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“She sounds as unlike you as night is from day.”
“We are indeed very different; however, it has not prevented our being good friends. Lucy is one of only a few people in whom I can trust.” Why am I telling her this? I am not at all myself tonight.
“You find it difficult to trust people?”
Damn. He favored her with a wry smile. “Let us just say, experience has taught me caution.”
She nodded slowly. “As it has me.”
For once, there was no smooth, ready response on the tip of his tongue. “Then, like me, your trust must be earned.”
“Indeed it must.”
“I shall keep it in mind.” The irony of his situation did not escape him. He was trusted by London’s soiled doves, looked upon as a savior by the most disadvantaged and vulnerable women, while those in his own lofty circles looked at him with wariness. “And what will you do if you cannot find this ‘perfect gentleman’?” he asked, leading her back into the flow of the dance pattern.
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I suppose I shall have to be content on my own.”
Percy knew better. The way she spoke, the way she moved, everything about this woman was vibrant and alive. She was passionate in every sense of the word—and he found it incredibly stimulating—on many levels. “I very much doubt that will be your future,” he murmured, smiling. “Unlike my cousin, who is eminently suited for a life of quiet solitude, someone like you could never be happy thus. I cannot see you moldering away in the countryside alone. No. Women like you require a broader and more sophisticated social circle.”
“Women like me?”
Her tone was indicative of an imminent flare of temper. Best to nip that quickly. “Simply put, you are no country mouse, my dear.” He gave her his most charming smile. “The rustic life is not for such as you. You would long for the company of your friends here in London, ever missing connection to the wider world. And being unwed and unprotected, you would most certainly attract trouble of the worst sort.”
She eyed him. “I already have.”
If she only knew.
…
Not wanting to invite further insult or give him any more ammunition to use against her, Eden elected to remain silent for the remainder of their dance. Never had she been so unsettled by a man. She vowed to relieve herself of his company after this dance was over and never seek it again. Mentally, she struck his name off the top of her list.
In spite of her vexation and disquiet, she experienced a tiny prick of regret. There was something about him that inexplicably drew her. But no, as he’d said earlier, he was an intolerable ass. On that one point, at least, she agreed with him. Wholeheartedly. He was arrogant, caustic-tongued, and cynical. And he’d certainly made clear his opinion of her. He thought her shallow, vain, and ambitious.
Given his reputation, it rankled mightily. Could she alter his estimation of her character? Why should she even bother? He meant nothing to her, and she meant less than nothing to him. He was only here because of Wells. There was probably a bet in the book at White’s regarding the outcome of this little meeting.
Her blood heated at the thought. She ought to break away and leave him standing alone this instant! Everyone would assume it was his fault. As if he’d read her thoughts, his grasp on her hand tightened a fraction. Not painfully, but firmly enough that wresting herself free would cause a disturbance.
A sudden melting sensation in her knees almost made her miss a step. Had it not been for his hand impelling her, she might have done so. She tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. When she finally gave in to the impulse, she found his dark eyes were not on her. They were fixed elsewhere—and filled with naked pain. Following his gaze, she saw Lord and Lady Montgomery standing a short distance away.
Shock raced through her, replacing the heat of a moment ago. The rumors were true, then. Nearly two years, a marriage, and a child later, and he was still in love with her. She to
re her eyes away. Her mind reeled. No wonder he’d laid into her with such vitriol. He assumed her to be of the same ilk as the woman who’d broken his heart.
Words of denial were on the tip of Eden’s tongue, but she stayed them. To reveal intimate knowledge concerning what he no doubt thought a private matter would be the height of imprudence. They’d only just met, after all, and men disliked having their feelings trotted out for examination. Better to be silent and observe.
Mentally, she removed the strike from his name. A man who could love so deeply, even after such a betrayal, was not beyond hope. The problem lay in that he was still besotted with Lady Montgomery. It would be difficult to wrest his heart free of her grasp—but not impossible. She’d have to prove herself vastly different from the woman, win his trust, and then capture his affections.
For the moment, however, it would be best to retreat. Let him believe he’d driven her away with his boorish behavior. Let him stew for a bit and think about how awful he’d been. It would give him an excuse to call on her later and beg forgiveness. Eden waited until the music drew to a close. A sense of loss engulfed her as his hand slid from hers. Pushing it aside, she waited for him to bow, curtsied deeply—and gave him her back.
As she walked away, thoughts flitted through her mind like a flock of birds disturbed from their roost. Curiosity burned, but she resisted the urge to look back and see if he was following. Part of her hoped to hear him call her name or feel his touch on her shoulder. The foolish part. She rejoined her group of friends and admirers without incident and looked for him only after she was among them.
He was nowhere in sight.
“Was he as charming as they say?” asked Adelaide in an excited whisper.
Where had he gone? “Indeed, he was,” she answered absently, continuing to search.
“Did he say anything impertinent?” asked Genevieve, always avid for anything gossip-worthy. “Did he attempt to seduce you?”
