Touch of a Lady by Mia Marlowe Page A

as she saw it. She simply made sure she told only pleasant truths whenever she masqueraded as Madame Zola. Sometimes, she felt the press of the not-so-pleasant against the edges of her mind. She held those secret voices at bay. No one wanted to know what was really coming for them and, as long as Delphinia was careful not to touch any object that hummed to her when no one else could hear, she didn’t have to know either.
    But maintaining a mental shield took concentration. Hers fluttered away with the breeze that entered the tent along with her next customer.
    Tristan Chalcroft Nash, Viscount Edmondstone, heir to the Earl of Devonwood, removed his tricorne, ducked through the low entrance to her tent and filled the small space with his masculine presence. To say that he was handsome was as obvious as saying the ocean was wet.
    And as inadequate.
    Here’s a man I could drown in and not care a whit.
    Since the beginning of the Seabrooke house party, Delphinia and her friends had covertly watched the young viscount, tittering over the way his knee britches displayed his strong calves and muscular thighs. While he was always decked out in the first stare of fashion, she’d never seen him don a wig. His sandy brown hair was clubbed back in a neat queue, the better to accentuate his square-jawed features and piercing dark eyes.
    From across a room, he was devastating. Up close, Del could scarcely draw a breath.
    “Am I to stand while you peer into my future?” he asked, his voice a rumbling purr with an edge of irritation in it. Like most of the gentlemen who entered her tent, he was a skeptic, but had likely come on the whim of a female friend. Or perhaps he wanted to see if she really was a gypsy girl who might be charmed into an indiscretion.
    Del gave herself a mental shake. “Pray be seated, my lord,” she said, glad to be wearing a veil across her lower face. Being this close to the young viscount caused her cheeks to heat. “I will consult the spirits.”
    “No need,” he said, plopping his cockaded hat on the table beside her crystal. “My future is already mapped out.”
    “If you know what is before you, then why are you here?”
    He made a tsking noise with his teeth and tongue. “For shame, Madame Zola. Such a small thing and you do not already know it? I harbor serious doubt about your abilities.” He settled on the chair across the table from her and hooked an ankle over one knee. “I’m only here to support the orphans.”
    He was toying with her. Irritation fizzed down her spine. Her Madame Zola act might be a fraud most of the time, but if she wanted, she could dream up a future for him that would make his queue curl.
    “Perhaps your future is not so definite as you think.” She dropped her voice into seductress range. “Since you obviously know all, tell me what you see for yourself and I will tell you if the spirits concur.”
    “The spirits have nothing to say about it. My future will shortly be in the hands of a flesh-and-blood woman.” His clipped tone told her he wasn’t very happy about it.
    “You speak of a coming match, do you not?” Del fanned the air over the upended bowl and stared at it. It was safer than looking at Lord Edmondstone’s wickedly distracting face. “With one who is named for blossoms. Lily… Rose—no, more encompassing than that. A name that includes all flowers. Florence. Lady Florence Armitage, the Duke of Seabrooke’s daughter.”
    No rumor had reached her ear about the pending match, but during the past week of the house party, Del had marked how many times Lady Florence was seated next to Lord Edmondstone at the long dining table and how often he’d featured prominently on her dance card. Del had drawn her own conclusions. Someone was trying to throw them together.
    Lord Edmondstone sat up straight. “The negotiations have been conducted in secret. No one is supposed to know about it.”
    Her guess was right. Del couldn’t suppress a smile. “The