“Trust me, my lady, I know my cousin. You should go to him.”
“I . . .” Rebecca glanced around the room. “Someone will surely notice me slipping from the room.”
“Do you care?”
Rebecca furrowed her brows. Did she care? She found the answer simple. No, she did not.
She grinned at Langley. “Thank you for the dance.”
He nodded, and Rebecca spun in the direction Wicke had disappeared.
“Thoughts breed excuses. Actions breed results,” she breathed and dashed off to her destiny.
***
WOLFSTAN WAITED FORRebecca to follow him.Ifshe’d follow him.
Inside his chest, his heart thumped in a painful rhythm. Jealousy. It tasted bitter on his tongue.
Intellectually, he’d had innumerable insights over the past week, all of them ranging from what a fool he’d been over the years to his more recent idiocies. Two of these flashing discoveries had been of utmost importance. The only ones that mattered, in fact.
Christ, when he thought about that moment a week ago in the carriage, his gut still tightened to a ball of lead. It felt as though his feet had been caught in a bog and he was slowly sinking, incapable of pulling himself from the death trap and the only person who could pull him to safety he’d left standing in the cold.
Wolfstan had gone straight for his horse and sent the carriage back for Rebecca. He’d been so angry that day. And the first thing he’d done was hunt down Alexander Lance. All the bloody way back to London. The man had proved remarkably elusive.
He balled his fists. His shoulders felt like a ton of bricks had settled there. Heavy. Oppressive. He finally understood.
“Wicke.” John Burrows, the Earl of Stapleton, intercepted him with the call of his name. “Retiring so soon?”
Wolfstan turned, cursing his luck. “I’m ill-suited for these events, I’m afraid.”
“We missed you at the fox hunt,” Stapleton said.
“Regrettably, I had business in London.”
Stapleton nodded. “Ah. I thought you’d spend time at Westbridge Park. Lady Rebecca is in attendance. The first invitation she had ever accepted. My wife is quite pleased.”
“The ball is a raging success,” Wolfstan agreed.
“Yes, well, we had a few, er, unfortunate incidents this year.”
Stapleton must be referring to the Masquerade Ball Wolfstan had also missed. “Let us hope no one else drives the countess’s heart rate up tonight.”
Stapleton smiled, his gaze darting to his wife, who stood in conversation with a trio of ladies. They made a handsome couple.
The countess looked up then and indicated to Stapleton with wide eyes a man who sauntered into the room. Wolfstan followed their gaze. He did not recognize the man.
Stapleton cursed. “If you will excuse me, a riff-raff just entered my ball.”
Wolfstan inclined his head, and went on to find a spot in the shadows, and waited. He did not wait long. Rebecca, a vision in a white gown with lace trimmings, slipped from the ballroom. The color red might have suited her better, now that he was privy to the truth.
As if sensing his regard, her eyes moved over the shadows.
“Wolfstan.”
Not Wicke.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You look ravishing.”
