Wicked Nights With a Proper Lady(3)

A commotion at the ballroom entrance had Genny standing taller and firmer where she’d perched herself against the wall. Unladylike, she knew, but she couldn’t find it in her to care at the moment. All she needed was one decent night of sleep and she’d be in top form for the remainder of the month.

The clamor came from a great many voices talking all at once. Newcomers to the ball, Genny concluded.

She scanned the candlelit room for Charlotte and spotted her still standing near the punch table. Charlotte leaned into Ariel, her fan flicking rapidly at her reddened cheeks as she whispered something next to her friend’s ear. Both girls laughed then turned their attention back to the gentlemen who surrounded them; two men actually blushed at whatever her cousin said.

Just as Genny turned back to the entrance of the ballroom, the Earl of Barrington appeared, arresting her attention.

Her breath hitched, her heart beat frantically in her chest, and a sound that was a mixture of hurt, anger, and longing welled in her throat. Stepping away from the wall, she clutched her hands in front of her, unsure what to do. Hiding seemed ideal, but not when she needed to keep a sharp eye on Charlotte.

She’d known it was possible that she might chance seeing him about Town now that she was back in society with her cousin.

Four years hadn’t changed him one whit. He was still as handsome and dapper as ever. It was probably better she hadn’t pursued a match with him; she’d look rather plain next to such a striking specimen of man.

He was tall and imposing, at least a couple of inches above six feet. His deep brown hair curled like that of some Adonis of old. She recalled the soft silky texture of it as she’d run her fingers through the curly tresses and held him tightly in the midst of the most earth-shattering pleasure she’d ever experienced in her life.

His eyes were as dark a brown as the most decadent chocolate and his brows were perfectly trimmed, giving him that devil-may-care look. His nose was crooked; he had boasted that it had been broken not once but twice in his younger days. Why she had found it attractive at all was testament to how blinded she’d once been by his dashing looks and charming wit. However, such meaningless things could no longer sway her.

Hair grew down the side of his face along his jaw, which he kept clipped close to his skin. She well remembered the feel of his face rubbing over her bare thighs, her naked breasts …

She had to stop visualizing those memories.

He was a solidly built man. His frame wide, his arms had been well muscled and strong and still looked to be so. She had once traced the blue veins that stood out on his arms as they lay in bed together. She had grasped his wide shoulders tightly as he pushed her up against the headboard and did very wicked things to her.

Closing her eyes to gather her fast scattering imaginings, she mentally chastised herself and focused on the here and now. Though it was hard to forget the pleasure and the mind-numbing delight they had shared so long ago. Goodness, it was nearly impossible to forget him at all. And if she were honest with herself, which she did not want to be, her focus had strayed to memories of him far too many times to count over the years since she’d last seen him. Had things been different, maybe they would have married. She’d been foolish not to demand it of him after everything they had shared.

Three others of his set stepped down from the landing above the grand ballroom. The duchess, and hostess of the ball, emerged from the throng of matrons occupying her attention; a tight, somewhat forced smile formed on her face the moment she caught a glimpse of the Dowager Countess Fallon in a sapphire-blue dress, her red hair knotted back into an intricately braided bun with iridescent green feathers sticking elegantly out the top.

Did the dowager plan on making a scene? Hadn’t the funeral for her husband been held today? Genny wasn’t one to judge but it seemed odd that the dowager would attend a ball so soon after her husband’s passing.

Genny spun back in the direction of her charge. Charlotte was chattering with her friends, unaware of the tension that suddenly thickened the air and lulled the conversations around them.

Focusing again on the entryway, Genny wondered why they had come to a ball with mainly debutantes in attendance. She doubted any of them had marriage in mind—or, for that matter, good intentions.

The host of the ball crossed a short span of the ballroom and took the Duke of Alsborough’s hand in a familiar gesture. The duke had deceivingly angelic features with his blond hair and sharp blue eyes. He was tall and lean, but she could see the strength all but radiating from him.

The Marquess of Castleigh kissed the back of the duchess’s hand. The man wore black from head to toe, except for the stark white cravat about his neck that further sharpened his handsome features and dark slicked-back hair. He was a perfect contrast to the duke … sweet heaven and tempting hell.

And then there was the devil in the Earl of Barrington. Leo—as she had familiarly addressed him so long ago—also kissed the back of the duchess’s hand, offering some pleasantry that had the woman smiling coyly back.

Genny pressed back into the wall, wishing she could simply disappear from view. Not a possibility with her cousin half a room away and in need of an eagle eye to keep her from a danger she couldn’t possibly understand.

Even though a quadrille played in the background, the new guests seemed to capture the attention of most of the attendees milling about the room. Dancers abandoned the dance floor to discuss the turn of events.

With added bravery, Genny forced herself away from the wall and took a step in Charlotte’s direction. She doubted she had anything to worry about where her cousin and these men were concerned, but she remembered the temptation Barrington represented all too well. And since her father’s declaration, Charlotte seemed to smell a bad decision a mile away.

Hopefully, Barrington didn’t notice Genny as she made her way around the room.

She snorted.

He wouldn’t.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Barrington would ever take stock of the colorless women that had found a comfortable spot along the edge of the room with only the odd wallflower to offer some color among them.

It hadn’t been hard for him to forget her after he had ruined her for any other man. It was a small blessing she’d been spared the humiliation from society for what she’d done. She’d grown into a spinster of sorts, a steady companion for elderly family members, and now a chaperone to her young cousin. No one knew about Genny’s past—with him.

She’d had other suitors: two to be precise. But she could not bring herself to settle with either of them when her heart had belonged to Barrington. He could not possibly have returned the sentiment; if he had he wouldn’t have left her.

While keeping a close eye on Charlotte, Genny conversed about the weather with Ariel’s mother, Lady Hargrove.

The other woman frowned as she watched the Dowager Countess Fallon’s every move. “It’s unfathomable that the duchess would allow that woman in here. The nerve she has to present herself in society with her husband’s funeral held only this morning proves what incredibly poor taste she has.”

“It is quite scandalous.” Genny nodded her head in agreement, though she could care less what her current companion nattered on about. Genny didn’t miss the tongue wagging or speculation that ran rampant behind everyone’s backs.

“Simply impossible to believe Her Grace would invite the dowager. I heard the earl simply stopped breathing at the end. I’m sure he wanted nothing more than to be rid of that woman.”

Genny didn’t want to know how Lady Hargrove had come by that information.

From that point forward she only paid half a mind to what the woman said. Genny was completely absorbed by Barrington’s presence. She couldn’t help that her eyes strayed toward him like a compass pulled by the magnetic poles.

Had she known all those years ago that he’d leave her after she’d so fully given herself to him, she couldn’t say for sure if she would have refused his attentions, even those of a carnal nature. He was a very hard man to resist and utterly charming when he wanted to be.

Had she never met him, she would never have known the touch of a man. Then again, she wouldn’t have been ruined for all others when she constantly craved the touch from only that particular man. It had always been him in her thoughts. Perhaps that was her own foolishness. She couldn’t fully blame him for her current marriageless state; she’d been an active participant in their affair. He had never needed to persuade her of anything, she’d leaped into the pond with both feet forward, hoping not to hit the bottom too hard. She had fallen in love with him in the two weeks they’d spent together, but she had never been able to utter that truth to him in fear of being rejected. And then he had left and it was too late.

Oh, dear Lord.

All Leo had to do was step into a room for her to become a slavering mess of emotion. Tamping down any flicker of desire for him that lingered, she studied him with a critical eye, as the mothers in the room might, and were very likely doing at this moment.

As a potential husband he had many an attribute. He was as handsome as the devil, as rich as Croesus since the majority of his money came from import. The Caribbean, she was sure. He owned a decent estate in Hertfordshire and a large townhouse in the city. And he was in possession of a title built on the bluest of blood.