Page 14 of The Notorious Lord Sin
Paris narrowed her eyes. Did her friend's words mean she did not believe Lord Astoridge cared for her as much as her husband had? All true, she supposed, since he found it so easy to reject her that hurtful afternoon.
"Your Grace, Miss Smith, a lovely ball, is it not?" the Dowager Viscountess Astoridge said, joining them and smiling toward the gathered throng.
Paris heard Millie choke on her beverage, and Paris stared down at the older woman with distaste. She wasn't fooled enough not to know a lot of Dominic's past decisions were made because of the meddling, social climbing matron at her side.
"Lady Astoridge, it is very good to see you, but you are mistaken," Millie said when she had recovered her decorum. "My good friend Lady Hervey has not been Miss Smith for several years. Have you forgotten she married the Earl of Hervey?" she asked her.
The older woman threw back her head and laughed as if the duchess had made an amusing witticism. "Oh, of course. I forget, you see. I do apologize. You have not been part of society for so long. I all but forgot you existed until I saw you here this evening." The older woman's lips thinned into a displeased line. "The same evening and ball that my son Lord Astoridge is attending. How providential."
Paris bit back the caustic retort she wanted to spill and instead smiled. "Maybe your memory is a little hazy, my lady. I was not the one who left England for five years. I have been here all the time and am part of this society. Lord and Lady Smithfield are good friends. I would not miss their yearly ball, not for anything," she said, trying to keep her tone aloof, but from the little muscle that worked in the viscountess’s jaw feared she had failed.
"Of course," Lady Astoridge stated. "But my son was a favorite of yours, was he not? I hope you do not favor him still, as I fear your heart may be bruised a second time. Especially since he has shown great interest in Lady Esme. I'm sure you remember her since you married the man she was rumored to love." Her ladyship turned and watched her son and dance partner for several moments. "If you do speak to him, I hope you help me in my quest for him to marry. She is simply perfect for him," she said, tapping Paris on the arm with her fan.
Paris narrowed her eyes, and something bitter and resentful snapped inside of her. "Of course, my lady. I shall do all I can to help Lord Astoridge make his choice," she mumbled as her ladyship left her.
"Do I dare ask what that was all about?" Millie questioned.
Paris shook her head. "Not at all. It is not worth your worry," she answered, looking out at the dance floor. The pit of her stomach clenched at the sight of Dominic watching her.
He could court whomever he wanted, but that did not mean she would not take her pound of flesh, make him fall in love with her as she had him, and then break his heart as he had hers. Her revenge may be cruel and unnecessary, but scorned she most definitely was, and it was time she had her retribution.
ChapterEight
Dominic watched as Paris excused herself from her party and strolled toward the terrace. He glanced about the room and followed her, satisfied that no one was watching him.
Stepping out onto the large, square flagstones, he caught sight of her golden tulle gown slipping about a darkened corner. The chill of the air caught him off guard as he closed the door, understanding why no one else was outside this evening, preferring the indoors.
He hurried about the corner and found Paris seated on a stone seat, looking up at the moonless night.
"Are you feeling well?" he asked her, coming to stand at her side.
"Your mother still dislikes me as much as she ever had. Do you know she called me Miss Smith this evening as if to remind me of my humble beginnings? Not that such an insult had the reaction she would have liked. If anything, it only makes me more determined to vex her further by my presence."
"My apologies, Paris. She can be difficult at times."
She stood and walked up to him, watching him with an intentness that left him on edge and made the blood in his veins quicken. "I'm proud of my family and my little town of Grafton. Your mother is a snob and forgets that I now rank higher than her in society and that I can make her life difficult should she continue to try to insult me. I suggest you keep her in line, lest she finds herself uninvited to balls and parties she holds so highly in her life."
Dominic swallowed and inwardly swore. He did not need his mother warning off Paris, being so rude to a woman who did not deserve it. If anyone found out that they were penniless and on the verge of losing all that they owned, the invitations would soon dry up. It was friends like Paris, Lord Lupton-Gage, and others who could keep the wolves from the door should he need to ask for help.
Not that he could do such a thing, he would rather marry Lady Esme than stoop to that level. Or better yet, convince Paris that she was angry with him, yes, but that she still loved him, wanted him.
Their passionate agreement told him that she still wanted him, and that gave him hope.
"I will speak to her," he said.
Paris studied him a moment before she stepped near him, her hands slipping down the front of his superfine coat. An expense he could ill afford, but required for the Season.
Her touch made the breath in his lungs hitch, and he swallowed the need that coursed through him. "I do not like to be told what to do, Dominic. I like to do and say whatever I wish and be accountable to no one. I want to enjoy my Season and not be insulted by women who no longer hold power over me and my poor past self." She tapped his chest, a wistful smile playing on her kissable lips. "Do not let her insult me again, or our deal is off."
Fire coursed through his blood and he clasped her about the waist, wrenching her close. "If I do as you say, which I will, I promise you, will you let me kiss you now?" he all but begged her, inwardly cringing from how much he wanted her, needed her.
How he had survived so many years without her in France, he could not fathom. He was a bastard to have wanted a second chance, and he deserved her reserve. She owed him nothing.
"I do not think so. No kisses or anything more, not this evening, at least." She patted his chest, pushing him away. "I will let you know when I wish to pursue our agreement. Do be patient." She stepped out of his hold and strolled back toward the terrace doors, leaving him in the darkness.
He ran a hand through his hair. His body alight with unsated need. It had been months since he had been with a woman, and even then, the lady was paid for her time.
But to have Paris warm his bed, her long, strawberry locks spread over his pillows, her willing, womanly curves his to cherish and savor … He ground his teeth, fighting the urge to follow her, steal a kiss, and seduce her to being with him now.
