Julia London (65 page)

Two days later, at an afternoon reception held in honor of a war hero-turned-brilliant-parliamentarian, Lauren sighed and leaned against a colonnade. Lord and Lady Granbury’s ballroom was positively filled to capacity, but she found the reception desperately boring. She would not have come at all had Ethan not demanded she allow Magnus to escort her to the event. Knowing the whole
ton
would be in attendance, he had determined that if his ridiculous attempts to settle a betrothal agreement with Magnus did not come to fruition, he would not waste the opportunity to parade her about.

Paul had come along, too, he said, “to keep an eye on things.” Lauren suspected the real reason was the chance to meet Sir Robert Peel, the Home Secretary. Her brother was quite glowing in his admiration of Peel and his progressive reforms; in fact, he had disappeared into the crowd the moment they arrived, using his cane to forge a path.

She glanced at Magnus standing beside her; he winked subtly. She attempted a weak smile, but she did not feel like smiling. She did not feel like doing anything except crawling
into her hideous bed with the purple and green velvet curtains and pulling the pink counterpane over her head. This was miserable; she would have cheerfully granted Rosewood to the first person to rescue her from the watchful eyes of her latest suitor.

Her
suitor.
For two whole days since appearing at Russell Square, he had suffocated her with his presence. He paid no heed to her declaration that she did not
feel
for him as she ought if she were to honestly consider marrying him. He seemed to think that the requisite feelings would come of their own accord. Lauren was not even remotely convinced of that and craved a respite from his suit, if only for a few moments. Now seemed as good a time as any, and with a devilishly charming grin, she turned and faced him. “Magnus?” she asked sweetly, “Will you excuse me? I am in need of the retiring room.”

Magnus did not even blink. “Of course,” he said. “I shall wait here for you.” Surprised by the relative ease of that, Lauren hurried in the general direction of the retiring rooms. In her haste to escape, she collided with Lady Paddington.

“Good heavens! Countess Bergen! What a delight! Look here, Mrs. Clark! Look who I have had the good fortune to bump into!”

“Countess Bergen!” Mrs. Clark exclaimed in the exact same chirp as Lady Paddington. “Lady Pritchit said you had gone back to Bavaria!”

“No, dear, she said she
hoped
Countess Bergen had gone back to Bavaria,” Lady Paddington corrected her.

“Really?” Mrs. Clark asked, surprised. “I am quite sure she said the countess had left! And I thought that it simply could not be, as I had the good fortune to encounter your uncle, Lord Hill—we were childhood friends, you knew that, did you not, my dear? And I was quite certain that he would have mentioned something as noteworthy as your departure—”

“Countess Bergen, we simply
must
contrive a gathering,” Lady Paddington interrupted. “There is so much more of Bavaria I should like to know about. I know your last outing was a bit harried, what with Lady Thistlecourt and all, but we are not usually so—”

“Incorrigible!” Mrs. Clark loudly interjected.

“Incorrigible,” Lady Paddington echoed as if she had thought of it.

Mrs. Clark bent her head toward Lauren and whispered loudly, “Hortense Thistlecourt could learn a thing or two of grace from
you
, Countess Bergen. You lost what, eight or nine rounds at the loo table? Goodness, I know it was several, because I remember thinking I had never seen
anyone
lose so many hands in one outing! Was it your first experience with cards, dear? Oh, it doesn’t matter. The point is that you were terribly sporting about the whole thing!”

“I have so wanted to invite you for supper, Countess. I don’t mind telling you that I am simply mad to hear all about your tragic love,” Lady Paddington blithely interjected. “My nephew is all agog about the prospect of meeting you but declares he hasn’t had the fortune! I cannot imagine why, I said to him—Mrs. Clark says that you have attended some of the most fashionable of routs, and lord knows
he
is always in attendance. Would you?”

“Would I?” Lauren asked, completely befuddled by the two women.

“Would you be disposed to a small gathering?”

“I am most obliged, Lady Paddington, and would look forward to the privilege of knowing your nephew.”

“Wonderful! I am hosting a little gathering Thursday next, at precisely eight o’clock. Now dear, you understand I do not mean the duke. I am, of course, referring to my nephew Lord David Westfall. I am afraid the duke is bit of a recluse when it comes to such gatherings. Swears he does not care for them.”

“Oh my no, the duke does not care for them!” Mrs. Clark unnecessarily confirmed.

“Yes, but does that suit?” Lady Paddington breathlessly finished.

“I beg your pardon?” Lauren asked carefully. “The day, dear, does it suit?”

At that point, she would have agreed to anything. And in truth, a supper party with the delightfully batty widows would prove a nice diversion from the constant attention of Magnus. “It suits perfectly, madam. If you ladies will excuse me, I am in dire need of the retiring room,” she said, and attempted to take her leave. But Lady Paddington had not quite finished her thoughts on the subject of the now infamous incident at the loo table.

   Alex halted dead in his tracks at the first glimpse of the crowded reception room. He had come for Marlaine and her mother, but the last thing he wanted was to suffer through an inquisition, alone, unguarded, in a ballroom full of matrons and their debutante daughters while their bored husbands stood idly by. The place was positively jammed to the rafters with those he called the prowlers—elderly women in Aunt Paddy’s set who roamed from drawing room to park to ballroom and back again, intent on the latest piece of gossip. And if there was no gossip, they were just as intent on inventing it.

He was pondering how on earth he might retrieve Marlaine when he noticed the woman in the lavender gown. The young woman was truly stunning; he would even say breathtaking. She had a classic profile, a luscious red mouth, and flawless, creamy skin that stretched tautly across high cheekbones. He watched as she drummed long, tapered fingers against one arm while she listened to his aunt’s chatter. From his vantage point, he could admire all her feminine traits, of which, he could not help noticing, she had many. Enjoying his leisurely perusal of her, he suddenly realized
he had met her before. He was struggling to put a name to the face when the young woman smiled.

Alex almost choked. He knew that smile; he would know
that
smile anywhere. Bloody hell, it was his angel! It flabbergasted him; she was the
last
person he would have expected to see here! He could not believe it—the beauty with eyes of cobalt blue was in town for the Season! But what was she doing
here
! Dear God, she was not in search of a husband, was she? What else could explain it? And just how in God’s name did she expect to accomplish
that
! He would hardly expect her to have the requisite connections, and even if she did, she could
hardly
be recommended to a family of Quality. She lived in a run-down manor with a group of unwanted children, for Chrissakes! She chased hogs in the fields and traded pumpkins for tallow! What member of the
ton
did she hope to snare with those astonishing credentials?

He realized what he was thinking and frowned. It should not matter to him in the least how she hoped to accomplish what all women sought to accomplish. She was none of his concern—but God, he had thought of her often in the last months. In his mind, he had held her up as a paragon of virtue, an angel among mortals, a goddess among the damned.

His angel suddenly moved away from Paddy and Mrs. Clark, toward the far end of the ballroom. A fragment of treasured memory jolted Alex from his languid stance; his eyes riveted on that lovely derriere. He was suddenly and overwhelmingly compelled to speak with her. With his head down, he began moving quickly around the perimeter of the crowd.

She disappeared into the crush. He looked frantically about the room, thought he had lost her until she suddenly emerged again, walking briskly through doors opened onto the gardens. He started after her, but was quickly intercepted by Sir Robert Peel. “What a pleasure, your grace! We were
just speaking of you! Is it true? You intend to champion reform in the Lords?” the diminutive man asked.

“I have considered it, Sir Robert,” he said, conscious of the crush around them straining to hear every word.

“A worthy cause, indeed, your grace. But the economic reforms the Radicals would see include more than just a change in the tax laws, as I am certain you are aware,” Peel said carefully.

Alex knew he referred to changes in parliamentary representation—allowing Catholics a seat, to be precise. And he also knew the Home Secretary, while progressive in his ideas, was not in favor of change as radical as that. “Indeed? I shall have to examine their platform carefully,” he said evasively. “If you will excuse me, sir,” he said, and walked away before he could be questioned further, out into the gardens.

Damn it, he had lost her. His eyes scanned the overabundance of rosebushes of which Lady Granbury was inordinately fond. Had she returned to the crowded ballroom? Had he just imagined it was she?

Surely he had only imagined it.

As he turned, a flash of lavender at the far end of the gardens caught his eye. Perhaps he had imagined it, but he would not rest until he knew. He walked purposefully in the direction of that splash of lavender with absolutely no idea what he would do or say. Only one thing was certain—if it was she, he had to look into her eyes again.

Bloody hell, it
was
her. She saw him as she reached the gate of a small arbor, fenced off from the rest of the garden. Her remarkable dark blue eyes rounded in surprise, followed by a devastating smile that conveyed her delight and made his heart leap to his throat. He clamped his jaw firmly shut. What in the hell was he
doing
?

Lauren was wondering the same thing as she fumbled helplessly at the wrought iron gate. How had he found her? Had he come for
her
? Her heart began to beat with an anxiousness
that took her breath away. In a moment of great anticipation, she brought both hands to the gate and yanked hard until the stubborn thing flew open. Conscious that she was grinning like an idiot, she passed through the gate, swallowing deep gulps of air to smother her excitement. Did she dare to hope? Dear God, did she dare to
believe
he had come for her? Her heart thumping wildly, she smiled brilliantly, frantically thinking what to say.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her for a long moment before speaking. “Miss Hill. It is a pleasure to see you again,” he said stiffly.

Lauren laughed with absurd glee. “Mr. Christian, it is an enormous pleasure to see
you
again!”

He blinked. Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, he said, “You look remarkably … well.”

“Oh!” She smiled, blushing. “Thank you! So do you!” Her hands found the little fence at her back, and curled around the rails in something of a death grip. Good God, her heart was beating so strongly she was certain she would be airborne at any moment. And her cheeks were beginning to ache from the broad smile she could not keep from her lips.

His green eyes flicked to a rosebush at her side, then riveted on her face again. “Might I inquire as to what you are doing here?”

With that one question, he swiftly killed all of her fabulous hopes. He had not come for her. Come to think of it, he did not seem particularly glad to
see
her. No, he actually looked uncomfortable! His expression hurt her. Why did he not just kick her in the shin? She responded sharply, “Perhaps I should inquire the same of you!”

He looked startled. “I beg your pardon. I meant only that I am very surprised to see you in London. I did not think … ah, that you … would necessarily …
enjoy …
the Season.”

Lauren faltered. It was not what he had said, but how he had said it. He thought she did not belong here! Maybe she
did not, but who was he? The bloody king of England? The last time she checked he was a country gentleman, with no more right to be here than she had! “I
necessarily
enjoy it very much,” she lied.

He nodded absently as his gaze floated to her mouth, swept the full length of her gown, and then traveled slowly to her eyes again. A heat crept up her neck and quickly flooded her cheeks at his frank perusal. Dear
God
, she had not remembered him being so terribly handsome.

“I hope it is a success for you, then,” he said flippantly.

A
success
? Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Christian, but whatever would you mean by that?”

He quirked a dark brow. “Just that most unmarried women partake of a London Season for one particular reason, is that not so?”

The truth infuriated her. “And what concern is it of yours?” she snapped.

He smiled then; her stomach sank at the unexpected dazzle of it. “Please forgive me. I suppose I am a bit astounded to find you here.” Astounded. Astounded that a woman like her would attend a fancy reception. She frowned; his green eyes seemed to pierce her, which enraged her almost as much as the lazy smile on his lips. “You are right; it is none of my concern, and naturally, I wish you all the best in your endeavors for a good match,” he said.

A heartfelt panic in Lauren’s throat threatened to choke her, and she looked nervously to the gravel path at her feet. Humiliated, she desperately wanted to disabuse him of the notion that
she
was looking for a match—
Ethan
was! “Mr. Christian…” She glanced up at him, only to be unbalanced by the depth of his green eyes. Really, she did not remember the arrogant swine being quite so handsome. For some reason, her brain chose that moment to remember he likely was married. She frowned; she might be in town for a particular reason, but he was a glib horse’s ass. “Please
excuse me. I should rejoin my party in the ballroom,” she said icily.