"What pretty young lady?"
"That one." Lincolnshire motioned with his head. "The lovely Lady Corinna."
Corinna. Though London was surely home to more than one woman with the name, when Sean looked to where Lincolnshire had indicated, he already knew what he would see.
Shining dark hair, beckoning blue eyes. That air of sensuality that made his fists bunch at his sides to keep from reaching to touch.
Bloody hell, he had met another member of the ton.
"Mr. Hamilton!" she gushed as she approached, making him realize she'd already called out, "Mr. Hamilton," several times. Sweet Jesus, he'd known he would forget to answer to his brother-in-law's name. "What a pleasure it is to see you again!"
"Again?" Lincolnshire asked.
"I met your nephew in the British Museum," she explained enthusiastically. "But when I went to introduce him to my sisters, he was gone." She turned to two other women who had followed her. "Here he is at last, the talented and reclusive John Hamilton. Mr. Hamilton, this is my sister, Lady Stafford, and her mother-in-law, Lady Cavanaugh."
Both women curtsied. Lady Cavanaugh looked kind and motherly. Lady Stafford was pretty like her sister, but not nearly as voluptuous. The petite and sprightly type.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not Mr. Hamilton." Sean turned to Lord Lincolnshire. "Tell them, Uncle."
The earl's eyes danced; clearly he was enjoying this bit of subterfuge. "Of course you're Mr. Hamilton." His papery lips curved into a smile as he focused on the three women, making Sean imagine he must have been a bit of a flirt back in the day. "But he's Sean Hamilton," he told the ladies. "Sean, not John. My other nephew."
Never in his life had Sean heard anyone sound less convincing.
Lady Cavanaugh leaned down to give Lincolnshire's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "I know you're not feeling yourself these days, my lord, but you've only one nephew."
"I may have lost the use of my legs, but I assure you, dear lady, I haven't lost my mind along with them." An unapologetic grin spreading on his face, he turned to Sean. "I'm afraid our ruse didn't work."
"I knew it!" Corinna exclaimed loudly enough to wake the dead. Heads snapped around as other guests looked to see what was up. "You are John Hamilton!"
Sean didn't know whether he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. Both, he decided as whispers ricocheted around the room.
"John Hamilton?"
"The John Hamilton?"
The whispers became a buzz. "John Hamilton!"
"It's John Hamilton!"
Moving behind Lincolnshire to prevent the earl from seeing him, Sean shook his head wildly in an attempt to wordlessly inform Corinna she was wrong. But she only frowned in confusion, and he was too late in any case. A matron was already waddling near, pulling an obviously shy, marriage-aged daughter by the hand.
"Lord Lincolnshire, may I beg an introduction to your illustrious nephew?"
Another lady seemed to appear from nowhere. "Is this your heir, Lord Lincolnshire?"
A third lady shoved in front of her. "Mr. Hamilton, my Matilda is a diamond of the first water."
Lincolnshire puffed up like a peacock, albeit a seated one. "Our secret is out." Pride was evident in his tone. "I'm pleased to have you all meet the next Lord Lincolnshire. My nephew, Mr. John Hamilton."
Sean cringed as matchmaking mamas came out of the woodwork, their eligible daughters in tow. Corinna disappeared, or maybe she was pushed away by the expanding crowd. He spent the next few minutes at Lincolnshire's side, pondering how to escape this coil while he made small talk with an unceasing parade of all-but-identical insipid misses.
"Sean."
Feeling a tug on his tailcoat, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Uncle, you must be exhausted. Shall we leave? I'll take you home."
"Balderdash. I haven't felt so energetic in weeks. I wish to see you dance with one of these lovelies."
The not-so-lovely mamas started shoving their charges Sean's way.
"I couldn't choose," he protested amiably. But he wasn't feeling amiable at all. What he felt instead was a rising pressure in his chest.
The last thing he wanted to do was dance.
His mother had dragged him to many a village ceili. A vicar's family should be social, he heard her sweet voice in his memory. But he'd never been a man who enjoyed dancing. Even more to the point, Irish dance parties featured jigs and reels. No ceili band ever played a waltz.
And Lady Partridge seemed partial to waltzes. Or perhaps the musicians she'd hired preferred playing them. Either way, the last dance had been a waltz, a waltz was playing now, and Sean would lay odds a waltz would come next.
He aimed a smile at Hamilton's uncle. "Besides, I should stay with you."
"I think not." One of the earl's grizzled brows went up. "I've a mind to see you settled before I die."
Settled? Posing as the man's nephew was bad enough—Sean would go only so far in an effort to placate the old fellow. And a wedding went rather beyond that boundary.
Miles beyond that boundary.
And then he remembered.
"I'm quite settled already. I'm married, if you've forgotten." The real Hamilton was married, after all. Had he not been married—to Deirdre—Sean wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place. "I've been married for ten long years."
Audible sighs could be heard from all the females.
"Ah, yes," Lincolnshire mused. "I'd forgotten about that. And I've never seen your wife in all that time."
The old man hadn't seen Hamilton in all that time, either, but Sean wouldn't be the one to remind him. "Deirdre is a wonderful lady."
The earl's forehead furrowed. "I seem to recall rumor has it you two don't rub along."
"To the contrary," Sean assured him. "The two of us rub along grandly."
Someone snorted, and a few other bystanders murmured, evidently recalling the same rumors. Or, more likely, rumors of the artist bedding countless women. Well, Sean supposed, it wasn't all that surprising to find Hamilton's reputation preceded him. Some of the man's bastards probably lived right here in London.
"Where is
