Page 6 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
“I brought her to the masquerade, to you. I did the right thing, I hope,” she had said in a trembling voice.
He had nodded, not sure at that point if the situation could be salvaged or not.
When he’d offered her a ride home in a carriage, she’d gone near hysterical with fear of her father’s reaction to her arriving home in such a fine conveyance. How would she ever explain? He then understood her hesitancy and found a cart and driver to take her home.
“Here’s that rogue of a gentleman I told you about,” Lady Wyndam said, her brown eyes lighting with affection at the sight of him. She was one of his mother’s friends from her girlhood days, and Evan had known her his whole life.
Mrs. Berry looked up, and he flashed his most charming smile, concealing his inward turmoil. Something flickered in her eyes. Something he couldn’t identify.
Gorgeous eyes. Hazel-brown and large eyes, framed by long, thick, deep brown lashes that made their color even deeperand dramatic and made her appraisal of him seem even more intense. So intense that heat swept through him.
Not even a hint of a smile curved those full, red lips.
She kept staring at him as though judging his character and worth. Such a look made the back of his neck prickle. Such a look made her seem formidable.
And an exciting gale of fresh air.
Women did not weigh and measure him. Instead, they fawned and flirted with him, and he didn’t have to worry where he stood with them.
He stopped in front of Lady Wyndam, accepted her extended hand, and kissed it. “Lady Wyndam, what a pleasure to see you tonight.”
“I was so disappointed when Lady Barnet told me you had already left. I am so glad that you have returned.”
He stared at her, his mind scrambling for a reason for having returned. He lifted his hand to show his gray suede glove. “I forgot my gloves in the cardroom.” He flashed her a conspiratorial grin. “These are so finely made; they fit me so well, I don’t think I could ever replace them.”
The flimsiness of that whole assertion struck him only after he had said it. But at least he’d given a somewhat plausible explanation.
“I know, a good pair of gloves is a luxury that, unfortunately, money cannot always buy. Once we get an excellently made pair, it would be terrible to lose them.”
Lady Wyndam was trying hard to help him with this conversation. That much was apparent, which was all to the good. She turned towards her companion. “Mrs. Berry, I’d love to introduce the son of one of my dearest friends.”
His plan to ‘rescue’ Mrs. Berry from the false abduction and to ingratiate himself to her in that way had been ruined. Ruined by the very lady who had beckoned him over. That would have been a better, more emotionally imbued way to have made her acquaintance.
But this would do.
He was familiar with Lady Wyndam and the ladies she liked to make friends with. Over the past few years, she’d introduced him to several, and those introductions had always led to the best of friendships for himself as well. The ladies had been looking for uncomplicated carnal fun. Ladies of impeccable breeding, taste, and manners, and had been unquestionably discreet.
But none of them had been the target of his professional skills as a sometime spy for the Home Office. This assignment was going to take all his skill, tact, and discernment.
With his most charming smile so frozen in place that his jaw ached, he turned to Mrs. Berry.
Her gaze pierced him with its intensity. Despite her serious expression, the perfection of her high cheekbones, her oval face with its light olive complexion, and those full red lips struck him.
Her beauty struck him like a physical blow.
His superior had said she was comely.
Comely.Really?
Perhaps they had not known just how striking she really was. It unnerved him that they had not known. What else did they not know about her? And why hadn’t they used their usual thoroughness in investigating the surface, obvious details about her?
“Mrs. Berry, this handsome rogue is Evan Hayley, the Earl of Ashington.”
What flashed in Mrs. Berry’s hazel eyes? Her features seemed to harden a fraction of a second before she smiled.
A false, forced smile.
Dear God, this was not going well.
