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Chapter Fifteen
Perdie attended the new Earl of Sherburn’s ball, but she had no intention of dancing with anyone. It was curiosity and the concerned looks from her mother which had urged Perdie to attend. The news of her broken engagement had taken wings among the gossips of the ton, and even though she’d spent not five minutes in the ballroom—had not even paid respects to the hosts yet—she had already turned down the offers of two gentlemen to claim her hand for a dance.
It seemed she was a most eligible heiress.
If Lord Owen had his way, he would be the third man she turned down. Fortunately, the ball was a crush. Perdie was slight enough of build and had chosen a delicate white dress without bright embroideries that drew the eye, so she wouldn’t be likely to be found out among the guests. At least, not so long as she kept moving.
Ballrooms in London were never as large as those of country estates, but this one still managed to fit at least three hundred people with room in the center for dancing. The air was already sticky with the press of so many bodies, and the scent of so many different perfumes made her want to sneeze. As she moved, she searched out her friends from the club, knowing that they would close ranks around her in an instant if she asked.
The only danger the night held was whether or not she would spend the entire uncomfortable evening fending off Lord Owen’s increased overtures toward her. He was paying her more attention than when they had first met. She had already received three poems from him, all praising her virtues and sweet demeanor. She’d sent them all back. Not that her lack of encouragement had cowed him even a little. The last poem had included a pretty couplet about warming her cold feet.
Perdie did not understand him. It could not be that he was madly in love with her. Upon reflecting on their past encounters, there truly had been no passion. He was an ardent poet and she had been a rapt audience, but that was about it. Owen had never tried to press his advantage and kiss her. That suggested to Perdie he himself might not have been as violently, passionately in love as his last poem swore.
The way Thaddeus had stared at her…with such naked longing and tenderness. The way he had kissed her, as if he could not help himself, as if he was helpless against the passion clouding his judgement. The very same way she had felt.
Perdie squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to push the thought of him from her mind. The only way to stop thinking about him was to stop thinking about him! Opening her eyes, she blew out a frustrated breath. She should have stayed home and finished the list of the places she wanted to travel to next year. Perdie and Felicity had stayed up late last night, reading and giggling with excitement as to where they would go. Her mother had listened and reluctantly supported Perdie’s plan, as long as she traveled with an army of servants and Bow Street protectors the dowager duchess would hire.
Perdie had never dreamt in a million years her mother would support her wishes in such a wonderful manner.
Whispers ran the perimeter of the ballroom like cresting waves. Perdie nearly found herself pressed back against the wall before she slipped in between two older ladies to stand on the edge of the ballroom floor.
Felicity joined her, looking lovely in a rose-colored gown, her dark blonde hair artfully arranged in a chignon with curls kissing her cheeks and shoulders. Her bright brown eyes glowed with excitement.
“Are you really not partaking in the wager?” she asked, tipping onto her toes to try and catch a glimpse of this elusive earl.
“No,” Perdie said with a light laugh. “I feel we should be home with the travel brochure plotting where in Paris we will visit!”
Felicity grinned. “It is really hard to decide which is more exciting.”
As the chatter quietened, she heard the first soft strains of music. Not a quadrille or a cotillion, as was usual for the first dance, but the slow beat of the waltz. With Perdie’s luck, there would be eight of them tonight. Swaying gently to the slow beat of the music, a short, round woman in half-mourning colors lifted a flute of champagne and called in a voice that barely carried to Perdie’s position, “Thank you for joining us here tonight.”
The whispering nearby ceased as everyone strained their ears to hear. Perdie thought she recognized the woman, but she couldn’t name her. They’d likely been introduced at some point. Perdie’s family was associated with all the Lords and Ladies of the ton, even though she had stayed in the background a lot, discreet by choice.
“Allow me to present my nephew, the11thEarl of Sherburn!”
A man stepped forward from the crush, helped along by his aunt until he stood in the center of the room. The music swelled. Gentlemen thronged around the perimeter in search of their partners for the dance. Most of the ladies held themselves still. Watching with held breath, waiting. The moment was intoxicating. Even the quartet on the balcony over the ballroom paid closer mind to the dance floor than their instruments.
Perdie found herself watching alongside them, wondering who the man would ask for a dance. Of course no sensible young lady would refuse his hand.
“Oh, dear,” Felicity whispered, her eyes wide and alarmed.
“What is it?” Perdie asked, noting she had paled. “Are you unwell?”
“It’s the earl.”
“What about him?” Perdie glanced around.
The crowd shifted a bit, and everything inside of her froze at her first sight of the earl. The stutter of her heart drowned out the lilt of the music. The gentleman standing before her was both strange and familiar. The dark brown strands neatly tied back into a queue seemed darker in the light of so many candles. Her fingers twitched with the memory of touching those silken strands. From this distance, his chiseled jaw held no hint of the stubble he’d perpetually worn on the road. His common clothing had been cast off for immaculate black eveningwear. He cut a commanding figure, even as he stood looking so alone in the center of the ballroom, slowly turning as he searched the gathered crowd. Even the gentlemen seemed reluctant to lead their partners onto the dance floor before the earl had chosen his.
What if he did not make a choice?
When Thaddeus’s gaze stopped on Perdie, she forgot to breathe. He tilted his brow, looking at her uncertainly, as if he were unsure it was really her. Even with the space between them, she spied the raw emotions that leaped in his eyes. The beginning of a smile touched his mouth, and Perdie almost stepped back. Almost ran.
No more running. But she desperately wanted to.
She raised her hand to lips that remembered the shape of his mouth. When she’d left him in the folly, she had never thought to see him again. That was the way it was supposed to be, wasn’t it?
Her fool heart started skipping with delight as he took the first step toward her. His movements were leisurely, full of elegance and virility. Perdie dropped her hand from her lips and struggled for composure. What would he say? Would he confront her in front of all of these people? Would he cause a scandal and kiss her senseless?
