execute the same.
Though he supposed he would be wise to do so silently.
There was no sense in adding to what he could see was going to be a rather miserable evening for her.
Chapter 7
P
eaches
could safely say she was not feeling like the belle of the ball at the moment.
In fact, she wasn’t sure if she would have felt any more conspicuous if she’d arrived in her underwear. At least her underwear was dry and relatively unwrinkled. She certainly couldn’t say the same about her clothes.
She
could
say that she wasn’t convinced that her maid hadn’t been plotting to ruin her evening. After she’d unthawed her extremities under some very lukewarm water in a loo that would have benefitted from a good scrubbing, she had returned to her room to find that Betty had unpacked all her things and distributed them around the room to dry, though in a rather haphazard fashion. The resemblance to her college dorm room had been slightly comforting, but seeing everything in its less-than-pristine state had left her choosing the least objectionable of what she had and hoping it would be good enough.
Obviously she had chosen amiss.
“Let me show you to the buffet, miss,” said a voice at her side.
She looked to find a youngish maid there, looking at her withher eyes watering. Peaches wasn’t sure if she was laughing or if the smell of wet wool sweater was overpowering the poor girl. Peaches was half tempted—actually, closer to 99 percent tempted—to turn and run away. Then she managed to identify in the sea of faces one that she recognized.
Stephen de Piaget, looking grave.
Perhaps that was the expression he wore when he was trying not to bray out a laugh about the faults and foibles of a woman he thought only intelligent enough to identify the ingredients going into her compost.
And if he was going to look at her that way, she absolutely wasn’t going to give up.
Unfortunately, he was starting across the room toward her. Her only hope was to escape, and she decided her best avenue of escape was to go with the maid who was stifling without success her giggles. Hopefully some supper in her hand would give her courage to face the crowd.
Hobnobbing with nobility, she decided as she filled a plate that was wholly inadequate to supporting food while her trembling hand was carrying it, was just not her thing. She liked one-on-one encounters with people who liked her. She did
not
like being in a room full of people she didn’t know, most of whom were looking at her as if she’d just come in from rolling around in the stables.
She stood at the buffet and gulped a time or two. Unfortunately the only thing that did was give her a good whiff of her sweater. She had to blink her eyes rapidly to keep them from tearing uncontrollably, but what else could she have done? Her only blouse had been hopelessly wrinkled and wearing an evening gown had seemed inappropriate. The sweater had been damp, but she hadn’t realized it had been
that
fragrant. That said something about the state of her room, something she didn’t want to think about. As for her current condition, it hadn’t been as if she could have worn Stephen’s overcoat, had it?
She looked in the mirror to see her doom coming toward her in three parts. David was laughing with guests as he moved toward her, but he was definitely on his way to talk to her. Andrea was currently engaged in conversation with Irene but looked to be trying to extricate herself from it to come Peaches’s way. And, finally, there was Stephen de Piaget, inexorably workinghis way toward her while working the room at the same time. He looked like a jaguar, polished, lethal, and absolutely relentless. Women he stopped to speak to were left in various states of swoon. Men looked vaguely dissatisfied, as if they hadn’t engaged in all the nobleman chitchat they’d desired.
He scared the hell out of her.
There, she had said it. He was snobby, tweedy, and absolutely undeterred, apparently, when
Though he supposed he would be wise to do so silently.
There was no sense in adding to what he could see was going to be a rather miserable evening for her.
Chapter 7
P
eaches
could safely say she was not feeling like the belle of the ball at the moment.
In fact, she wasn’t sure if she would have felt any more conspicuous if she’d arrived in her underwear. At least her underwear was dry and relatively unwrinkled. She certainly couldn’t say the same about her clothes.
She
could
say that she wasn’t convinced that her maid hadn’t been plotting to ruin her evening. After she’d unthawed her extremities under some very lukewarm water in a loo that would have benefitted from a good scrubbing, she had returned to her room to find that Betty had unpacked all her things and distributed them around the room to dry, though in a rather haphazard fashion. The resemblance to her college dorm room had been slightly comforting, but seeing everything in its less-than-pristine state had left her choosing the least objectionable of what she had and hoping it would be good enough.
Obviously she had chosen amiss.
“Let me show you to the buffet, miss,” said a voice at her side.
She looked to find a youngish maid there, looking at her withher eyes watering. Peaches wasn’t sure if she was laughing or if the smell of wet wool sweater was overpowering the poor girl. Peaches was half tempted—actually, closer to 99 percent tempted—to turn and run away. Then she managed to identify in the sea of faces one that she recognized.
Stephen de Piaget, looking grave.
Perhaps that was the expression he wore when he was trying not to bray out a laugh about the faults and foibles of a woman he thought only intelligent enough to identify the ingredients going into her compost.
And if he was going to look at her that way, she absolutely wasn’t going to give up.
Unfortunately, he was starting across the room toward her. Her only hope was to escape, and she decided her best avenue of escape was to go with the maid who was stifling without success her giggles. Hopefully some supper in her hand would give her courage to face the crowd.
Hobnobbing with nobility, she decided as she filled a plate that was wholly inadequate to supporting food while her trembling hand was carrying it, was just not her thing. She liked one-on-one encounters with people who liked her. She did
not
like being in a room full of people she didn’t know, most of whom were looking at her as if she’d just come in from rolling around in the stables.
She stood at the buffet and gulped a time or two. Unfortunately the only thing that did was give her a good whiff of her sweater. She had to blink her eyes rapidly to keep them from tearing uncontrollably, but what else could she have done? Her only blouse had been hopelessly wrinkled and wearing an evening gown had seemed inappropriate. The sweater had been damp, but she hadn’t realized it had been
that
fragrant. That said something about the state of her room, something she didn’t want to think about. As for her current condition, it hadn’t been as if she could have worn Stephen’s overcoat, had it?
She looked in the mirror to see her doom coming toward her in three parts. David was laughing with guests as he moved toward her, but he was definitely on his way to talk to her. Andrea was currently engaged in conversation with Irene but looked to be trying to extricate herself from it to come Peaches’s way. And, finally, there was Stephen de Piaget, inexorably workinghis way toward her while working the room at the same time. He looked like a jaguar, polished, lethal, and absolutely relentless. Women he stopped to speak to were left in various states of swoon. Men looked vaguely dissatisfied, as if they hadn’t engaged in all the nobleman chitchat they’d desired.
He scared the hell out of her.
There, she had said it. He was snobby, tweedy, and absolutely undeterred, apparently, when
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