Across the room, Benedict stood with Stanwyck, attired in a well-tailored black jacket and trousers with a tastefully knotted tie of crimson silk at his throat. His hair gleamed like burnished wheat, and the carved planes of his face drew the attention of more than one woman. The diamond-adorned American slowed as she passed by him, her gaze lingering on his features a few moments longer than was proper. Not that Alex could blame her. Benedict was a striking figure of a man, his rugged coloring and sleek strength ever so much more appealing than the pale, milquetoast gentlemen who congregated around the dance floor.
Their host held court not far from the spot where Alex had positioned herself, mingling with the guests while keeping an eye on the playwright. Handsome in his expertly tailored finery, Raymond Stockwell had inherited his father’s height and lean build, but from there, any comparison was nonexistent. While Professor Stockwell’s hair had borne touches of red even into his sixth decade on earth, and the warmth in his features had been most endearing, the younger man’s deep brown hair, keenly intelligent dark eyes, and piercing gaze reminded Alex of a hawk. The man was strikingly attractive. Yet somehow, inapproachable and quietly fierce.
Dressed in black with a snowy white cravat at his throat, Raymond Stockwell seemed to view everyone in attendance as either a prospective patron of his theatrical endeavors, a potential liaison to warm his sheets, or, in the case of the tear-stained young woman who stood within a stone’s throw of Alex, someone he’d deemed unworthy of an audience.
She turned to the sniffling young woman who dabbed at her eyes with a small square of linen. “Lady Mildred, is something wrong?”
“No…not at all,” she sniffled unconvincingly.
“I cannot help but notice that you are on the verge of tears,” she persisted gently. Given the faint marks on her cheeks, Lady Mildred had already been weeping. But Alex did not wish to cause the shy young woman additional embarrassment.
“It’s only that…well…” She shot Stockwell a dagger-filled glance. “He is such an unpleasant man. He implied that…that my father might want to consider financing one of his productions… If not, well, I did not deserve his time.”
“Why, the cad,” Alex murmured sympathetically. His demeanor with her had been quite the opposite. Solicitous and open, he’d seemed quite interested in impressing her. Surely the man did not believe her father possessed the funds to fritter away on one of his plays. How very odd.
“It would not be so hard to bear,” Lady Mildred said, her voice a near whisper. “But…the last time we were together, he led me to believe…” She sniffled loudly, and it appeared a torrent of tears would erupt. “He led me to believe he might come to care for me, in due time.”
“The man is a rogue of the worst sort,” Alex said. “If I were you, I’d want nothing to do with him.”
Lady Mildred gave a nod, buried her nose in her handkerchief, and gave another sniff. “I had no idea he was such an unfeeling excuse for a man.”
With that, Lady Mildred took her leave, likely heading for the Ladies’ Necessary to freshen her face. As if on cue, Raymond spotted her. Maneuvering around a few fawning women, he came to her. A smile he no doubt intended to be charming marked his well-defined features.
“I was hoping to encounter you again this evening,” he said.
“Were you now?” Deciding she would let this interaction play out, she composed her features.
“It’s not every day that I meet a woman like you.”
She made a show of glancing about the room. “This ballroom is awash in beautiful women who would like nothing more than to curry your favor. I cannot help but wonder why you might think me unique.”
He held her gaze. “If pressed, I would have to say it is the fact that you donotwish to gain my attention that makes you fascinating.”
She forced a little shrug. “If you believe I am playing hard to get, I’m afraid you are mistaken.”
His sly, meant-to-be charming expression returned. “I have no such notion. That is one of the things that intrigues me about you.”
A man who reminded her of a well-fed bull sidled up to Stockwell. His broad, fleshy face and square jaw seemed a bit too large for his features. Judging from the lack of wrinkles and absence of gray in his dull brown hair, he was still a young man, though his exaggerated mustache created the illusion of a man in his middle years.
Small, nondescript brown eyes met hers. An unpleasant smile pulled at his lips as his gaze swept over her. Not quite a leer, but too lingering to be comfortable.
“Keeping the ladies to yourself again,” the man said. There was something familiar about him, but she could not put a name to the face.
“Sadly, Miss Quinn is quite immune to my charms,” Raymond Stockwell said with a light, humor-filled tone. “It’s been ages since I saw you last, Nelson.”
“I’ve had business on the Continent,” Nelson replied without elaboration. He pinned Stockwell with a narrow-eyed look. “Might I warrant an introduction to this lovely lady?”
“Of course. I have been remiss in my duties as host.” Raymond offered a false smile, then introduced the stocky man as a financier, Edward Nelson.
Alex exchanged pleasantries with the newcomer, but his tendency to direct his gaze to her bosom rather than her face made her skin crawl. Perhaps she would take her leave and avail herself of Raymond’s company after his repugnant acquaintance wandered away.
She spotted Sophie through the crowd. The petite blonde had worked her way past a throng of dancers, somehow managing to make eye contact. Her sister’s protégé was indeed a force of nature.
By the time Sophie had crossed to where she stood, a heavily painted brunette with hair down to her waist had caught Nelson’s eye. Mumbling an excuse, he quickly took his leave.
“Mr. Stockwell, allow me to extend my compliments,” Sophie began. “This affair is perfect. The music is sublime.”
“I’m pleased my little soiree is a pleasant experience for you. Sir Gavin is in attendance, is he not?”
