seen enough when she'd greeted him earlier, in die reception line.
His midnight-blue coat and dove-grey inexpressibles, impeccably cut, seemed knit to his powerful, lean frame. Tonight, one diamond winked in his cravat and another on his right hand. As he'd bent over her hand, she'd breathed the scent of sandalwood, and could almost feel how crisp were the black curls that glistened in the candlelight The serpentine green eyes he'd raised briefly to hers gleamed with humour. His low voice caressed her ears, and though he uttered the merest civilities, her heart had beat a devil's tatoo in answer.
Contemptuous of superstition and magic, Lilith Davenant had never believed such a thing as fatal charm existed. Nevertheless, she could not deny the pull the marquess exerted upon her, which seemed to grow stronger each time she saw him.
With him, she was so tense she could scarcely think. Away from him, her mind churned with recollections of every word, every gesture, every expression and nuance of his too-handsome countenance. This was how thoroughly he had insinuated himself into her thoughts, after a mere handful of interactions in the three weeks since she'd found him half dead by the roadside.
Though Thomas made a creditable effort to keep by his lady, another siren call beckoned more irresistibly. In less than an hour, he was planted in a corner arguing with his Parliamentary colleagues. ,
Past experience told Lilith he would not be uprooted until supper, if then. Had one lady joined the group, she might have found an excuse to join as well, but few ladies would endure the somber debate above half a minute.
Cecily did not require her, being occupied with one partner after another. In the intervals between sets, the girl was speedily surrounded by young people — of both genders, Lilith was pleased to note. Her niece was lovely enough to inspire the most malicious sort of envy, yet her open, warm, unspoiled manner won feminine hearts instead of alienating them. There was no question of Cecily's success — on every count.
Since she had no need to hover by her niece, Lilith walked with apparent ease among her many guests, chatting briefly before moving on. She found she needed to move on frequently. She would no sooner begin to relax with one cluster of guests than she would hear a familiar low-pitched voice somewhere in the vicinity. Lazy, insinuating, it would rise and fall amid the buzz and laughter of other voices. Though she moved from one group to the next, his voice seemed always nearby, until she began to feel — it was absurd, she knew — like a hunted creature, never allowed to rest.
She was trying to find a partner for Lady Shumway's unfortunate granddaughter when Lilith saw Rachel try to draw Sir Thomas away from his discussion. Thomas only smiled absently and waved her away.
Lady Shumway's charge was safely deposited with a freckle-faced baronet in the nick of time, for in the next minute Rachel, all angry ruffles and ribbons, was charging at Lilith.
"It is no good telling Thomas," Lady Enders said, vexed and red-faced. "Half the company speaks of nothing else, and no wonder. I have never seen anything so brazen as die way that wicked man looks at you. When Sally Jersey finally asked what made him stare so, he only laughed — I heard him myself — and claimed he was trying to devise a name for your new coiffure."
It was only years of rigid discipline prevented Lilith from reaching up and ripping the orchids from her hair. Her grandmother's lectures rang in her ears: "A lady never indulges in displays of emotion, regardless how great the provocation."
She did not wring her hands, as Rachel was doing, or flush with embarrassment. "There are some persons," Lilith answered coldly, "whose every word and action attracts notice. Lord Brandon is Society's latest circus animal. When the novelty of his return wears off, everyone will leave off watching and commenting."
This was uttered with such regal disdain
His midnight-blue coat and dove-grey inexpressibles, impeccably cut, seemed knit to his powerful, lean frame. Tonight, one diamond winked in his cravat and another on his right hand. As he'd bent over her hand, she'd breathed the scent of sandalwood, and could almost feel how crisp were the black curls that glistened in the candlelight The serpentine green eyes he'd raised briefly to hers gleamed with humour. His low voice caressed her ears, and though he uttered the merest civilities, her heart had beat a devil's tatoo in answer.
Contemptuous of superstition and magic, Lilith Davenant had never believed such a thing as fatal charm existed. Nevertheless, she could not deny the pull the marquess exerted upon her, which seemed to grow stronger each time she saw him.
With him, she was so tense she could scarcely think. Away from him, her mind churned with recollections of every word, every gesture, every expression and nuance of his too-handsome countenance. This was how thoroughly he had insinuated himself into her thoughts, after a mere handful of interactions in the three weeks since she'd found him half dead by the roadside.
Though Thomas made a creditable effort to keep by his lady, another siren call beckoned more irresistibly. In less than an hour, he was planted in a corner arguing with his Parliamentary colleagues. ,
Past experience told Lilith he would not be uprooted until supper, if then. Had one lady joined the group, she might have found an excuse to join as well, but few ladies would endure the somber debate above half a minute.
Cecily did not require her, being occupied with one partner after another. In the intervals between sets, the girl was speedily surrounded by young people — of both genders, Lilith was pleased to note. Her niece was lovely enough to inspire the most malicious sort of envy, yet her open, warm, unspoiled manner won feminine hearts instead of alienating them. There was no question of Cecily's success — on every count.
Since she had no need to hover by her niece, Lilith walked with apparent ease among her many guests, chatting briefly before moving on. She found she needed to move on frequently. She would no sooner begin to relax with one cluster of guests than she would hear a familiar low-pitched voice somewhere in the vicinity. Lazy, insinuating, it would rise and fall amid the buzz and laughter of other voices. Though she moved from one group to the next, his voice seemed always nearby, until she began to feel — it was absurd, she knew — like a hunted creature, never allowed to rest.
She was trying to find a partner for Lady Shumway's unfortunate granddaughter when Lilith saw Rachel try to draw Sir Thomas away from his discussion. Thomas only smiled absently and waved her away.
Lady Shumway's charge was safely deposited with a freckle-faced baronet in the nick of time, for in the next minute Rachel, all angry ruffles and ribbons, was charging at Lilith.
"It is no good telling Thomas," Lady Enders said, vexed and red-faced. "Half the company speaks of nothing else, and no wonder. I have never seen anything so brazen as die way that wicked man looks at you. When Sally Jersey finally asked what made him stare so, he only laughed — I heard him myself — and claimed he was trying to devise a name for your new coiffure."
It was only years of rigid discipline prevented Lilith from reaching up and ripping the orchids from her hair. Her grandmother's lectures rang in her ears: "A lady never indulges in displays of emotion, regardless how great the provocation."
She did not wring her hands, as Rachel was doing, or flush with embarrassment. "There are some persons," Lilith answered coldly, "whose every word and action attracts notice. Lord Brandon is Society's latest circus animal. When the novelty of his return wears off, everyone will leave off watching and commenting."
This was uttered with such regal disdain
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