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Among this company . . . what had Gordon been implying? And why did she feel she’d been chastised like a child? She shook off her questions with a sigh and a sharp flick of her fan.
“Abandoned at your own festivities?” came a voice from behind her, thick and dark as treacle. Definitely not Great-Aunt Charity, who possessed a parade ground bellow.
No, Elisabeth knew that voice. That impudent tone.
She swung around to come up against an unyielding chest. Her glass of wine sloshed onto his coat, staining his shirt front dark red. He stepped back with a quick oath. And the moment burst like a bubble. The man from earlier. A stranger. Not him. Not at all. What was wrong with her that she jumped at shadows?
“Forgive me.” She blotted at him with her napkin.
“Here, allow me.” He eased it from her hand as she belatedly realized the unintended intimacy of her actions.
“I . . . oh, dear . . . you don’t think . . . oh, dear,” she babbled.
He dabbed at the spot before crushing the napkin and shoving it into his pocket. “No matter. At least it’s not blood this time.”
What on earth did he mean by that?
He lifted his head, his veiled gaze finally meeting hers dead-on. Eyes burning golden yellow as suns, the irises ringed in darkest black.
She crushed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound choking up through her belly.
His lips twitched with suppressed amusement. As if this were in any way funny. Earth-shattering more like. “Hello, Lissa.”
