It was Thorne who had introduced him to some of the more notorious pleasures London had to offer. And Thorne who had coerced him into attending the ball this evening.
Max raised his glass of brandy. “This helps,” he said, “but you are still bloody well indebted to me.”
Thorne flashed a grin. “I am indeed.” He was primarily in London for the fall Little Season because he’d reluctantly promised his aunt, Lady Hennessy, that he would squire around his young debutante cousin, who was trying to acquire some social polish in preparation for her coming-out next spring. He had asked Max to attend tonight so he didn’t have to endure Lady Hennessy’s ball all alone.
He gave Max a friendly cuff on the back. “It must be a severe plague, being hounded so mercilessly by so many women who love you.”
“It isn’t my person they love. It’s the size of my income and my prospective title that draws them.” As the only living male relative of an elderly uncle, Max was the heir presumptive to a viscountcy.
“Along with your charm and looks,” Thorne interjected. “And the fact that you’re a celebrated war hero. Have you any notion how many men would kill to be in your shoes?”
Max returned a pained smile. “I would rather be anywhere else than here. Back on your island, for example.”
Thorne shook his head. “I’m not certain that would be an improvement. Cyrene has more than its share of marriage-minded debs. There are some two dozen British families who lead society there. They have their own little ton and can be quite as ruthless as London’s Upper Ten Thousand.”
“I would be willing to risk it just for a little peace.”
Thorne gave him a scrutinizing glance. “Ah, I fancy I know what your problem is. You were infected.”
“Infected?”
“By Cyrene’s spell. It gets in your blood.”
Taking another swallow of brandy, Max shook his head. “I heard something about a mythical spell, but I don’t believe such things.”
“Even so, the island affects some people strangely. It has seductive qualities that can be downright dangerous.”
That much was true, Max agreed silently. He had found it enchanting, seductive, beguiling….
“Is that why you settled there?” he asked his friend. “You were seduced by the island?”
To his surprise, Thorne gave an enigmatic smile. “In part. But Cyrene has other appealing traits that aren’t apparent at first glance.” Thorne paused. “Perhaps you should visit there after all. The tranquillity might do you good.”
“I certainly haven’t found tranquillity here,” Max muttered, eyeing a blond-haired widow who was scanning the ballroom, doubtless in search of him.
“Then come home with me at Christmas,” Thorne said. “I have obligations that will keep me in London until then, but I plan to spend the holiday on Cyrene and would be delighted to have you join me.”
“I could easily be persuaded. I’m eager to see for myself that Yates has recove
red.” And to meet a certain ministering angel again…
He knew better than to bring up the subject, but the question seemed to be dragged out of him. “What do you hear about Miss Evers?”
“Caro?” Thorne’s eyebrow rose with curiosity. “Ah, I recall you met her when she nursed Yates.” He smiled slowly as if recalling a fond memory. “Why, she’s as singular as ever. Caro tends to set the blue-blooded denizens of Cyrene on their ears with regularity.”
“She did strike me as rather unconventional.”
“She is that indeed,” Thorne said with a low laugh that suddenly faltered. “What in blazes…?” His eyes narrowed. “Speak of the devil.”
Following his gaze through the palm fronds, Max glanced past the throngs of dancers toward the main entrance to the ballroom. A woman stood there, looking starkly out of place among the begowned, bejeweled, be-feathered ladies. She wore plain, dark traveling clothes, and she was searching the crowd impatiently.
Max felt every muscle in his body tense. He recognized her from his dreams. The proud carriage of her slender body. The delicate strength in the set of her jaw. The compassion in her healing touch…
Wondering if he was dreaming, Max blinked rapidly, just as Thorne said in a suddenly terse tone, “Excuse me. Caro may be looking for me. I need to discover what brought her here.”
As his friend strode away, Max remained where he stood, feeling slightly stunned. Like Thorne, he had no idea what had brought Caro Evers here to London, specifically to Lady Hennessy’s ballroom.
Yet he had no doubt whatsoever why his life had suddenly brightened.