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Elegant as the setting was, Adelaine’s heart was far from celebrating. With little appetite, she dimly looked over at the tables overflowing with luxury foods. On the feasting tables below were present tiny finger sandwiches, cherry hearts, and bowls of strawberries and grapes, cooked in wine and spices.
The skirt of her silk, green-blue dress was light and fluttered around her but her bodice and the corset beneath it were tight to her curves. Her hair, twisted in an elegantly-complex chignon sat at the nape of her neck while tiny curls were at her ears.
She gazed over the people mingling there, noting Viscount so-and-so and Dowager so-and-so. These people were at the height of society. She spotted a man with wheat-colored haired who was handsome, over at the punch table talking with lady, or rather charming her. Not at all versed in the ways of seduction—a pair of heavy, dark-green eyes flashed in her head— but even she could deduce that there was no reason for him to be standing so close to the red-faced lady.
Like a lamb in the face of a lion.
The lady’s eyes dipped and a smug, satisfied curl took the man’s lips. She watched as he tucked a wayward curl behind the woman’s ear and to cup her face briefly evoked the memory of Caelan’s rough hands holding her so tenderly. His rough hand on the tender skin of her thigh and his finger slipping inside her so carefully. The memorized feel of him bringing her to the peak of pleasure, had her breath quickening. The tips of her breasts hardened under her corset and warmth was blossoming at her core.
Keep your mind steady, this is not the place for such thoughts.
“I do hope you’re not going to stand there all day, daughter,” her father’s teasing voice came from behind her. She turned on the step with a smile already in place. Her father, in his stern black doublet and silk shirt, cut an imposing figure.
“I was just waiting for you, Father,” she said. “You know I can never remember all these people’s names.”
“Fortunately, I do,” he said as he extended his arm and they walked down to the level where men and women were mingling on the floor.
After he had come home seven days ago, he had left for London again on the third day and spent two days there before returning again for the festivities. She had gone to see Caelan and told him the truth about his crime. His face had gone white with shock and possibly dread that she had found out what had happened.
He had tried to explain it all but she had not listened. She could not as her heart was breaking inside her. After all this time, she convinced herself that he was on the right side of the truth and that there was a connection between what her father had told her and what Caelan had told her, only to realize Caelan was the liar. He had so very conveniently left out that he had suffocated her brother. And to think, she had nearly surrendered herself to him in the heat of that moment in the dungeon.
For five days, her heart had ached, but no one knew, not even Martha. Slowly the ache had dulled to a bleak numbness, and the impassiveness it brought had allowed her to act somewhat normal to this moment.
Heading toward a group of men, Adelaine bleakly prepared herself for a night of learning names, and then promptly forgetting them. The first man she was introduced to was the Earl of Westhall, a tall, strapping man with a rumbling laugh. He controlled a territory as large and profitable as her father did and he stood with a group of his peers.
The Earl spotted them and lifted his glass. “Lord Daffield, wonderful ball, sir.”
“It would be, Westhall,” her father said jokingly as he extended his hand to shake, “if you weren’t drinking all my wine. You do remember my daughter, Miss Adelaine.”
Earl Westhall rolled his eyes and shook his friend’s hand. “Ah yes, Miss Adelaine, how lovely to see you.”
She curtsied. “Good evening, Lord Westhall. It’s is wonderful to see you in good health.”
“Have you met my son?” Lord Westhall asked. “He just came from Oxford last week; his education is finally done. Where is he…” he twisted and looked around. “Oh, there he is over in the corner, Islington. He just took on the Viscounty of Tyre.”
Adelaine twisted and bit back a groan, it was the same sandy-haired seducer she had seen earlier. God forbid he was exactly like his namesake in the Bible with seven hundred concubines. The Earl lifted his hand and caught his son’s attention. Beckoning him over the Earl’s chest literally puffed up and his expression was filled with pride. Adelaine found herself looking into angelic baby-blue eyes but she could sense that there was a devil behind them.
“Father?”
“Islington, please meet Lord Daffield and his daughter, Miss Adelaine,” Lord Westhall introduced them.
Islington shook her father’s hand and bowed to her but when he faced her again his eyes flashed with a certain mischievous light to them. In the next moment, it was gone and the innocent baby-blue eyes came back. “Pleased to meet you both. Lord Daffield, would you mind if I asked Miss Adelaine to dance?”
“I admire your respect, but I do think that is a question for her,” her father replied dryly.
Islington nodded, “Lady Adelaine would you do me the honor of being my partner in the first dance?”
Adelaine felt trapped, surrounded by these men who were looking at her expectantly. How could she refuse without looking rude? If at any other time she had met Islington and not seen how he had acted with the other lady, she would have accepted without reservations. Now, however, she was wary.
“I’d love to, thank you,” she smiled.
Nodding to the men and taking her gloved hand, Islington whisked her away to the other half of the ballroom. “Tiresome, isn’t it?”
She frowned but recovered in the next instant. “What is?”
“Being beautiful and drawing attention,” The tawny-haired, devil-in-disguise flashed her a white smile as he led her to the punch table. “Ale, wine, cider or water, Lady Adelaine?”
Her lips curled. “Just water, thank you. I have not seen anyone admiring me.”
