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19
Andromeda was, in a word, stunning.
A masculine sound of appreciation left David as her slender figure entered the ballroom looking as if a cloud of butterflies hovered about her ankles. The indigo silk hugged her shoulders, exposing the lovely peach color of her skin. Butterflies glittered in her hair, peeking out from behind a host of curls streaked with copper.
The lower half of his body rippled with the need to have her. Longing for her settled in his chest. He took a healthy swallow of the scotch he held, hoping to blunt the worst of his hunger.
Lady Theodosia, also spectacularly clothed, followed behind Andromeda, draped in silk of pale pink and cream.
Blythe went immediately to Theodosia’s side, taking her hand in greeting before circling her like the rake he was.
She blushed at his attention. Theodosia had made no secret of her regard for Blythe, but she would face some stiff competition tonight in the form of Lady Meredith, who had yet to enter the ballroom.
“Blythe is particularly lecherous this evening, don’t you think?” Haven strolled to David’s side, dressed in another coat borrowed from Blythe. His eyes followed the movements of Theodosia.
“Undoubtedly.”
“Your aunt has really turned the place out.” Haven’s eyes roamed around the little-used ballroom with its chorus of chandeliers dangling from the gilt-edged ceiling. Mirrors lined one wall, making the room appear much larger than it was. A request of David’s mother, long ago. One of the last things she’d asked of Horace before fleeing The Barrow.
The usual rage he held for his mother on behalf of Horace failed to materialize. He blamed the scotch and took another sip.
Plucking a glass of wine from a servant, Haven regarded him with a frown. “You’re drinking.”
“How observant you are, Haven. AndI’veobserved the lady whom you seem so taken with doesn’t seem to mind Blythe’s attentions. Why should you?”
A derisive snort came from Haven. “Blythe is like a dog, constantly sniffing around to see where else he can—”
The soft murmur of dozens of voices filled the ballroom, interrupting what was sure to be Haven’s vulgar assessment of Blythe. Beatrice entered, as regal as any queen, trailed by her parents. Tiny suns twinkled from the golden strands of her elaborate coiffure, and small diamonds dangled from her ears and throat. David rarely paid much attention to the aspects of a ballgown, but this gown wasmagnificent. Beatrice resembled not a young lady but a celestial being, wandering about mere mortals, far too beautiful to be gracing the ballroom of The Barrow.
“Jesus,” David said beneath his breath, eyes riveted on Beatrice’s gown, then his gaze immediately shot to the butterflies swirling about Andromeda.
“Magnificent,” Haven agreed. “Though I’ve never cared overmuch for blondes. I suppose you’re determined to marry her. Can’t say I agree.”
David barely heard him. He glanced between Beatrice and Andromeda. He’d seen both their gowns before as a sketch.
Miss Waterstone entered on her father’s arm. He’d seen her gown before, too.
Sketches, strewn over the ground in front of Andromeda, when he’d found her by the stream. He struggled to recall everything he’d seen. Dresses. Gowns. A riding habit. Careful notes written in the margins.
The idea that the daughter of a duke was leading a double life as a modiste was absurd. He had to be mistaken. How in the world would Andromeda accomplish such a thing without anyone knowing? The most sewing the daughter of a duke might be required to do would be tacking a loose ribbon on her slipper.
The bloody butterflies.
His eyes took in Andromeda’s hair, spiked with the insects, and then to Beatrice’s locks, gleaming with tiny suns. If you looked closely, as he was doing now, one could see the designs of the clips were similar, if not identical. He’d convinced himself she was only passing the time by drawing a gown she’d seen in London. Or sketching a butterfly alighting on a flower. But Andromeda was creating entire ensembles—
Clever, brilliant, unsuitable little shrub.
David took another sip of his scotch, tugging gently at his collar. What an incredibly scandalous hobby for a young lady of Andromeda’s station.
Breeding always shows in the end.
He pushed aside his father’s comment. Tonight, he wasn’t inclined to heed Horace’s advice.
Andromeda kept herself to the other side of the room, hovering about the edges, as far from him as possible. She didn’t look David's way or even acknowledge his presence.
He couldn’t blame her. Not after yesterday.
David’s heart seized up inside his chest, constricting until he winced from the sensation. Draining the rest of his glass, he waved to a servant for another, ignoring Haven’s raised brow.
