AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Stamma frowned at the board. “Bloody hell. I’m mated in two moves.” Looking up, he began to laugh. “You little minx, you have improved. That’ll teach me to give away all my secrets to beguiling young women. I concede and congratulate you. What forfeit do you claim, then?”
The countess sat back in her chair and tapped her fan against its arm, contemplating. “I believe I shall claim a dance,” she announced. “Right now!”
Just as she began to rise, Stamma looked up and exclaimed in delight, “Orsini, you young devil! What a smashing surprise—but I thought you were in Russia?”
Mélisande’s stomach clenched as the floor dropped from beneath her.
It cannot be!
“I was in St. Petersburg for a while,” the newcomer laughed. “Court was certainly warm enough, but I found the rest of the climate inhospi
table. Damned frigid place. Miserable. And it’s Gravina now, not that it makes any difference. My father has gone to his eternal reward.”
Though the Italian’s voice was a shade deeper than Mélisande remembered, and tinged with an unfamiliar bitterness, there could be no doubt. Still, her mind refused to believe what her eyes had not yet seen.
Rising slowly, she turned, grasping the back of the chair to steady herself as her heart lurched back into motion.
It was him.
Her eyes devoured him as she waited for her pulse to settle its chaotic rush. Five years had refined his appearance. Though still tall and slender, he could no longer be called skinny. Broad shoulders and well-muscled legs had replaced the lankiness of youth, lending him a solidity that had not been present when last she’d seen him. Time had done nothing to soften his angular face, however, but had continued to sculpt his features into almost predatory sharpness.
In a departure from his previous bright silks, laces, and dandified frippery, he wore black trimmed with elegant silver embroidery. But instead of making him look severe, the simple, dark attire complemented his warm complexion. He’d been kissed by the sun, and his skin glowed with a deep, golden hue that set him apart from everyone else in the room.
His skin. Her fingers remembered the texture of it: warm and dry; cheeks slightly scratchy; soft, silken lips. She stilled in shock, mind and body possessed by the memory of their kiss. A tendril of heat uncurled deep in her belly, followed by a clangor in her head as good sense screamed at her to slip away undetected.
Too late.
Stamma turned toward her, beaming. “Melly! Allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine, His Grace, the Duke of Gravina. We met during my travels. Gravina, this is Lady Compton, Countess of Wilmington.”
Alessandro turned, the smile vanishing from his face, replaced by the shock of recognition. “You!”
With monumental effort, Mélisande maintained outward composure. Assuming a cool expression, she politely inclined her head. “I believe His Grace and I have already had the pleasure.”
AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA
ASTONISHMENT REVERBERATED THROUGH Alessandro’s entire being at the sight before him. His unbelieving gaze flicked to her décolletage, and there it was, the same little mark above the heart.
Lady Compton.
Yet she wore no ring—had she been widowed?
“Indeed, my lady,” he responded haltingly, somehow managing to get the words out past a sudden dryness of the mouth. “It is an unexpected pleasure to see you again after so many years.”
“You already know each other? How delightful!” Stamma boomed heartily.
Alessandro watched as Pelham drifted over to stand behind Mélisande.
Taking in the other man’s cold eyes and clenched jaw, he thought perhaps Luddy might have been mistaken about their association.
A corner of the lady’s sensuous mouth lifted. “Your Grace, may I introduce you to some of my other friends?” She tilted her head back toward her self-appointed bodyguard without bothering to actually look at him. “This is Lord Pelham, and this,” she indicated another gentleman who’d just entered the room, “is Mr. Stanton.”
Alessandro nodded to each. “A pleasure.” The Stanton fellow appeared friendly enough, or at least neutral, but Pelham fairly bristled with hostility. Too bad. Dismissing them from his thoughts for the moment, he turned his full attention back to Mélisande. “So many years have passed that we shall have to become reacquainted all over again, my lady. May I escort you back to the ballroom?”
“I should very much like to become reacquainted, Your Grace,” she told him, her cool tone belying the words, “but I’m afraid it will have to wait. I’ve just won a dance with Monsieur Stamma and I’m loath to delay claiming my prize, as he so rarely deigns to dance these days.” She moved to Stamma’s side, ignoring her friend’s bewildered look. “But perhaps later?”
“I should like that very much,” Alessandro responded sincerely, watching Pelham’s already thunderous expression grow even more threatening. The man looked ready to commit murder. He’d seen the look too many times not to recognize it.
And it didn’t matter in the least. I’ve found her. And he wasn’t letting her get away again, even if it meant he had to remove an unwanted rival. “If I may be so bold, my lady, I would be most honored if you would allow me the dance immediately following—if you are not already obligated,” he ventured. He stared into her eyes, willing her to accept.
