she didn’t need any help on that score. She was more than uneasy enough to cast up her accounts all by herself.
“He’s been avoiding me,” Freddie complained as he led her through the circuit of reception rooms, not to see what entertainments were lined up for tonight but to hunt for Pearce. “I searched for him all afternoon, but he was nowhere to be found.” He smiled and nodded at an acquaintance in the crowd. “We’re running out of time.”
She knew that more than he did.
“You’d better help me with him, Amelia.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”
He slanted her an assessing look, as if uncertain if she were being sincere.
Around them, the party was already in full swing, proving itself to be the last great event of the season. In only a few days, Parliament would end, and the ton would flee for their country estates, for fresh air and hunting. But tonight they were still in the city, and the cream of society who had been well connected enough to gain tickets were all gathered here, all of them dressed in pure black as required on the invitation.
The Black Ball. An ironic pun on White’s selection ritual in which existing members tossed a ball into a bowl in order to vote on new members—a white ball for acceptance, a black one for rejection. It took only a single black ball to deny someone membership. Amelia contemplated the men in the crush around her. How many of them had been rejected by a black ball yet paid dearly to attend tonight, as if never having received that insult?
But not Pearce. Certainly, he had his choice of clubs. As a new earl and a war hero, he’d been welcomed into society with open arms, even if being in their embrace wasn’t at all what he’d wanted.
He was here, she could feel it—dressed in black like everyone else, meandering through the house that had been decorated throughout in white. The rooms had been tented in white sailcloth, complete with white silk curtains and sashes draped from windows and white sheets on the floor, and giant bouquets of white roses, daisies, and baby’s breath in white porcelain vases were scattered throughout. The terrace doors in every room were opened wide to let the guests drift between the house and the gardens, where white silk sashes hanging from the trees danced on the evening breeze like ghosts. All the servants wore white uniforms as they moved through the party, right down to the men who stood in the drive and directed the long row of carriages winding up to the front door. Among all the white, the guests contrasted starkly in their solid black silks and satins, their pearls and diamonds sparkling beneath the chandeliers.
The whole place looked as if a group of funeral mourners had stumbled into a snowstorm, then decided to linger for drinks and dancing.
“Stay here.” Freddie maneuvered her to the side of the ballroom as several dozen pairs of dancers faced off for a quadrille and thrice as many people lined the walls to watch. “I’m going to find the master of ceremonies to learn where the devil Sandhurst is. I’ll be back. Don’t wander off.”
“Why on earth would I do something like that?” Amelia mumbled beneath her breath as he hurried away. With a long-suffering sigh, she turned her head to look across the room—
And straight into Pearce’s eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat. Good heavens. The man was mesmerizing.
Even in this crowded room, he stood apart with a dashing and dangerous look that was simply captivating. His dark-blond hair shone like gold beneath the chandeliers, his tailored finery accentuating the solidity of his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Unlike the other men at the party who’d dressed in solid black, he’d cheekily chosen a diamond-patterned satin in black-and-white for his waistcoat, daring to break the black-only rule. But of course he would. Even here, amid the gentlemen and peers where he now belonged, he wanted to prove that he was different. Yet hadn’t he always stood out from the crowd, regardless of dress?
Little of the boy she once knew was physically visible in the man who now boldly returned her stare. Except for his smile, which curled slowly at his lips and warmed her through.
He rakishly lifted his glass to her in a toast, accompanied by a long perusal over her, from the upswept curls crowning her head to her slippered toes just edging out from beneath her