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Her lashes lowered. When Alessandro lifted her chin to capture her gaze once more, the naked desire in her jewellike eyes struck him like a physical blow. He felt it in every fiber of his being, as though he were a great bell that had just been rung.
But in a blink, the moment was gone.
Turning, Mélisande descended the stair, drawing many a second glance from those she passed. It wasn’t just her unusual attire that drew their eyes. She’d been awakened and it sang out in the languid movements of her body, a silent summons, as she meandered her way through the crowd.
Alessandro’s hands fairly itched as he watched her. There was much to accomplish before he could indulge the impulse. Among other things, he must rent his own residence and move out of Luddy’s house. Finding a place this late in the Season would be a real challenge, even outside the fashionable district, which was why he’d agreed to stay in London as Luddy’s guest in the first place, but succeed he would.
He also needed to clear the way for their affaire to proceed unhindered by her associations. That, he could begin working on immediately. It was time to set the pieces in motion.
SMOKE AND MIRRORS
AFTER OBSERVING THE lay of the land, Alessandro worked his way through the crush to the other side of the gallery where one Lady Angelica Mallowby held court. Surrounded by a crowd of besotted gentlemen, the golden-haired debutante flirted with consummate skill, hiding her becomingly shy smile behind her fan while encouraging her admirers with her
eyes.
But he knew her heart wasn’t in it. Those cerulean eyes kept straying, searching for something. And Alessandro knew what—or rather who, that something was. It was time to use that knowledge to divest the lovely Mélisande of one of her guardians. If Stanton was happily occupied with Lady Angelica, he would be unlikely to interfere in anyone else’s affairs.
Sweeping a gallant bow before the young lady, he gave her his most brilliant smile. “I had to see for myself if the rumors were true.”
Angelica’s eyes widened, but before she could utter so much as a single syllable, her redheaded companion—Lydia, he remembered—cut in. “And you are?” she asked with hauteur.
He stared at her until she blushed. The flood of color was most unbecoming for someone of her complexion. Turning his attention back to Angelica, he softened. “Alessandro Orsini, Duke of Gravina, Emissary of the Roman Curia and Prince of the Holy Roman Empire by order of Charles VI, at your service. I simply had to see for myself,” he repeated.
Curiosity won out over good sense. “Of what do you speak, Your Grace?” Angelica asked.
“Why, that one of heaven’s own angels had deigned to visit the earth. I was, of course, skeptical of the tale when I heard it, but I now believe it to be quite true. I shall have to inform my superiors.” Such worn flattery from a man nearly twice her age ought to make her laugh. Such was his intent, for it was hard to maintain one’s defenses when one was amused.
Sure enough, Angelica’s lips twitched, her cheeks growing rosy as she fought off an answering smile. But Lydia bent and hissed at her ear again, causing her to start and cast her gaze earthward again.
His eyes narrowed. The copper-haired wench was a problem. Obviously, she was Angelica’s most trusted counsel, and he could foresee no means of getting around her. He would have to influence her via one of her other friends.
A pair of enormous lavender-blue eyes set in an elfin face caught his attention. A young lady of good family and meager funds, he immediately surmised, observing her modest gown with its concealing fichu.
Perfect.
“May I be so bold as to beg an introduction?” he asked softly, focusing solely on little Miss Lavender Eyes.
The girl flushed, looking to Angelica with a helpless, somewhat horrified expression.
“Oh, of—of course, Your Grace,” Angelica stammered, visibly flummoxed over the sudden shift in his attention. “This is my dear friend, Miss Olivia Doulton.”
Alessandro suppressed a smile as he made an elegant leg before Miss Doulton, who extended a hand. Hovering just an instant longer than was considered proper, he gently brushed it with his lips.
It was a calculated move. If he was right, and he almost always was when it came to women, she’d never been the recipient of such a bold flirtation.
Indeed, her eyes flew wide at the intimate contact, her blush deepening.
“Miss Doulton, I would be most honored if you would grant me the next dance. That is, of course, provided you are not already spoken for?” he asked with just the right amount of concern in his tone.
Obviously terrified, yet inordinately pleased to suddenly find herself the center of attention, Miss Doulton nodded, rising to take the arm he offered. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”
As he led her past the stares of her dumbfounded friends to the grand staircase, he felt the tremor in her slight form as her heartbeat accelerated. He patted the hand on his arm. “Have no fear, Miss Doulton. I shan’t eat you up. I’m not really the big bad wolf.”
A smile crept across her features. “I didn’t think you were, Your Grace,” she replied, then immediately blushed. “Why did you ask me to dance?”
Such directness was unexpected from such a meek miss. “I was going to ask Lady Angelica,” he said, watching her eyes grow dull (it was the answer she’d expected, after all), “but her fiery-haired friend seemed bent on sabotaging my efforts,” he chuckled. “And now I fear I shall never be able to deliver Stanton’s message. I’m afraid he will be most disappointed.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be referring to Mr. Reginald Stanton?”
