Page 53 of Lord of Temptation
So she could continue to be bombarded with such demoralizing commentary? “No, thank you. I believe I shall watch the dancers.”
After her aunt left, Anne moved farther back into the fronds. It wasn’t that she didn’t like being here. She loved the gaiety and the music and the lovely gowns. She enjoyed watching the gentlemen flirt, but she couldn’t quite relish them flirting with her. She caught speculative glances from time to time, knew they were sizing her up. She’d forgotten how calculating everything was. Perhaps she should simply drop every eligible bachelor’s name into a hat and draw one out. It seemed as good a solution as any if her aunt was correct in her assumption that love wouldn’t be part of the bargain. It would certainly save her time, humilia—
“I never took you to be a wallflower.”
Her breath hitched at the familiar silken voice that rasped near her ear. The tang of orange wafted around her. Fighting for composure, she slowly turned. Her heart pounded at the sight of Tristan, so devilishly handsome in his black swallowtailed coat. His face was bare of whiskers. His hair, while still long, had been trimmed. His light blue eyes were filled with devilment. “You,” she croaked.
He grinned, a grin that spoke of secrets shared. “Me.”
“Whatever are you doing here?”
“Speaking with you obviously.”
“But—” She was fighting not to panic. He shouldn’t be here. Hecouldn’tbe here. “However did you get in?”
“Through a door.”
Oh, God, the infuriating man! “Invitations were required.”
“And I managed to gain one.”
“How?”
“I had hoped you’d be a bit more pleased to see me, rather than seeking answers to such trivial matters.”
“But this isn’t your world.”
“Unfortunately it is.” Some emotion that she couldn’t identify flickered in his eyes. Loss, grief, sorrow. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Allow me.” He tipped his head slightly. “Lord Tristan Easton.”
Lord? Impossible. He was untethered, did as he pleased. He grew up on the sea, he—
Then the name he’d spoken registered at the back of her mind.
“Easton?” The word came out on a choked breath. “Your brother is—”
“The Duke of Keswick.”
She fought to remember everything her brothers had told her, what she’d heard over the years. She’d been a child when they went missing, yet she could remember the nightmares that had visited her, the fear that she, too, would suddenly disappear. “One of the lost lords. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m a lord by birth and blood, but not by life. I don’t fit comfortably here as you can well imagine, since you know something of my life beyond London. To be honest, I had no particular interest in claiming my place in Society until I realized that it would provide me with much easier access to you.”
“But you’re a ship captain.”
“Must a man be only one thing?”
She had shared her body, her soul, perhaps even a portion of her heart with this man, and yet she knew so little about him. It made her feel tainted in some way, less than she should be. “It was your uncle you were running away from, the one who wished you harm.”
The glimmer of teasing dimmed. “Yes.”
“Was he really going to kill you?”
“We had evidence to indicate so. But that was long ago. I’m much more interested in claiming a dance than talking of the past.”
How like him to avoid revealing the mysteries behind the myriad of stories that surrounded him.
“A dance?” she squeaked, irritated that she could not appear as composed as he.
“Yes, it’s an activity where one—”
