“There you are.”
Isabella jumped at the voice in her ear, turning as her punch sloshed the rim of the cup.
Lord Livingstone, with sweat darkening the tips of his hair, leaned closer. “I hope you are not too much exerted after so sprightly a dance.”
“Not at all.” She smiled, his breath warming her face, though the need to take a step back overcame her. “Dancing is the greatest diversion from any unpleasant thoughts.”
“Which are?”
“You are too inquisitive.”
“And you are flushed. Allow me.” He took her punch, handed it to a servant, then took her arm. “We must find someplace where you might escape the heat and commotion.”
“Ah, but Lilias shall be searching for me. She has retired to the dressing room in hopes a maid might remedy a tear in her hem, but when she is finished—”
“Then allow me to escort you there to meet her.”
She almost declined the offer. She should have.
But he left no space for response and whisked her for the ballroom doors so fast she hadn’t a chance to collect her thoughts. In the hall, candlelight reflected off gilded mirrors and gleamed on the marble floors, and the air dropped several degrees cooler.
“The dressing room is this way.” Their shoes clicked on the floor, and with every step, his grip tightened on her arm.
She walked faster. The hall was empty, save for a manservant who brushed by them then disappeared toward the ballroom.
Lord Livingstone swept her into a three-window alcove.
Air whooshed from her lungs and a protest shaped her lips—
His mouth claimed hers.
Furious shock shivered through her as she pushed at his chest and ducked out of his arms. How dare he! She escaped the alcove, heart hammering, knees weakening as she glanced around her.
The hall remained empty.
No one had seen. How could he do such a thing? Didn’t he know how easily such a scandal could leak into whispers that would spread with madness? She would be tainted if such a thing had been witnessed. Father’s plans for her would be ruined. Herfuturewould be ruined.
“Miss Gresham?”
She had imagined he would follow her, apologize for his untowardness, and beg her forgiveness like a repenting fool.
But he stood still in the darkness of the alcove, shadows playing on his face, eyes blazing through hers without any remorse. “ ‘Passions are liken’d best to floods and streams. The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb. So when affection yields discourse, it seems—’ ”
“Do not speak poetry to me.” She raised her chin, mouth burning with the sullying taste of him. “You have compromised me in the most ungentlemanly manner conceivable, and any hope you might have entertained of conquering my heart is finished.”
“Not finished, Miss Gresham.” A grin crooked his lips. He leaned into the alcove window, rustling the draperies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Only begun.”
Heat flaming her cheeks, she glanced once more to make certain no one had seen, then fled down the hall for the dressing room. Inside, she watched a maid weave a needle and thread in and out of Lilias’ green satin hem.
The anger morphed into resolution. Upon Father’s return, she would make known to him her resolve.
She would never see Lord Livingstone again.
CHAPTER 4
Knocking on this door was becoming so habitual he no longer suffered from frayed nerves.
William took a step back, hands behind his back, and waited until the butler answered.
