Page 95 of The Scot Who Loved Me
She rose slowly, her skirts a green silk froth. “I must, my lady. As a tribute to my grandmother, you see.”
A politely bored, “Your grandmother?”
“Yes, the late Mrs. Elizabeth Wilcox. She taught me to show deference to my betters. Especially those of... experienced years.”
A brittle smile stretched. Countess Denton was a vision of good breeding and perfect style.Thanks to expensive creams and fastidious avoidance of the sun, she glowed with beauty and fine health. Her current gown of coppered silk and cream did wonders for the woman. Candlelight caressed the fabric and her sherry-colored eyes. Truly stunning. Her characteristic silver-white lock vanished in piles of curled black hair. The countess apparently had her unusual streak dyed to match the rest of her hair.
Imperious fingers flicked a summons. “Come closer.”
Anne could hardly resist. She stepped into her ladyship’s sphere of perfume and power. Countess Denton’s head tipped forward and she dropped her voice for Anne’s ears alone.
“You are swimming in dangerous waters, Mrs. Neville.”
“Am I?”
“I know what you’re about.”
Dread seized Anne. With her ear cocked to the woman, guests traipsing the stairs and mingling in the entry would think the countess shared a secret with a friend. It was intimate, as only enemies in skirts would do battle.
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, my lady,” Anne said lightly, but her palms dampened.
“You disappoint me, Mrs. Neville. I was prepared to open doors for you, to give you an opportunity. One that any other woman in the City would kill to have.”
“I am not any other woman.”
She parted from their tête-à-tête with a healthy dose of fear. She’d lived too long with its abilityto separate the wheat from the chaff as it were. The countess, a creature of comfort, had not. The countess had lived too much with her confidence. It was making her careless with details. Thus, the upstart widow of Bermondsey Wall was one step ahead in their uneven race. It was an advantage Anne would enjoy while she could.
“I must decline your gracious offer, milady.”
Spite flickered in the countess’s eyes. They both knew why: all six foot, four inches of handsome highlander was why.
“Any doors opened will be of my doing and mine alone.” Anne quieted her voice, lending the smallest smirk to it. “Another lesson from my grandmother, the late Mrs. Wilcox.”
The Countess of Denton looked ready to smite her, yet the woman managed a polite, glacial, “Enjoy tonight, Mrs. Neville, for tomorrow, I shall crush you.”
“Not if I crush you first, Lady Denton.” Cold words delivered with knifelike precision.
Anne turned her back on the woman and swanned off with all the bravado a body could muster. She linked arms with Will. “Champagne. Now.”
He kissed her bruised temple and whispered, “Whatever you said, lass, has go’ her ladyship glaring daggers at your back.”
“Good.” She walked as close to him as her panniers allowed.
Will led them past gilt-trimmed doors flung wide. The drawing room–cum–art salon number one. The salacious art lived in the ballroom onanother floor, where not surprisingly, most of the guests had migrated.
In this room, a quartet hid behind a wall of greenery, their stringed music serenading guests. Gorgeous paintings sat on easels placed around the room. For those who wanted to linger, damask upholstered chairs and settees had been arranged for comfortable viewing. Cecelia was planted on a beige settee. Her face tipped high while she conversed with an ardent, bespectacled admirer who owned neatly queued chestnut hair.
Anne dropped on the seat beside Cecelia. She was grateful the admirer answered a viscount’s summons about a seascape, and even more grateful for the footman who stopped with a tray of champagne, not red wine. Anne took two glasses. The footman didn’t bat an eye.
“Thank you.” She emptied the first glass and tucked it under the settee.
Cecelia blinked at her. “Thirsty work greeting the countess?”
Anne gulped champagne from her second glass. She would’ve kept going, but Will slid onto the seat next to her.
“Calm down and tell us what happened.” His voice was her lodestone. She could listen to it all night.
“Something happened?” Cecelia’s brows pinched. She was fierce and exquisite with her piles of blond hair and artful cosmetics.
