Page 48 of My Wicked Earl
Lady Helen wished to float about thetonas a countess. Colin wished to return to Runshaw Park. They were each other’s means to an end. There was little shame in that, he reminded himself. Virtually every other marriage in thetonwas cut from the same cloth. He would never care for her, nor would she care for him.
Yes. But she bores me silly. She’s pretty enough and rich enough but I’m sure she doesn’t know how to catch a frog. I doubt she wiggles her toes as she reads, if she reads at all.
“Lord Kilmaire?”
“My apologies, Lady Helen. I was thinking how your hair shines like gold in the candlelight. I fear it struck me speechless for a moment.” I can be charming, he mused, watching the way Lady Helen preened at his compliment.
“You flatter me, Lord Kilmaire.”
Her eyes slid to her mother, confirming that Lady Cottingham’s head was still turned away before boldly touching his forearm with the tip of her fan. “I look forward to our bird watching, Lord Kilmaire.”
“As do I,” he returned.
Oh yes, I shall count the minutes until we search for the ruby throated thrush.
Lady Cottingham was still turned towards the front of the room. Her mouth opened slightly as one hand flew up to pat her coiffure. A languid sigh escaped her lips. She had totally forgotten her daughter and Colin.
Colin drained his wine in disgust.
Lady Cottingham’s behavior could only be attributed to one thing, or rather,one person. No woman seemed immune. Once Colin saw an elderly duchess fan herself furiously at being exposed to such potent allure. The woman had to have been at least eighty.
How in the world did Alex tolerate such nonsense?
Lady Cottingham gave another heartfelt sigh as if she’d just been awarded her heart’s desire and pressed her fan against the top of her chest. She was struck dumb with rapture as the Marquess of Cambourne walked further into the drawing room.
Cam strode forward, the ridiculous green baby hanging from his ear, greeting his guests with a wide smile. Alex, his marchioness dangled from one arm, the indomitable Dowager Marchioness, his grandmother, on the other.
The Dowager was resplendent this evening in a gown of dove gray satin, a small diamond tiara set amongst the silver curls of her hair. Diamonds dripped from her ears and throat, sparkling in the light.
The thump of her cane echoed in the room as she made her way forward, surveying her guests with a shrewd glance of her emerald eyes.
Alex wore a swath of shimmering blue silk, her mass of dark, curling hair twisted into an elaborate hairstyle, no doubt designed to keep her willful locks constrained. Sapphire earrings dangled from her ears, her only adornment except for a locket she wore around her neck. Alex bestowed a welcoming smile on Lady Cottingham, despite the adoration with which the woman’s eyes followed the Marquess of Cambourne.
Cam seemed oblivious to the effect his appearance had on the fairer sex.
Colin knew he was not.
As he watched, Alex’s gloved hand discreetly pinched her husband’s forearm and whispered something for his ears alone.
Cam brought the Dowager to a large chair set in the center of the room. The position of the chair, covered in crimson velvet, as well as the chair’s size, gave one the impression of a throne.
No doubt that was the Dowager’s intent.
Gingerly, the Dowager lowered herself to sit, bejeweled fingers clutching the head of her cane. She nodded to Cam in thanks before settling herself.
Lady Cambourne left her husband’s side to greet Lord Hamill.
The aging lord’s hooded eyes roamed over Alex’s voluptuous form, settling for a moment across the tops of her breasts, before he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Old lecher.
Upon meeting Lord Hamill, Colin formed a very firm opinion. An elderly rake. One who still thought himself attractive to women, despite the fact his looks had long since faded. His watery eyes flickered over every woman in an assessing manner, focusing on their breasts and lips, a sure sign of his true nature. The man was reputed to be widely respected in Parliament and possessed a keen political acumen, regardless of his roguish behavior.
Miranda couldn’t seriously be considering Lord Hamill as a husband. He was nearly as old as the Dowager.
“Good evening.” The Marquess of Cambourne approached and slid next to Colin, nodding to Lady Cottingham.
Lady Cottingham took her daughter’s arm, pulling Lady Helen down with her as she executed a small curtsy.
