Page 53 of The Hunter
He would pay for this.
Gordon St. Vincent was, indeed, handsome. Lean and elegant in the way of poetic gentlemen, but with robust good looks, curly dark hair, and high color that belonged to an enthusiast of the outdoors.
“Enjoymentis a crass word for what we experienced due to your transcendent performance, Miss LeCour. I was so personally enraptured by you that I demanded Throckmorton make an introduction. And now that he has, I have decided we simplymustbecome better acquainted.” The young man’s enamored fervor was a common occurrence in Millie’s experience, though gentlemen usually waited until their wives were out of earshot before taking such obvious liberties.
Millie cast a glance at Lady Benchley, a plump woman with pleasant features and the most astounding wealth of auburn hair she’d ever seen, who stood physically apart from the family, both figuratively and literally.
“A pleasure to meet you both, Lord and Lady Benchley.”
The viscountess stepped toward Millie and her husband, but he held up a hand as though to warn her off.
In an instant, Argent was at Millie’s side, his elbow grazing hers with a strange, electric sensation that she credited to the wool of his evening coat. She glanced at him, and though his features remained the same as ever, she read a tension in him. A ready wariness that made her uneasy.
Did he know these people?
The ladies certainly gawked at him with wide eyes, and their fans fluttered with more haste.
She paid particular attention to them all, her anxiety thrumming closer to the surface. Nothing struck her as out of the ordinary, though Argent stiffened next to her as Lord Thurston bent over her hand. Which seemed odd, really, because it was Lord Gordon St. Vincent whose kiss had lingered for much too long.
A sharp breath from the sentinel beside her drew everyone’s notice, and Millie was able to retrieve her hand from Lord Thurston’s clutches.
She gestured to Argent. “I’d like you to meet my escort, Mr. Argent.”
Lady Thurston’s fan fluttered as she dipped a curtsy. “Mr. Argent, did I not see you enter the offices of our solicitor, Sir Gerald Dashforth, earlier today?”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Argent replied lightly.
“It’s only that there aren’t many men of your size,” she remarked blithely. “You’re quite unmistakable.”
“Except there must be, because you are mistaken.” Argent said this with a tight smile, and Millie could feel her brow knit together as she glanced up to him. Dashforth was the name of the solicitor who’d hired Argent to kill her. He had, indeed, gone there this very afternoon. Why lie about it?
“A damn shame about old Dashforth,” Gordon St. Vincent chimed in. “Scotland Yard found him garroted this very afternoon.”
Millie gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Though Argent didn’t react to her outburst, Millie knew he’d done it, that he had killed the man after leaving her in the baths. Why? Had it been warranted? Had they fought each other, or had Argent committed cold-blooded murder only hours before?
“See here, Gordy,” Lord Thurston chastised his brother-in-law. With his dark blue eyes blazing, Millie thought that he must be frowning under his silver-peppered mustache. “The ladies needn’t hear about such violent behavior, especially when they so narrowly missed it. We don’t want them distraught, do we?”
Gordon waved him off. “They’re the ones who insisted we come tonight.” His lascivious gaze drifted back to Millie. “And I’m utterly glad we attended.”
Argent’s fists tightened at his sides.
Adept at dodging unwanted attentions, Millie turned to Viscount Benchley’s wife.
Lady Benchley’s voluptuous form appeared more statuesque in comparison to the slender St. Vincent’s. The unfortunate cut of the lace on her dress didn’t seem to be helping matters at all. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as her husband, which perhaps explained why he preferred not to stand next to her. Millie found herself pitying the viscountess, as the slump of her wide shoulders expressed more about her than any polite words ever could.
Her smile created charming dimples, though, and Millie was struck by the abject beauty of her jade eyes. If she’d only look up more often, and perhaps worn more becoming gowns, she’d be a rather lovely woman. Millie truly envied her thick, voluminous hair.
“You were wonderful tonight, Miss LeCour,” Lady Benchly ventured, and your costume is lovely. I adore the fashions of the mid-sixteenth century. All those pearls and luxurious velvet; I find it terribly romantic, don’t you?”
“Utterly romantic. And thank you for your kindness.” Millie offered her a genuine smile, though both her mind and pulse were racing. These people… why did they put Argent off so? Did one of them want her dead?
“It takes a certain… economy of figure such as yours, Miss LeCour, to wear a style like that and not make it look like a Bedouin tent.” Lord Benchley stepped forward and addressed his wife with barely leashed disdain. “Some women are lucky that velvet is no longer the fashion, aren’t they, my dear?”
Lady Thurston heartily agreed, a malicious enjoyment glittering in her eyes. “Yes, and that color would make you seem a ghastly yellow, Philomena. Only someone with porcelain skin and lovely dark hair like Miss LeCour could bring such a historical garment to life.”
To call the expression on Philomena St. Vincent’s face crestfallen would have been putting it kindly. Something about the bruised, wretched unhappiness drawn upon her features left no doubt that the woman was ill-treated and entirely lonely. Her eyes returned to the floor, and desolation rippled from her in an almost palpable wave.
Instinctively, Millie rushed to her rescue. “Oh, but Lady Benchley, what any woman wouldn’t give for your uncommonly lovely hair, and those breathtaking eyes of yours. Your coloring, milady, is indeed enviable.”
