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She didn't have long to wait.
“Tell me,” Margaret whispered, leaning closer to Breanna as if to share a coveted secret. “I'm dying to know. How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
A puff of tinkling laughter. “You needn't be modest. Not with me. I'm duly impressed. So tell me, how did you convince him to come?”
“Convince who to come?” Breanna was beginning to feel like a total idiot.
The look Margaret gave her did nothing to erase that feeling. “Who?” she repeated incredulously. “Why, Royce Chadwick, of course. He's refused every invitation since returning from India. And last Season he made only three appearances, none of them for more than an hour. Yet you managed to lure him to your party. How did you do it?”
Breanna followed Margaret's line of vision, easily spotting Lord Royce conversing with a group of gentlemen. Then again, Lord Royce would be easy to spot anywhere, even in a large crowd such as this. His height and build, his powerful presence, those hard, ark, dangerously handsome good looks—especially lad in formal evening clothes— were enough to at-:act any woman's eye.
Clearly, they attracted every woman's eye. And Margaret Warner was no exception.
“I...” Breanna wet her lips with the tip of her tongue , desperately trying to think of a reply. She recalled Lord Royce mentioning that he rarely attended parties, but it never occurred to her that his appearance here would cause such an extreme reaction.
Then again, it should have occurred to her. Judging from the look on Margaret Warner's face, Royce Chadwick was not only noticed by every breathing unattached female in the ton, he was coveted by them, as well.
“Don't keep me in suspense,” Margaret hissed. Tell me. Have you known him long?”
“He's a friend of Damen's,” Breanna finally replied, realizing that she couldn't stand there gaping and saying nothing forever. “I believe they're business associates.” She prayed that wasn't a confidential tidbit he'd just revealed. But Lord help her, she had to say something.
“So you're not acquainted with him yourself.” Margaret's face fell. “I was hoping you could put in a kind word ... that is...”
Breanna understood precisely what Margaret was toping. The question was, how did she respond?
She was mulling it over when Royce Chadwick looked up, staring directly toward the musicians and finding her with an ease that made her suspect he knew exactly where she was now, and probably where he'd been from the instant she entered the ballroom.
His midnight blue gaze locked with hers.
The impact was staggering, like a blow knocking the breath right from her lungs, and Breanna had to fight the urge to gasp in air. Instead, she merely stood there, unable to look away, watching as he made his way across the room, heading purposefully toward her.
“Breanna?” Margaret repeated, obviously unsettled by Breanna's silence, as well as by the fact that she had to humble herself in a fashion that was utterly foreign to her. “Have you met him or not?”
“Yes,” Breanna heard herself say. “I've met him.''
“Ah.” Margaret released a heartfelt sigh. “Then Anastasia has introduced you. Good. Would you do me the same favor? I mean, I've actually been introduced—twice—and even shared a dance or two with him. But it can't hurt to refresh his memory. It would certainly ease my way—some idle chatter, a waltz, maybe even a moonlight stroll. After that, the rest should go smoothly.”
Breanna scarcely heard what Margaret was saying. Because at that moment, the very man her friend was plotting to snare was reaching their sides.
“Good evening, Lady Breanna.” Royce bowed, lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “Thank you for inviting me to this lovely party.”
Breanna's heart began slamming against her ribs and, suddenly, she knew why she'd reacted so strongly.
This was a different Royce Chadwick, not the implacable man who hunted down criminals, understood their minds. This was an elegant, polished nobleman who blended in with the ton —polite, sociable, alarmingly charismatic. No —not just charismatic Seductive. Desirable. Exciting in a way that had nothing to do with outwitting an enemy.
This man was more dangerous than the one she'd originally met.
“I'm delighted to have you, my lord,” she managed, then felt hot color rush to her cheeks at the implication of her own words. She found herself praying it was only her heightened senses that were causing her to view her comment in such a lascivious fashion.
If Lord Royce perceived anything out of the ordinary, he didn't show it. “I'm delighted to be here.”
Thank heavens. He'd missed it.
“You're flushed,” he added with offhanded ease. “May I get you some punch?”
He hadn't missed it. Or if he'd missed the indecent connotation of her words, he certainly hadn't missed her flustered reaction to them.
