“This is my brother, the Earl of Bernewood, Nicholas Bolton. Lord Bolton, may I introduce Miss Clarissa Crompton and her cousin, Miss Emily Crompton.”
Nicholas bowed, rolling the name around his head. Clarissa. It was only then that he realized he had been trying to recall it for the entirety of the evening.
Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, Miss Crompton’s eyes met his. Nicholas gazed into them as a strange sensation overcame him. The restlessness he had felt since he had arrived in England faded away beneath her steady gaze, only to be replaced by a hum of anticipation.
It was strange to acknowledge that Lady Wilde left him utterly cold, yet this demure and rather shy woman, with the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen, had captivated him entirely.
The moment stretched as their gazes remained caught, hanging in the air like a flurry of snow that could not settle on the ground. He drank her in, her porcelain skin quite unique in its softness. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose, and she had full, berry-coloured lips, the top slightly fuller than the lower.
When he recognized how long he had been staring at her, those dark brown orbs skittered away to another part of theroom.
He had never been so intrigued by a woman in his life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Clarissa’s heart was pounding. It was not a pleasant feeling to be so utterly overwhelmed by a single look. She could feel a flush staining her cheeks under Lord Bolton’s intense scrutiny.
She was unsure whether she had misinterpreted his regard, yet he had observed her for such a length of time it had felt very deliberate.
Gathering her courage, she looked back at him, immediately caught in that emerald gaze for a second time. He was extraordinarily handsome. His thick mop of dark hair made his chiselled features and strong jaw all the more attractive. A lock of it had come loose and rested above his right eyebrow.
The strains of a waltz began to play through the air, and Clarissa looked up as several couples walked to the floor to begin the next set.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Crompton?”
Clarissa stared at Lord Bolton, wide-eyed. He couldn’t possibly wish to dance with me, surely! She thought frantically. But he raised his hand as though the request was quite genuine.
She glanced at Rosemary, who was smiling at her encouragingly. Surely, this was just a brother being kind to a disgraced friend. That seemed more fitting. She had never received an invitation from anyone as handsome or titled as Lord Bolton. She was swept away by her nerves.
But she also knew that Lord Bolton had a reputation. It had been whispered even at the small gatherings she had been permitted to attend in recent years. Her own mother had commented upon it before they arrived.
What if I make a fool of myself? What if associating with him taints me, and it lowers us even further in society's eyes?
But she could not refuse; that would be even more scandalous given her position. Several eyes were swivelling to watch them. If Clarissa had been flushed before, now her face was positively blazing. What should I do?
Accepting his offer seemed dangerous. He looked respectable, but then so did Mr Harrison, and Catherine was proof that one could never know a man’s true character just by his looks.
Were there whispers in the air, or was she conjuring them from thought alone? Her family had been dogged by scandal for so long; was she about to ruin them forever?
The intensity of his gaze had awakened something new and bright within her. It felt like hope, and that was the most dangerous thing of all.
“Thank you, my Lord. I would be delighted,” she forced out, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, her throat dry.
She managed to raise a gloved hand to him, and he took it without hesitation. The warmth of his fingers sent a wicked thrill of pleasure through her body, and she attempted to smother it, mindful of the many eyes upon them.
She glanced at Rosemary, but her friend was all polite eagerness. His sister did not seem surprised by Lord Bolton’s offer. Clarissa could not shake the idea that they had agreed to this in advance to ensure she would not be seen as a wallflower. That was more believable than Lord Bolton having any interest in her.
Clarissa breathed deeply through her nose as they walked to their places amongst the other couples. She tried not to stare about the room, watching for the disapproving glares she was sure were being levelled at her behind her back.
To her surprise, there were none. His status as an earl would be enough to protect him from the more slanderous gossip. She imagined few would dare speak badly of his dance partner soopenly.
He is not a woman, she thought bitterly, which means he can live as he pleases with far less reproach.
She curtsied as they came together, his hand moving to her waist and the other taking her hand as they began the slow circling of the waltz. Clarissa fixed her gaze on his left shoulder, determined not to get lost in those eyes again. But the hand on her waist was a brand that seemed to pierce her side with heat, his fingers gently pressing against her flesh as they moved about the floor.
She had never been so affected by anyone and could only hope and pray that it did not show on her face. Lord Bolton’s body was large and imposing against her own, his steps sure, his back strict. He was an excellent dancer, and she felt safe in his arms. Not since Lord Warrington had she danced a Waltz, and she had forgotten how freeing it was.
She attempted to keep her composure, trying to remember the specific rumours that had swirled against Lord Bolton’s name. He was known to have spent company with many women on the continent. There had even been a suggestion that he had set himself up with a wealthy widow for a short time. Everyone agreed he was one of the most charming men of the Ton. Apparently, that was excuse enough of his conduct.
