The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,20
moment ago. Huskier as well, and its velvety smoothness sent a tremble of awareness racing all the way from her head to her toes. Her feet curled inside of her shoes, and remained curled even when he stepped back and cool air penetrated the cozy cocoon of warmth that had held both of them ensnared.
“Thank you.” Self-consciously her hand crept to the side of her face. Her fingertips touched the skin he’d touched, and the heat in her belly intensified before making a slow, slippery descent to her thighs. “I still don’t know your name.”
The tension in his countenance had begun to unravel like a spool of thread, but at her words it wound itself back up again even tighter than before. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted in a sneer, and if her legs had been working it no doubt would have been wise of her to take this opportunity to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But her knees had melted to butter, and her thighs were liquid honey, and thus she remained rooted to the spot when he lashed out at her with all the brutality of a bullwhip whistling through the air before it landed on its innocent target.
“You don’t need to know it. You don’t need to know anything about me, Miss Haversham, except that if given the choice I would have walked beneath this tree five minutes earlier to save myself the time I’ve wasted with you.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her voice was trapped somewhere inside of her throat, but before she could find it the stranger gave her one last, searing glare, then walked away down the path without so much as a backwards glance.
Chapter Six
“Are you ready?” Sweeping into Calliope’s dressing room without waiting for a reply, Helena stopped short at the sight of her friend and gasped out loud. “Oh,” she cried, her eyes sparkling as she pressed her fingers to her mouth. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Staring at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, Calliope shook her head in bemusement. Surely the woman staring back at her wasn’t really her. She didn’t have soft golden curls gathered in a loose topknot that allowed silky tendrils to frame the edges of her face. She didn’t have cheeks that glowed or long lashes that beckoned. She didn’t have a long, elegant neck or slender shoulders exposed beneath a thin, see-through layer of pink chiffon. Not to mention, whose breasts were those?
Her lips, lightly glossed with beeswax, opened, then closed, then opened again. “I look…”
“Stunning,” Helena repeated as she came up behind Calliope and met her gaze in the mirror. “Winchester won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”
But it wasn’t the earl Calliope was thinking about as they climbed into the carriage and set off towards the ball. And it wasn’t the earl she was picturing as they joined the long line of guests anxiously waiting to be admitted.
Instead she envisioned a man with eyes like a storm, hair dark as pitch, and a forbidden touch that still made her tremble. She wondered who he’d been, and she wondered where he was, and she wondered why she couldn’t stop wondering. Because he had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Less than nothing, given he wished the entire incident had never taken place. But she couldn’t forget the way he’d softened, if only for a moment. Or the pain she’d seen in those deep blue eyes. Or the way she’d felt when his knuckles brushed against the nape of neck.
“Your names and invitations, if you please,” a servant droned, his loud voice startling Calliope out of her thoughts.
Belatedly she realized that while she’d been daydreaming they had climbed a flight of marble steps and were at the front of the line. Then she remembered they didn’t have invitations. Or at least none that she had seen. But before she could try to fumble through an excuse as to where their invitations may have gone, Helena reached inside of her reticule and smoothly produced two envelopes marked with Lord Galveston’s bold scarlet seal.
“The Countess of Cambridge and Miss Calliope Haversham,” she said before she took Calliope by the elbow and steered her quickly past the footman and into the massive foyer. “Go,” she hissed in Calliope’s ear, and with a startled peek over her shoulder at the entryway Calliope followed Helena into the grand ballroom where they were immediately swallowed up by a large