A deliberate snub.
The cut direct, exactly administered but unable to draw blood. She had already inflicted the most grievous laceration years ago, making him impervious to further injury. He brushed off her disregard with ease. Nothing could alter their fate, however she might wish it otherwise.
For years now he’d served as an agent to the crown, and in that time he had led a life that would rival the stories written in any sensational novel. He’d fought numerous sword fights, been shot twice, and dodged more than any man’s fair share of cannon fire. In the process, he had lost three of his own ships and sunk a half dozen others before he’d been forced to remain in England by the demands of his title. And yet the sudden fiery lick of awareness along his nerve endings only ever happened when he was in the same room as Elizabeth.
Avery James, his partner, stepped around him when it became obvious he was rooted to the spot. “There is Viscountess Hawthorne, my lord,” he pointed out with an almost imperceptible thrust of his chin. “She is standing to the right, on the edge of the dance floor, in the violet silk gown. She is—”
“I know who she is.”
Avery looked at him in surprise. “I was unaware that you were acquainted.”
Marcus’s lips, known widely for their ability to charm women breathless, curved in blatant anticipation. “Lady Hawthorne and I are … old friends.”
“I see,” Avery murmured, with a frown that said he didn’t at all.
Marcus rested his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Go on ahead, Avery, while I deal with this crush, but leave Lady Hawthorne to me.”
Avery hesitated a moment, then nodded reluctantly and continued to the ballroom, his path clear of the crowd that besieged Marcus.
Tempering his irritation with the importunate guests blocking his path, Marcus tersely acknowledged the flurry of greetings and inquiries directed at him. This melee was the reason he disliked these events. Gentlemen who did not have the initiative to seek him out during calling hours felt free to approach him in a more relaxed social setting. He never mixed business with pleasure. At least that had been his rule until tonight.
Elizabeth would be the exception. As she had always been an exception.
Twirling his quizzing glass, Marcus watched as Avery moved through the crowd with ease, his gaze drifting past his partner to the woman he was assigned to protect. He drank in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst.
Elizabeth had never cared for wigs and was not wearing one tonight, as most of the other ladies did. The effect of stark white plumes in her dark hair was breathtaking, drawing every eye inexorably toward her. Nearly black, her hair set off eyes so stunningly colored they brought to mind the luster of amethysts.
Those eyes had locked with his for only a moment, but the sharp shock of her magnetism lingered, the pull of it undeniable. It drew him forward, called to him on the primitive level it always had, like a moth to a flame. Despite the danger of burning, he could not resist.
She had a way of looking at a man with those amazing eyes. Marcus could almost have believed he was the only man in the room, that everyone had disappeared and nothing stood between where he was trapped on the staircase and where she waited on the other side of the dance floor.
He imagined closing the distance between them, pulling her into his arms, and lowering his mouth to hers. He knew already that her lips, so erotic in their shape and plumpness, would melt into his. He wanted to trail his mouth down the slim column of her throat and lick along the ridge of her collarbone. He wanted to sink into her lush body and sate his driving hunger, a hunger that had become so powerful he was very nearly mad with it.
He’d once wanted everything—her smiles, her laughter, the sound of her voice, and the view of the world through her eyes. Now his need was baser. Marcus refused to allow it to be more than that. He wanted his life back, the life free of pain, anger, and sleepless nights. Elizabeth had taken it away and she could damn well give it back.
His jaw clenched. It was time to close the distance between them.
One look had shaken his control. What would it be like when he held her in his arms again?
Elizabeth, Viscountess Hawthorne, stood for a long moment in shock, heat spreading across her cheeks.
Her gaze had locked on the man on the staircase for only a moment and yet during that brief time her heart had increased its rhythm to an alarming pace. She was held motionless, arrested by the masculine beauty of his face, a face which had clearly shown pleasure at seeing her again. Startled and disturbed by her reaction to him after all these years, she had forced herself to cut him, to look away with haughty disregard.
Marcus, now the Earl of Westfield, was still magnificent. He remained the handsomest man she had ever encountered. When his gaze met hers, she felt the spark that passed between them as if it were a tangible force. An intense attraction had always existed between them. She was profoundly disturbed to discover it had not abated in the slightest.
After what he’d done, he should repulse her.
Elizabeth felt a hand at her elbow, jolting her back into the conversation. She turned to find George Stanton at her side, his concerned gaze searching her face. “Are you feeling unwell? You look a bit flushed.”
She fluffed the lace at the end of her sleeve to hide her unease. “It is warm in here.” Snapping her fan open, she waved it rapidly to cool her hot cheeks.
“I think a beverage is in order,” George offered and she rewarded his thoughtfulness with a smile.
Once George had departed, Elizabeth directed her attention toward the group of gentlemen who surrounded her. “What were we discussing?” she asked no one in particular. Truthfully, she hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation for most of the past hour.
Thomas Fowler replied. “We were discussing the Earl of Westfield.” He gestured discreetly to Marcus. “Surprised to see him in attendance. The earl is notorious for his aversion to social events.”
“Indeed.” She feigned indifference while her palms grew damp within her gloves. “I had hoped that predilection of the earl’s would hold true this evening, but it appears I am not so fortunate.”