Page 30
Eleven
Dela Chance’s ballroom
THREE EVENINGS LATER~ QUARTER PAST TEN
Fletcherperused the teeming ballroom for a sign of either Huxley. Satisfaction ought to fill him at the number of people in attendance, but instead, frustration beat in unison with the pulse in his temple as he strode toward Siobhan seated along one wall.
Asshe didn’t know how to dance—something he intended to rectify soon—she feigned a twisted ankle to explain her refusal to partner with the many men who approached her for the privilege. That way, she could still keep Huxley company should he put in an appearance.
Resplendentin an ivory and sky-blue gown, she fairly took Fletcher’s breath away. With every passing day, he marveled at the captivating little bundle of femininity. He’d begun to find excuses to seek her out, and even Darius had taken note, though his brother merely raised a cocky eyebrow as he slid his mouth into an irony-filled grin.
Siobhan, on the other hand, though polite, remained aloof and reserved, watching Fletcher with her unfathomable blue, blue eyes brimming with doubt and mistrust. Somehow, he must overcome her hesitancy. A task not easily accomplished after she’d witnessed his darker nature, but a mission he was determined to triumph at.
TheHuxleys hadn’t visited Fletcher’s clubs since Siobhan met the viscount.
Fletcher’sunease grew with each passing day.
Hedidn’t doubt they were behind the machinations to run him out of business or that they’d hired Prescott to do their dirty work. Flexing his jaw as he strode across the sanded floor, he mulled over the possibilities that kept the Huxleys at bay.
HadLadyHuxley deduced he only pretended interest in her to glean information?
Afterhers and Fletcher’stete-e-tete the other night, had Huxley questioned her?
Astaken as the viscount seemed with Siobhan, his continued absence might well portend a significant problem. In truth, a part of Fletcher felt nothing but relief that she wasn’t subjected to the libertine’s company. He never should have involved her in the scheme to catch Huxley, and now that he had, he seriously considered calling it off and figuring out a different way to catch the wily blackguard.
Fanningherself as she spoke to the matron seated beside her, Siobhan glanced upward at Fletcher’s approach and gifted him such a radiant smile that he momentarily forgot why he wanted to speak with her.
Lord, she was a vision, but her loveliness didn’t solely cause the warmth spreading through his ribs and tunneling into his heart. However, now wasn’t the time to examine the growing sentiment. Later, when Huxley was dealt with, Fletcher would allow himself that luxury.
Fornow, he’d cherish Siobhan’s geniality.
Seldomdid she welcome him with such earnestness.
“MightI have a word with you, Mrs. McKinney?”
“Of course, Mr. Westbrook.” She turned toward the elderly woman attired in a vibrant maroon and silver gown she’d been chatting with. An out of fashion mouche on the dame’s papery cheek quivered with her movements like a fly in the throes of death.
“Mrs. Partridge, I have enjoyed our conversation. I do hope your little MissMousetail is feeling better soon.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Patridge patted Siobhan’s hand. “You’ve been kind to an old woman.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Partridge.” Fletcher swept into a bow before kissing her knobby knuckles. “As beautiful as ever.”
“Flim flam, young rascal. Your compliments are wasted on me.” She turned her watery gaze toward Siobhan. “Save them for this young lady. She’s a breath of fresh air in an August afternoon fish market.”
Fletcherlaughed at the apt comparison. “She is indeed.”
Takingcare to remember her sore ankle ruse, Fletcher extended a hand to Siobhan to help her stand and once she was upright, looped her hand through the crook of his elbow so she could lean upon him.
Itdidn’t bother him in the least to have her nearby. In truth, he quite relished the closeness.
Ashe guided her toward a private corner, he permitted himself the indulgence of enjoying her subtle perfume with a hint of peony, if he wasn’t mistaken, and the way her raven hair shone under the illumination of dozens of beeswax candles in the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Heleaned down. “Who, might I ask, is Mousetail?”
“Her cat. She’s been ill, and Mrs. Partridge is quite frantic about her health. Lonely too, I think.” Siobhan glanced upward through that sweep of sooty lashes. “What is it you need to speak with me about?”
Stoppingnear a potted fern and turning his back to the assembly, Fletcher glanced around to ensure their privacy. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted eavesdropped upon.
