Page 16 of The Trouble with True Love

Clara bit her lip, smiling to herself. How, indeed.

The grandfather clock by the stairs began to sound the hour and as the twelfth chime died away, a sudden chuckle of laughter echoed to her along the corridor.

“Midnight, eh?” He laughed again. “Well, then, Cinderella, it seems I must bid you good-night.”

Her smile widened into a grin. She didn’t like him, nor did she have the desire for his company, but nonetheless, it was exciting to be caught up in a real-life fairy tale—to be, for the first time, the lovely ingénue who captured the interest of the handsomest man at the ball. Even if he was a cad.

The door to the ballroom opened and closed again, but Clara continued to wait, counting a full thirty seconds before she dared to emerge from between the statues.

Thankfully, the corridor was empty.

Chapter 5

Rex could not imagine how the girl could have vanished in the blink of an eye, but he knew she couldn’t have gone far, and any other time, he’d have willingly lingered for a more thorough search. Unfortunately, he had other obligations to fulfill, and wandering the corridors of the house in search of one cheeky girl wasn’t among them, a fact brought home to him with force the moment he reentered the ballroom.

Auntie Pet’s stern gaze honed in on him at once, reminding him that he had at least half a dozen dances to go before he could return his attentions to the provoking Miss Deverill.

He glanced around for a suitable partner, and when he spied Lady Frances Chinden a few feet away, he approached her for the waltz. From his point of view, Lady Frances was a perfect choice. Her father had massive gambling debts, so Petunia would never approve of her as a possible future Countess of Galbraith. She was also distractingly pretty to look at and quite enjoyable company, but even Lady Frances’s considerable charms did not enable him to dismiss Clara Deverill from his thoughts. The girl’s face, lit with laughter at his expense, remained crystal clear in his mind even as he danced with another woman, the orange-blossom scent of her hair still lingered in his nostrils, and her words echoed in his ears more loudly than the strains of Strauss’s “Blue Danube.”

Kissing me during the dance is impossible, Lord Galbraith... because the dance is over.

He pictured himself as he’d been a few minutes ago, dazed, stunned, even aroused—on a dance floor, he appreciated with chagrin, in full view of society. He’d been so occupied with delicious notions of kissing her that he hadn’t even realized the music had stopped and they were no longer dancing. No wonder she’d laughed at him.

Still, he did have an excuse. She might not be the sort a man noticed in a first cursory glance, true enough, but when she laughed, the transformation was a bit shattering. When Clara Deverill laughed, when she smiled, it lit up her face—hell, it lit up the room—and sent any notions that she was plain straight out the window.

She didn’t realize it herself, he suspected, or have any idea that she had a unique charm all her own. He’d have been happy to show her, but she’d never given him the chance. She’d been off like a shot the moment the dance was over, leaving him standing there like a chump and feeling like a prize idiot.

Where she’d gone still baffled him. She must have slipped into the ladies’ withdrawing room, though he couldn’t see how she’d managed to reach it in time. She must have run hell-for-leather.

But why? Without being unduly conceited, he knew he wasn’t the sort ladies usually ran from. So why such a desire to escape? Had she merely been flirting with him? Running away, expecting him to pursue as the next move in the game?

That didn’t quite square. She had not wanted to dance with him, that had been clear enough, and despite a few flirtatious words here and there, her manner toward him had been for the most part coolly indifferent, even disapproving.

Who was she to approve or disapprove of him? he wondered, a bit nettled. They’d only just met.

With that thought, he felt again the curious sense that he knew her somehow.

She had flatly denied it, but the more Rex tried to dismiss a nagging feeling of familiarity, the stronger it became. They must have met, and she was denying it for some reason. But why? To pay him out for some slight, perhaps? Had he offended her in some way?

Before he could explore that rather unsettling prospect, Lady Frances’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

“You seem preoccupied, Lord Galbraith.”

With an effort, Rex set aside his contemplations of his former dance partner and returned his attention to the one in his arms, hastily conjuring an excuse for his inattention. “My apologies, Lady Frances. I am preoccupied, I do confess. On my uncle’s behalf, I’m playing host this evening, and I’m not accustomed to the role. It’s giving me cause for anxiety.”

“There’s no need for that. You’re doing splendidly. The role of host suits you well.”

Like most men, Rex found praise an agreeable thing, but only if he deserved it, and in this case, he didn’t, since he’d been playing host for less than an hour. No, he thought, looking into Lady Frances’s pretty face, this was the meaningless sort of flattery debutantes seemed to feel was expected of them. Most debutantes, anyway.

You do have quite a scandalous reputation.

Rex muttered an oath.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lady Frances was staring at him, and for the second time, Rex forced his thoughts back to his present dance partner. But despite his best intentions, he occasionally found his gaze scanning the room for a glimpse of a willowy figure in white illusion and a crown of light brown hair. To no avail.

It wasn’t until he had returned Lady Frances to her parents and started toward the refreshment table that his efforts seemed rewarded, and when he spied a tall, slender figure in white slipping onto the terrace, he wasted no time in going after her. When he reached the terrace, however, he discovered that the woman he’d been following was not Clara Deverill, but the slightly scandalous Lady Hunterby, who gave him a wicked smile just before she dashed down the steps and out into the gardens.

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