Page 37 of What a Lord Wants

Her maid knocked lightly on the door before hurrying into the room, freshly laundered undergarments and hot tongs in her hands.

Mariah leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Youarebeautiful, Eve, inside and out.” She kissed her cheek before pulling away to let her maid have her. “And damn the man who isn’t intelligent enough to realize that.”

She was dressed in double-time and in the carriage with Mariah and Robert on the way to Lady Hawthorne’s ball before she found a moment to take a deep breath. Her maid had outdone herself, piling her ginger hair onto her head in a coil of loose curls that accentuated the sapphire earbobs and necklace that finished her gown, the ice-blue satin shimmering in stark contrast to the jewels.

When she handed her invitation to the Master of Ceremonies to be announced, electricity tingled through her at all the possibilities for the evening, all the wonderful things she might do and see at the party.

But her excitement soon dissipated into boredom as she found herself surrounded by friends whose gossipy chatter she found tedious. Sheer mind-numbing dullness followed from one conversation after another about the season’s events, the latest fashions, the merits of muslin over wool, the drastic new changes to the Regent’s Street area and the unchanging monotony of Pall Mall…

Only when she dared to destroy the boredom by announcing her opinion that all Englishmen should take up the Scottish tradition of wearing kilts did a glimmer of excitement pulse through her.

But her friends had stared at her as if she’d sprung a second head.

With a long sigh, she snagged a glass of champagne from a passing footman. She would have to make her way to the Carlisles soon and thank the dowager duchess for securing an invitation to tonight’s ball for her. But for now she had a few minutes to take in the grand party around her.

What would Domenico make of this? Undoubtedly he’d hate it as much as she did. All the stiffness, the pained propriety of it…not that he would ever have been invited in the first place. Not with his reputation. Not when the Archbishop of Canterbury was in attendance and might have had to speak to him by accident of proximity. What Eve wouldn’t give to watchthatmeeting! The evening would certainly be lively then.

Her attention drifted across the ballroom as a man appeared at the top of the stairs and handed his invitation to the Master of Ceremonies. A man so achingly familiar that her heart stopped. When it started it again, the pain was made all the more unbearable by the beautiful woman on his arm.

“The most honorable the Marquess of Ellsworth!”

The glass of champagne slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

Chapter 10

Impossible.

Dom stared across the crowded ballroom, unable to believe his eyes. That couldn’t be her. Not at Lady Hawthorne’s annual ball. Not among a crowd of society misses and gentlemen.

But as he caught another glimpse of her through the crush, he knew…Eve.

What he didn’t know was what the hell she was doing here.

He’d been at the ball for less than twenty minutes when the crowd parted just enough for him to catch a glimpse of a vision in ice-blue satin and sapphires standing with her back to the room—

No. He’d noticed her hair first. That special shade of burnished red. She’d had her back to him then, and he’d admired her from afar, only to have his breath ripped away when she turned her head and revealed her profile. The delicate lines of her face, the long lashes, those mischievous lips—

Her.Even in that ball gown she wore as if it were just another costume, he was certain of it. Her presence was undeniable, so was that lithe body that he knew nearly as well as his own. All those soft curves and the graceful way she held herself, the confident tilt of her head…He’d spent hours staring at nearly every inch of her.

His eyes narrowed. What the devil was she doing here? She certainly fit into the sea of satins and jewels around her, which meant she was no ordinary tradesman’s daughter. Neither was she some gentleman’s paramour, not with how reluctant she was to remove her clothes.

Which meant that the only way she could have received an invitation was if she were quality.

Christ.

“What is the matter, hmm?” Sabrina Ribaldi, Contessa di Monteriggioni, placed her hand on his arm. Not used to having the attention of the man she was with not fixed firmly on her, she craned her neck to see through the crowd at what had snatched his away. “Ah…she’s pretty.” She sniffed and looked away. “In an English sort of way.”

Dom’s mouth twisted at her backhanded compliment. Eve wasn’t simply pretty. She was breathtaking. Ineverysort of way. The other males in the room were simply too damnably blind to have noticed.

“Do you know her?”

“Not at all, apparently,” he muttered.

A knowing gleam shone in her eyes. “I think that I shall seek out the ladies’ retiring room to check my dress.” Her hand slipped away from his arm. “That should give you time to satisfy your curiosity about her.”

It wouldn’t begin to satisfy that, but he appreciated that she understood. “Thank you.”

“I have heard rumors about you Englishmen and how you behave.”