Wasn’t quite herself!
An understatement. Tonight she was reeling and in no fit state to spar with him—although hell would have to freeze over before she ever allowed him to see how much he affected her. How much he had always affected her, dratted man, regardless of how worryingly prophetic his comment was. She stared back towards the dancing couples twirling on the crowded floor dispassionately in order to centre herself before flicking her eyes coldly back to his, hoping against hope she projected a blandness she did not feel.
‘Then gossip and scandal must be painfully thin on the ground if I am the current topic of it. And it is my lady to you.’
Gossip was inevitable, she supposed, although surely the news could not have spread so soon? Not when she had only found out herself this very afternoon and had only been shamed into agreeing to the proposal with great reluctance moments before she strapped on her brave face and came here as was expected. A last resort, her brother had reassured her. Only if all else failed...
Although what the else was, she still had no earthly idea seeing that the Bartons were rapidly running out of options.
And credit.
Ignoring the sudden tentacles of dread at the daunting prospect which loomed before her, she tossed him her most irritated and imperious glance as she sailed past, avoiding the urge to run away as fast as her legs would take her to the sanctuary of home where she could lick her wounds in private. Coming here had been a mistake—one borne out of sheer denial that her life was about to thoroughly implode.
He, of course, was leaning against a pillar with his customary, casual arrogance, strong arms nonchalantly crossed. Effortlessly elegant. Aggravatingly handsome. Smug blue eyes far too intelligent for his own good—but then again, for all his many and hideous faults, Owen Wolfe had always been exceedingly clever. Even as the lowliest stable boy in the Barton mews on Berkeley Square all those years ago, his canny intelligence had shone like a beacon.
‘It’s true, then?’ Despite her haste to be shot of him, this cloying ballroom and the new, oppressive weight sat squarely and solely now on her shoulders, his long legs easily fell into step alongside hers. ‘Your father really is auctioning you off to the highest bidder, my lady?’
Yes. Because things had apparently become that dire and debtors’ prison loomed. Something he undoubtedly knew because he had the vexing habit of knowing almost everything well before everyone else nowadays.
‘Is that the actual rumour?’ It took every ounce of pride and fortitude Lydia possessed to shake her head in mock exasperation and to not allow the stunned despair and outrage to show on her face. ‘Gracious.’ She flicked open her fan for good measure and gave it a curt waft while another part of her died on the inside. ‘Well, I suppose while the gossips are talking utter nonsense about me, they are giving another poor soul a reprieve.’
‘You are truly getting married?’ He shook his tawny head in disbelief, his lying eyes appearing concerned when she knew better than to trust them no matter how much her heart still wanted to believe he possessed genuine human emotions. ‘And all these years I had convinced myself you were waiting for me.’
He enjoyed reminding her they had a past.
As if she would ever forget it, when the sorry truth was she remembered it as if it were yesterday.
She had been away all summer with her mother. The day they returned to Berkeley Square, when the carriage door opened, Lydia found herself looking into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, set in the most handsome face, too. He smiled at her and took her hand...and bang! The rest of the world disappeared as time literally stood still, because her tender young heart had apparently decided, there and then, it had found its mate.
‘You flatter yourself. But then you always had an inflated sense of your own worth and ideas far above your station.’ She knew reminding him of his roots would grate and was rewarded by the sight of his perfect jaw lifting defiantly, just as it always had when he was put back in his place by one of his betters. She paused before skewering him with her glare, making sure she was looking directly down her nose and letting every ounce of her heartfelt disapproval show.
‘What are you doing here anyway? I cannot believe you are an invited guest. More likely you are wholly unwelcome and entirely uninvited—which explains why you were lurking in the shadows behind that pillar... As usual.’ Or at least it had been usual in the two years since he had unexpectedly returned to Mayfair and the clocks had momentarily stopped once again. Too many clandestine pillars and tree trunks at too many cloying entertainments and society gatherings, when by rights, the owner of one of London’s most famous gambling clubs should remain in the gutter where he deserved to be.
He smiled, unoffended, yet the way her traitorous pulse quickened at the sight mortally offended her. Of all the men of Lydia’s acquaintance, only he had ever had that effect on her.
‘The shadows have always appealed to me more than the chandeliers—although if you’d care to dance, I might make an exception?’
As if at his command and to taunt her further, his mouth curved into a knowing smile as the orchestra played the first strains of a waltz. Lydia rolled her eyes, letting the irritation show. She was in no mood for his practised flirting. Those deceptively twinkling blue eyes masked a soul as black as pitch.
‘I had
