Balstead nodded. “We run in the same crowds in London.” Then his gaze swept the room. “And I was hosting a party, but most of the guest list seems to have been waylaid in Seabridge Gate.”
The men shuffled, eying each other, but only Ash responded. “Our apologies. We seem to have changed our plans for the next few weeks, and quite honestly, our entire futures. So you need not stay. Return to the guests you have and enjoy your festivities.”
Balstead’s mouth thinned. “Most unfortunate.” Then he placed a smile on his lips. “I knew you lot were the marrying kind. Sisters even. How exciting.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking none too excited. “And you, Lady Charlotte. How do you find yourself here without your brother as chaperone?”
Charlie cleared her throat. “My brother married Miss Juliet. They’ve left on their honeymoon.”
“And now you’re all alone?” he asked, cocking a brow.
“She isn’t alone.” Cordelia stepped toward the trio, her gaze meeting Balstead’s. “She’s part of our family now.”
He scratched his chin. “So I see. And who are you to marry?” His gaze swept over her.
She flushed, heat climbing in her cheeks. Her engagement was not yet public. And something in his knowing look made her very uncomfortable. She looked to Ash, whose cheek ticked with irritation.
“I’m not engaged,” she said, her voice too soft to sound convincing.
Ash made a rumbling noise as he crossed his arms over his chest. Balstead stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There is sand on your hand.” He looked her over, his eyes narrowing. “And in your hair.”
The heat spread down her neck and across her chest. “I don’t know…” But the lie died on her lips.
Charlie’s hand brushed her arm. “Lord Balstead,” she interrupted, giving the man a large smile. “Since you are here, and you’ve missed your party, we must all spend the evening together, celebrating all the happy news we’ve had.”
He gave a curt nod, taking a step back. “I suppose we should.” Then he looked over to Mr. Moorish. “You’ll have to divulge some secrets to me sir. I’m curious to know how you managed to procure such lovely engagements for so many of your daughters.”
Cordelia looked back at her father, who returned Balstead’s gaze with a level stare. “We’ll chat first thing tomorrow.”
Ash had quietly moved next to h
er. “Lord Balstead, I’m sure you’ll be eager to return home.” He glanced back at her father. “I am also hoping for an interview, but I can wait until after Balstead is finished. I wouldn’t want to delay his departure.”
Balstead shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, I’ll wait. Your company is so lovely, perhaps I’ll even stay another day.”
Ash rumbled again. Cordelia looked over at him, realizing he was jealous. Something in her warmed at that. Perhaps she could win his heart after all.
Chapter Fourteen
Ash stood beneath a third-story balcony as a shadowy figure prepared for bed. God, he hoped it was Cordelia. Otherwise, he was going to have a great deal of explaining to do.
A second figure, much larger, appeared in the flickering candlelight. The curtains were drawn but even in the shadows he could see that it was a man and a woman. She faced away and from him and he wrapped his arms about her.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed, picturing that lech, Balstead touching Cordelia. “I’ll kill him.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Cordelia’s voice whispered into his ear as her hand touched the small of his back. “Why are you going to murder a duke?”
He turned about, wrapping her in his arms and spinning her about. Then he set off for their spot in the garden. “I thought that was you. I thought…” He didn’t finish as he carried her faster.
“You thought what?” she asked, her chest moving against his as though she were laughing.
“I thought…” He stopped, looking into her gaze. “Try to understand. I’ve never had someone or something as wonderful as you this close to being mine. I was afraid that Balstead was going to steal you right out from under my nose.”
She crinkled her brow, wrinkling her nose. “Him? Don’t be silly.” Her arms thread about his neck, her breath tickling cheek. “He’s not the sort for me at all.”
He pressed her closer as he made his way into the garden. “He isn’t?”
“No,” she whispered against his skin, her lips tickling that sensitive spot just behind his ear. “He’s dark and dreary, and he seems like trouble.”
He’d reached their spot and crossing to the bench, he sat down with her in his arms. “Looks can be deceiving.”