own.
He stared down at the glove in his hand. It wasn’t much, but that flimsy scrap of silk would be a suitable excuse for calling on her the next day.
Then perhaps he would learn why she had lied.
Chapter 7
Lord Finch-Barrows: Fat and sweaty .
Lord Malbray: Hairy palms .
Lord Pennington: Lecher .
Varya sighed and lifted her quill from the paper. So far, none of Bella’s paramours had presented himself in a very flattering light.
She looked down at the last name on her list. She had written it with a great deal more flourish than the others.
Miles Christian: Dangerous.
With a disgusted snort, she crossed off his name, dipping and redipping her quill until there was nothing but a large black blob where the words had been.
Her attempts to put him out of her mind had been futile. She had managed a brief respite during the few hours sleep she had gotten after returning home from the ball. Even then, he had been her last thought before falling asleep, and her first thought upon waking.
How could she ever face him again after making such a fool of herself the night before?
She had hidden in the garden maze until she could stand to stay there no longer. By the time she had found her way to the exit, most of the guests had already departed. Miles was one of them. She made her excuses to Lady Beckwith-Breyer—who had been all too happy to see her finally leave—and called for her carriage.
Lady Pennington and Lady Jersey were waiting for Lady Jersey’s carriage, since Lord Pennington had departed earlier for one of his clubs.
Varya stood in stony silence for as long as she could bear, listening to Lady Pennington’s stage-whispered slurs against her character. Lady Jersey tittered and giggled, and tapped her companion’s arm with her fan when she uttered an especially biting comment.
When her carriage finally pulled up in front of the walk, Varya turned to Lady Pennington and fixed her with a sweet smile that was anything but sincere.
“Lady Pennington,” she began, meeting the woman’s haughty gaze. “Would you do me the courtesy of thanking your husband for the flowers he sent me after my performance at the King’s Theater the other night?” She watched in satisfaction as the blond woman’s face darkened.
“But please tell him that in light of my current arrangement with the Marquess of Wynter, I must regretfully decline the generous offer he presented to me earlier this evening.” She bowed her head slightly in parting and forced herself to descend the steps to the street in a slow and regal fashion. She would have preferred to hike up her skirts and run, but her pride refused to allow it.
Sighing, she tried to return her attention to the list, but the invitation she had received that morning caught her eye. It was from Lord and Lady Rochester, one of the haute ton’s more liberal-minded couples. Their gatherings were renowned for their sexual exploits. Guests would often bring their spouses and meet new lovers during the course of the visit. It was not unusual behavior at any such gathering. Varya had been invited to their house party scheduled to begin that Thursday. Since it was still the season, the party would last only until Sunday so guests would not be away from the delights of London for long.
She didn’t want to go, especially not alone, but Lord Rochester had been another one of Bella’s conquests. Varya was beginning to comprehend that no matter how kind and sweet a friend Bella might have been, she had absolutely no scruples when it came to the opposite sex.
Still, she owed it to her friend to continue her search for her killer, even if it meant attending Lord and Lady Rochester’s hedonistic party. She would feel so much safer if Miles were to accompany her, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage to go with him if he asked.
No man had ever affected her senses as he did. WithIvan she had feared for her safety. With Miles she feared for her heart. In some respects, that made
He stared down at the glove in his hand. It wasn’t much, but that flimsy scrap of silk would be a suitable excuse for calling on her the next day.
Then perhaps he would learn why she had lied.
Chapter 7
Lord Finch-Barrows: Fat and sweaty .
Lord Malbray: Hairy palms .
Lord Pennington: Lecher .
Varya sighed and lifted her quill from the paper. So far, none of Bella’s paramours had presented himself in a very flattering light.
She looked down at the last name on her list. She had written it with a great deal more flourish than the others.
Miles Christian: Dangerous.
With a disgusted snort, she crossed off his name, dipping and redipping her quill until there was nothing but a large black blob where the words had been.
Her attempts to put him out of her mind had been futile. She had managed a brief respite during the few hours sleep she had gotten after returning home from the ball. Even then, he had been her last thought before falling asleep, and her first thought upon waking.
How could she ever face him again after making such a fool of herself the night before?
She had hidden in the garden maze until she could stand to stay there no longer. By the time she had found her way to the exit, most of the guests had already departed. Miles was one of them. She made her excuses to Lady Beckwith-Breyer—who had been all too happy to see her finally leave—and called for her carriage.
Lady Pennington and Lady Jersey were waiting for Lady Jersey’s carriage, since Lord Pennington had departed earlier for one of his clubs.
Varya stood in stony silence for as long as she could bear, listening to Lady Pennington’s stage-whispered slurs against her character. Lady Jersey tittered and giggled, and tapped her companion’s arm with her fan when she uttered an especially biting comment.
When her carriage finally pulled up in front of the walk, Varya turned to Lady Pennington and fixed her with a sweet smile that was anything but sincere.
“Lady Pennington,” she began, meeting the woman’s haughty gaze. “Would you do me the courtesy of thanking your husband for the flowers he sent me after my performance at the King’s Theater the other night?” She watched in satisfaction as the blond woman’s face darkened.
“But please tell him that in light of my current arrangement with the Marquess of Wynter, I must regretfully decline the generous offer he presented to me earlier this evening.” She bowed her head slightly in parting and forced herself to descend the steps to the street in a slow and regal fashion. She would have preferred to hike up her skirts and run, but her pride refused to allow it.
Sighing, she tried to return her attention to the list, but the invitation she had received that morning caught her eye. It was from Lord and Lady Rochester, one of the haute ton’s more liberal-minded couples. Their gatherings were renowned for their sexual exploits. Guests would often bring their spouses and meet new lovers during the course of the visit. It was not unusual behavior at any such gathering. Varya had been invited to their house party scheduled to begin that Thursday. Since it was still the season, the party would last only until Sunday so guests would not be away from the delights of London for long.
She didn’t want to go, especially not alone, but Lord Rochester had been another one of Bella’s conquests. Varya was beginning to comprehend that no matter how kind and sweet a friend Bella might have been, she had absolutely no scruples when it came to the opposite sex.
Still, she owed it to her friend to continue her search for her killer, even if it meant attending Lord and Lady Rochester’s hedonistic party. She would feel so much safer if Miles were to accompany her, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage to go with him if he asked.
No man had ever affected her senses as he did. WithIvan she had feared for her safety. With Miles she feared for her heart. In some respects, that made
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