the brooding type. He was good-tempered, unfailingly polite, a gentleman with flawless manners.

At least, he used to be. Before he’d met Ellie.

He wanted her, damn it all, and he’d thought she wanted him, too, but...

He sighed and shook his head as he scooped up a champagne flute from a passing servant and took a healthy swig. He knew she’d liked kissing him. Hell, she’d come alive in his arms, pressing her lips to his so sweetly, moaning low in her throat when he’d deepened the kiss…

And then she’d told him she loved his blasted brother.

The words were a punch to the gut, a hard truth he still couldn’t quite swallow, and even now his cheeks warmed as he thought of what he’d said to her afterward, his pathetic petition to choose him instead.

Christ above. Did he have no pride at all?

“Is the champagne that bad?”

Robert looked up to find his brother watching him with quizzical eyes. “What? No, the champagne is fine.”

“Oh, good,” Freddy said, as he retrieved a glass for himself from a passing servant. “I thought maybe it was rancid, considering you’ve been scowling at your glass for the last five minutes.”

“I have not,” Robert groused, shifting on his feet. He’d never been a very comfortable liar.

“You have,” Freddy said, before taking a drink of champagne and giving it a nod of approval. “So, why the foul mood? Is it because of Mother?”

Robert looked at him, his brows knit. “Why would I be upset with Mother?”

Freddy shrugged. “I’ve noticed she’s been pushing the Wrencord chit on you lately.”

Robert’s fingers clenched around his glass. Hell and damnation. Ellie fancied herself in love with this idiot and he didn’t even know her name.

“It’s Miss Wrencroft,“ he said, forcing a casual tone. “And she isn’t a ‘chit’. She’s a clever, lovely young woman.”