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She was not so subtly asking him to call on her. The deadly look her brother shot him screamed stay away, but he wasn’t quite so inclined to pay attention to protective brothers. Especially when such a lovely lady openly flirted with him.
“My fault that we weren’t able to speak much that evening,” he replied.
“I know.” She paused, her gaze locking with his. “You should make up for the slight, my lord.”
Ah, she was indeed very bold. He found it rather delightful.
“It sounds as if the orchestra is tuning their instruments.” She glanced over her shoulder, gave a subtle shove against her brother’s arm so that he had no choice but to step back. “I haven’t danced at all this evening.” She smiled brilliantly at Hartwell once again and he swallowed hard.
“A shame.” If that wasn’t a blatant suggestion that she wanted him to ask her to dance, he didn’t know what else it could be.
“I see someone over by the door you know, Daph—” Huxley interrupted and she quelled him with a look.
He wanted to ask her. It was only right that he return the favor. The words hung on the tip of his tongue, ready to tumble forward, but it was as if his tongue suddenly grew thick, preventing him from getting the request out.
He saw the menacing look her brother shot him. Any attention Hartwell paid to his lovely sister, Huxley wanted to stop. Immediately.
“Come along, sister.” Huxley took the countess by her arm and started to lead her away. “It appears Hartwell is too busy for a dance.”
Disappointment was written all over her pretty face and she reluctantly let Huxley drag her away. He’d failed in asking her quickly enough and missed his opportunity. His mother asked often why he wasn’t married yet. He hadn’t the courage to admit he was so worried over making an arse of himself in front of a woman that he simply chose not to speak at all.
Clearly, that strategy wasn’t working out well whatsoever.
Hartwell turned on his booted heel and left. He hurried as far and as fast as he could to get away from everyone, especially the beautiful, vivacious and thoroughly intimidating lady. A snort of laughter burst forth from far behind and he shook his head. Was it Huxley irritated by his supposed rudeness? It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if the lovely widow tittered an irritated giggle as well. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing the dowager countess. What must she think of him?
He couldn’t dwell on the thought for fear it might devastate him too much.
Chapter Four
Daphne pushed through the crowd, the only one in a sea of people going in the complete opposite direction of everyone else. Well, everyone but the gorgeous Lord Hartwell. He’d already fled the room, making his great escape down a long, darkened hall just off the ballroom.
She had every intention to follow him down that hall and talk to him. Really speak with Hartwell and get to know him without her brother standing nearby or any of the gossiping ladies of the ton watching them covertly. She believed she’d seen a glimpse of the real him when they danced at the masquerade and she wanted to encounter that man again.
The fleeting vulnerability she saw in his expression that evening, the naked want, had struck her deeply. She knew that feeling, knew then that society, her brother, everyone had read the man wrong. He wasn’t arrogant or disdainful.
He’d appeared incredibly lonely.
Catching sight of his broad shoulders just ahead, she hurried her steps, jostling into one person after another, murmuring an apology with her every stumble. It was so crowded and hot she swore she felt her skin mist with a soft dampness from all the bodies crowding in.
How did Hartwell feel about pushing through the heavy crowd? How he must hate it. Just from the few brief glimpses she’d had of him, she believed he didn’t like the crush. Didn’t appear to enjoy speaking much, either.
His cheeks had turned a ruddy color when his gaze met hers as her brother introduced them. And she swore his voice shook even more than the first time they met, when he spoke those very few and precious words in his deliciously deep voice. For a man in his position and the reluctant respect he received for his known and brilliant mind, she found his behavior oddly endearing.
Confirming yet again her suspicions. There were depths to this man people ignored. She couldn’t begin to explain her curiosity for him, but instinct told her he was worth pursuing.
Daphne entered the narrow hall, heard a door creak open a few steps down from where she stood. A glimpse of yellowed light shone briefly. Then the door clicked closed, the light disappearing. She slowed her steps, knowing exactly which door he’d used, and took a deep breath as she stopped before it. Resting a hand over her chest, she felt the pounding of her heart beneath her palm.
I can do this. I can walk inside and talk with him and make him comfortable. I know I can.
Searching for courage, she opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He stood across the room before a large desk with his back to her, busy pouring himself a drink of amber-colored liquid. She quietly closed the door and leaned against it, unabashedly admiring his fine form. He was exquisitely made, from the impossibly broad shoulders to his long, strong legs. His dark brown hair curled at his nape and about the collar of his jacket, and she itched to touch him there. See if his hair was soft, if the slight curls might wind about her fingers.
A sigh full of longing escaped her. He whirled around, very nearly dropping the glass that dangled from his fingers. His dark brown eyes widened with surprise when he saw her and he visibly swallowed.
“My apologies if I startled you, my lord.” She pushed away from the door, trying her hardest to appear completely composed. As if his very nearness didn’t send her heart into palpitations and make her limbs shake.
“Lady Pomeroy.” The velvet timbre of his voice washed over her and she stepped closer, desperate to hear more. “A-are you lost?”
His question made her smile. Was the man completely daft? Could he not tell she pursued him like a common harlot? She still wasn’t quite sure what had come over her. “I’m afraid not. You see, I wanted to ask you a question.”
