Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,14
attitude toward adultery as a scarlet letter sin.
They entered the crimson-and-gold drawing room, where elegant chintz fabrics covered the chairs and chaises, and the walls were painted scarlet with gilt crown moldings. None of the guests were sitting down. Most stood in dimly lit corners, whispering and giggling. The air was charged with the heat of secret, wicked seductions.
“I don’t see him,” Clara whispered. “Perhaps he’s in the ballroom.”
“Or in one of the private rooms already.”
Clara didn’t want to think about that, but she had to face the fact that it was a very real possibility.
They accepted glasses of champagne from a footman who offered it, then entered the large ballroom and watched couples waltz around the polished floor. The same orchestra was there again, and the music was stupendous.
Clara couldn’t help thinking that from her vantage point, it could have been any other respectable ball—if not for the couple kissing passionately behind a potted tree fern not three feet away from where she and Sophia stood.
A mixture of shock and fascination struck her, and she couldn’t seem to look away.
Sophia took hold of her arm. “Stop staring.”
“Can you believe that?” Clara whispered as Sophia led her away. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I thought your mystery man kissed you.”
“He did, but at least he found us some privacy.”
They continued to move around the perimeter of the ballroom, watching the dancers. A gentleman caught Sophia’s eye and approached. “Care to dance?”
She smiled graciously and disguised her voice with an English accent. “Please except my apologies, but I must decline. Perhaps later.”
He bowed cordially and moved on.
“I won’t be dancing with anyone tonight,” Sophia said, “and neither should you, except for the man we’re here to see. We must remain focused.”
“I completely agree.”
They finished their champagne and set their empty glasses on a side table.
“Do you see him?” Sophia asked.
“No. He’s not here.”
“Don’t lose heart. We’ll stay for a little while. Maybe he’s on his way at this very moment.”
“Or maybe he was here earlier and left already.”
Just then, a golden-haired man in a black mask strolled into the ballroom. Looking relaxed and confident, he picked up a glass of champagne and let his gaze sweep around the room. Clara’s eyes narrowed.
She knew that walk...that body. It was him.
A thrill rushed through her like a firebrand. She stood motionless, watching him intently. He looked as handsome as she remembered. Even more so, after the week she’d spent dreaming about him. She was completely dumbstruck by the sight of him.
“Is that him?” Sophia asked. “The man who just walked in?”
Clara nodded.
“Upon my word,” Sophia said. “No wonder you couldn’t forget him. He’s incredible.”
They watched him move around the room, composed and at ease. Clad in the usual formal attire—black jacket, white waistcoat, and white necktie—he raised his glass to a man on the other side of the room, who raised his glass in return before continuing his conversation with a lady.
“Do you know his name?” Clara asked. “Have you ever seen him before?”
“Never. I only attended a handful of Cakras Balls with James, and I don’t recall seeing this man, though James and I weren’t here to socialize with others.”
“What about during the Season last year?”
“I never saw him at any of the parties or balls I attended. I most certainly would have remembered him.”
Clara took a deep breath. “What is wrong with me? My stomach is doing somersaults.”
“It’s called infatuation, and you’re infected with it. But it’s understandable, now that I’ve seen him for myself. Let’s walk this way so you can collect yourself before you speak to him.”
Speak to him. At the mere mention of it, Clara’s stomach careened again. “What will I say? I can’t ask him his name. That would be against the rules. How will I learn anything?”
“You’ll have to be creative. Are you ready?”
Once again, Clara found herself caught in the sticky web of his unparalleled good looks and his debilitating sexual allure.
“Heaven help me, I could never be ready for a man like him.”
It was the perfume that gave her away as she brushed past his elbow, in a ridiculous dark wig, no less. She smelled of strawberries again. A brief glance at her mouth confirmed it. It was indeed the American.
Seger stopped and turned to look at her from behind after she’d passed by and felt the immediate stirrings of unfulfilled arousal. Tonight, she was with a friend instead of the older woman from the week before. No, not a friend... Seger’s brows drew