Lily’s skin tingled at the sound of his voice, smooth and rich, like chocolate.
When Lord Michaels gave her name, she lifted her gaze again, but Lord Harte barely flicked a glance in her direction and did not repeat the nod he gave the other girls.
In short, he slighted her.
Harshly, unreasonably, and quite obviously.
Lady Anne gasped at the insult, but Lily was likely the only one in their group who heard it, as Lord Harte was already addressing Miss Farindon again.
“Miss Farindon, would you give me the pleasure of a dance?”
The young woman’s smile curved coyly as she replied, “Of course, my lord. I would be delighted.”
Lily watched the couple glide out onto the dance floor, her cheeks still burning in response to his insult.
Lord Michaels, who had been a friend of Lily’s parents before their deaths, turned to her with an apologetic expression. “My dear, I am sorry. I would not have facilitated the introduction had I anticipated such rudeness.”
Lily forced a smile. She would not have the kind gentleman feeling any guilt for the unfortunate interaction. “No need for concern, Lord Michaels. I am quite unscathed.”
The older man murmured another uncomfortable apology before turning to take his leave.
Lady Anne started to offer assurances, saying Lily shouldn’t take the cut to heart. The man was obviously ill-mannered and Miss Farindon was welcome to him if she had such an affinity for danger, whereas the two of them were far too sensible to attract the attention of a man like him and should be grateful for it.
Lily only half listened. Her gaze tracked Lord Harte’s position while he escorted his partner through the steps of the country dance. He displayed a predatory grace in the concise manner of his movements. Every step, every gesture, every turn of his head was carefully executed with as much forethought as Lily’s older sister, Emma, put into the family budget.
For weeks, Lily and her younger sister, Portia, had been putting their most charming feet forward in desperate attempts to lure proper suitors. At twenty, Lily was older than most of the other debutantes being presented. Still, she had begun her Season with high hopes. Emma worked diligently to see their family through the financial hardship inherited from their father, and Lily was determined to do her part and marry well to relieve as much of the burden as possible.
Gratefully, the Chadwick sisters had managed to claim some modest success with their debuts so far. A good number of gentlemen signed Lily’s dance card at every ball. Suitors called on her during the day. She was invited to soirees, musicales, and walks through Hyde Park.
But none of the men had actually offered for her hand.
Worse than that, Lily did not want them to.
She had tried. She really had. She did not have high expectations. There was really only one criteria she required in her future husband. She hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to come by. She did her best to keep an open mind as she met gentleman after gentleman since her debut. Hoping—expecting—one of them to spark at least a flicker of passion.
Though she was more than willing to do her duty to her family, she would not sacrifice her personal, private yearning for more than a marriage of polite consideration. She wanted to know true passion and desire. She wanted to understand what it was to feel physical yearning for another person.
But it had never happened.
Her suitors were, each of them, of proper social standing, adequate wealth, and pleasant character.
It was simply that none of them inspired even a hint of the fire she longed to experience.
Yet tonight, in those short seconds when her eyes had met those of the Earl of Harte, Lily had felt more alive than she had known was possible. The disturbing connection had a visceral, elemental effect upon her.
As Lily watched the earl turning about with Miss Farindon under the glittering lights, an aching unfurled in her chest. She had a horrible suspicion he was the one.
And he had already rejected her.
Two
“Would you mind terribly, Miss Chadwick, if we did not continue to the dance floor after all?” The question came from Lord Fallbrook just as he led Lily away from where she had been standing beside Emma, her older sister and guardian.
Lord Fallbrook had been an attentive suitor from Lily’s very first public engagement of the season. He was young, handsome, and charming—if not perhaps a bit overly so—and he had enough wealth to make him an ideal prospect for marriage.
Emma had suspected for some time now that Lord Fallbrook would be making an offer. Lily was not quite as confident. Despite his winning smile and flirtatious manner, the man did not exude sincerity.
When she glanced at him, he smiled in way she guessed was meant to be self-effacing, but he didn’t quite manage the effect when layered over his deeply imbedded arrogance.