A soft sonata wafted through the hallway as Michael approached, Clarissa on his arm. They were brought to a small flight of stairs that led to a set of double doors. A podgy footman in a black and blue livery bowed at their approach before he swung the doors open.
“His Grace the Duke of Ryewood and Lady Clarissa,” he bellowed to the guests down below.
Michael stepped into the ballroom, his eyes sweeping over the sea of faces that turned to assess him. He did not focus on a single one of them, yet that familiar hum of resentment welled within him as he descended the spiral staircase to the left, slowly so as to accommodate Clarissa’s long gown. He was well aware of their unspoken thoughts: the new duke had returned, seeking to salvage the remnants of his broken title.
“Smile, Michael,” Clarissa whispered to him. “You look downright terrifying.”
“Good,” he grunted right before stepping into the thick of the guests.
The ball seemed to have just begun but the ballroom was already teeming with life. His height afforded him advantages, however. He could easily see over most of their heads, capable of picking out a number of familiar faces. But there was only one person he truly wished to see.
And he had just found her.
Lady Elaine Sutton, daughter of the Earl of Suthenshire, and the key to executing his plan. His extensive research of her and her family made it easy to spot her, but he wasn’t as prepared for the gut-punching reaction to the sight of her.
He hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful.
Of course, her beauty was unimportant, he reminded himself. He did not intend to seduce her if it could be avoided. Yet, it was quite difficult to ignore how she stood as a beacon of beauty among the common folk. Long auburn hair that sat in delicate curls around her face, most of it pinned up to dangle down her back. He could not see the colour of her eyes but it was easy to see that she had porcelain skin, a small nose, and such lovely, pink lips currently set in a line. Her eyes were round, darting around the room as if she could not figure out what to look at first, yet she held such regal grace in her slim figure that it was hard to believe she’d not done this a dozen times before.
“Michael?”
Beatrice’s voice brought him back. He hadn’t noticed that they’d approached, hadn’t even heard when they were announced.
Beatrice was frowning at him. “What are your thoughts?”
Michael cleared his throat, annoyed by the trance he’d slipped under. “About what?”
“About Lord Hanson.”
Michael blinked at her.
“Lord Hanson,” Henry supplied slowly. “He just approached Clarissa asking for the first dance. Did you not see him?”
“I…hadn’t noticed.”
“How could you not have noticed that?” Clarissa asked incredulously, frowning at him as if he’d just grown a second head.
He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t understand it himself, even though he was well aware of the reason.
“I suppose I was lost in thought,” he answered noncommittally. “Was I to judge the man based upon his request to dance?”
“Well, yes,” Beatrice said. “It is your duty to ensure only the proper gentlemen are given the honour of Clarissa’s time, you know.”
“I hardly think one dance will tell me anything I want to know about him,” Michael said.
“And I am more than capable of determining that myself,” Clarissa joined in. “I happen to find Lord Hanson quite handsome and kind.”
“You say that about everyone,” Beatrice bemoaned.
“Not everyone,” Clarissa protested. “I certainly did not say that about Lord Gregory…”
Michael stopped listening, his gaze trailing back to Lady Elaine. She was in the same spot, still looking around as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. At that moment, an older lady approached her. It took Michael a moment to recognise her as the Dowager Viscountess of Abney, Lady Elaine’s maternal aunt. The man who stood at her side bore a striking similarity to her and he assumed he must be the current Viscount of Abney and Lady Elaine’s cousin.
They seemed close, Michael observed. Lady Abney said something to Lady Elaine, which made her smile briefly. The act lit her face a thousand times brighter than the look of apprehension she wore before. Michael suddenly struggled to breathe.
Lord Abney stood by his cousin’s side, not partaking in the conversation between the two women yet hovering in an imposing manner. His gaze skimmed the crowd, falling on Michael. Their eyes met and Lord Abney’s narrowed.
Michael did not look away right away, though it bothered him that he got caught staring. He didn’t need to draw attention to himself, especially not from someone who appeared to be an overbearing family member of the lady he wished to approach. He would have to wait until Lord Abney was not by his cousin’s side before he made his move.
