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She shook her head. “Thank you, but there is no need. I am sure you have your own engagements planned for this evening.”
“As you like it.” Andrew dropped the matter and escorted her to the main room, then departed to see to his own social duties—her parents were chaperon enough.
There was no one that Henrietta particularly desired to speak to, though she did exchange pleasantries with several individuals, and she declined a few offers for a dance. She was not truly in the mood, concerned that she might not find opportunity to speak to Eva if she allowed herself to be swept up into the gaiety of the floor.
She had just identified Miss Darnell, near to one of the secondary rooms and in the midst of conversation with a young man whose face she couldn’t see...when a murmur of surprise went around the room, sweeping over everyone and turning heads toward the door in a tide of movement that she couldn’t help but follow.
The Duke and Duchess of Merriweather had just entered the salon, arm in arm. He was in stately evening dress, she in an elegant gown fashioned in the subtle tones of the Merriweather colors. Their arrival would have been notable enough, given that neither of them was much inclined to socialize, but it was the third individual, entering with them and but two steps behind the Duke, that drew all eyes and was the reason for the furious whispers darting around the room.
He was tall, devastatingly handsome in his evening dress, with his close-fitted breeches and his tailored coat, the understated knot and fall of the cravat enhancing his appearance, though the simplicity of it on another man might have been less inspiring. Lean, strong features, offset and surrounded by a carefully tamed mane of thick, dark hair, a bit on the long side but an inch or so shorter than she recalled.
She was too far removed from the door to clearly see the color of his eyes, but she knew even so that they would be the green-gray of mossy stones by the river in summer. From the set of his brow and the carefully controlled neutrality of his expression, they would be darker, granite and forest rather than the brighter shine she much preferred to see.
Daniel Thynne, Marquess of Salisbury, had made his first public appearance.
And she had no idea what response she should have.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Daniel surveyed the crowd gathered in Almack’s main dancing salon with dispassionate eyes. In truth, there was little among the glittering crowd of well-dressed nobles that interested him. He would far rather be at home, walking the grounds or reading or working on—
No, not working. Not now when the mere thought made his chest ache.
In any case, it did not matter. He had committed himself to this course of action, and he would not turn aside now.
His first engagement was the patroness who had facilitated his presence for the evening. He met Lady Jersey with a bow and a smile and offered his gratitude for her assistance in securing his voucher and his ticket for the evening. From there, he moved through the room in a casual circuit, sometimes returning to Jackson’s side to be introduced to one gentleman or another, sometimes making his own way, making his introductions to young ladies who had escaped the watchful eyes of their kinsmen or chaperons.
Or, in some cases, introduced by thesamekin and chaperons, no doubt looking for an advantage to use in the courtship dance, which might eventually secure him as some hopeful young woman’s husband. There were many of them who were quite beautiful, and some who possessed a grace and charm that might have tempted him, had he not been so entirely put off by the notion for the moment.
Henrietta’s deception had made him even more disinterested in the marriage mart than he had been before, a thing he had not thought possible, given his former frustration with the wiles and schemes he’d had to endure since his return.
And yet, though he accepted introductions and made note of names with all the charm and courtesy he could manage, he found himself completely and utterly apathetic to the idea of making any sort of pursuit or overture to any of them. They were not Hetty, could not be Hetty, and thus, they held no interest for him, even as they offered no inspiration.
He had just turned away from yet another introduction, intending to seek out the relative quiet of one of the smaller salons, when he saw her, as if his constant thoughts had conjured her into being.
Lady Henrietta Stanton, once known to him as Hetty Smith, stood some distance away, elegantly attired in a lovely evening gown that accented the blue of her eyes and brought out the varying tones of her dark hair, which was dressed and pinned in an elegant manner that, while lovely, suited her far less than the simpler hairstyles she had worn as his model.
At the sight of her, the emotions he had made effort to dismiss for the evening came roaring back, hot as fire and conflicting as any battlefield he had ever stood upon. Rage, that she could look so relatively unaffected by what had passed between them. Lust, strong as ever, for she was beautiful, and even the black painful feelings of betrayal could not change that. Hurt, and a desire to wound as he had been wounded.
He had told Jackson he would handle Henrietta. And as he considered the throng of unmarried young women on the floor, he knew with a savage, vicious sense of satisfaction exactly what he would do.
* * *
Henrietta had been following Daniel with her gaze for most of the evening, watching him move from one introduction to the next while also trying to keep an eye on Eva. Eva had gone to the floor to dance twice, that she had noticed —once with Andrew.
Between Daniel and Eva, she was entirely at a loss as to whom she ought to approach first, and how she could possibly manage the matter. She had not expected to encounter Daniel here, despite what his letter had said about rejoining London society. His presence left her at quite a loss, foundering in unaccustomed indecision.
Fitting enough, it was Daniel himself who resolved the matter. She saw the instant he noticed her. Though to any other it might seem as though he had remained unmoved, as calm and polite as he had remained throughout the evening, she knew him well enough to see the subtle signs of emotion. The tightening of the jaw, the rigidity of the shoulders, the way his eyes darkened, and his chin went up all pointing to some response that she had no doubt contained a generous amount of fury.
She expected that he would turn aside from her, snubbing her. It would not be so obvious here, not unless she chose to approach him directly, but she expected that he would do all in his power to avoid any meeting between them for the remainder of the evening, now that he had recognized her presence.
She did not expect him to politely excuse himself from his current engagement and begin to make his way toward her. And it was to her he was coming, there was no question about it. His eyes remained fixed on her, save when they turned aside to make his excuses to some individual or another.
She had the strongest urge to flee from the darkness gathering in those eyes as he came closer, but she forced herself to stand her ground. No matter what her personal feelings, she needed to speak to him. Besides, only a handful among the ton knew that she had even met the Marquess, and it would look strange indeed if she were to flee from the presence of a man she had supposedly never before encountered.
Daniel finally made his way through the throng and came to a stop directly in front of her. Her heart sank at the expression in his eyes. Cold, distant, stern, more like a statue than the man she had come to know and sharing none of the expression and passion that she had seen him invest in his own work.
It was he who broke the awkward silence between them, his tones cool and smooth and utterly polite without a hint of emotion. “Lady Henrietta Stanton, I believe?” He dropped his head in a courteous bow that seemed barely more than perfunctory. “I have heard your name. It is a pleasure to make your proper acquaintance at last.”
