More like compelling. But Verity did not say so, instead deftly shifting the topic. “Will you be at Lady Springfield’s ball later on? My brother has demanded my presence, and I fear I cannot plead a headache again. Your presence will surely enliven my boredom greatly.” And perhaps aid Verity in keeping her sanity if she should encounter the marquess.
“I shall be there,” Pippa said.
And a tension Verity hadn’t been quite aware of lifted from her shoulders. She would attend this ball and have a jolly good time. She’ll not let memories of that vile snake steal any more enjoyment from her life. However, Verity would be cautious and ensured she stayed close to her friends for the night.
It was his veiled lady indeed.
Sebastian had indicated this young lady, saying Fanny had known of only one person to fit the circumstances he’d described—a Lady Verity, whose family held the Earldom of Sutcliffe. Staring at her now, James could recognize her with little effort. He was certain this young lady in the beautiful icy blue ballgown with pearls seeded in the hems, a charmingly lowered décolletage, and tiny puffed sleeves was truly her.
Though he could not see her face, how she moved, slow and graceful; the way she spoke with her hands, delicate, fluttery movements revealed her to him, for such mannerism reflected those of the lady who had visited him. The shape and size were also entirely accurate. She appeared a petite, fragile-looking young woman with a head of the richest darkest hair he’d ever beheld. She was apparently a lady of excellent breeding with a sensuality that was unstudied and quite appealing. James watched her discreetly from his position on the balcony of the upper floor drowning out the idle chatter and laughter around him.
A man approached her, and she stiffened. The smile of her lips appeared strained to James even at this distance. But then she laughed, and he frowned. The lady dipped into a curtsy, and a few moments later she was on the dance floor with the man. She was the embodiment of grace and elegance as the man twirled her into a waltz.
An unfathomable need to be the one dancing with her arrowed through his heart. He smiled slightly without humor. He was a bumbling oaf when he tried to dance. The few lessons he had dared to take several months ago would not have him moving with such grace as those dandies on the floor.
An undeniable curiosity rose within him as he watched her. She seemed so at ease in the crush, not how he imagined someone who had been away for four years would appear. Is it truly you, Lady Verity? The dance ended, and he moved through the crowd, drifting closer to her. His mysterious lady collected a glass of champagne from a passing footman and sipped. The lady shifted and their gazes collided. The last remnants of his uncertainty died. This was the woman who had visited last night. Her lips parted on a gasp, and her eyes widened with recognition, hope, and oddly panic. Clearly, she did not expect any form of social interactions between them, only clandestine meetings.
This close, he noted her finely molded cheekbones were slightly high, her skin creamy and glowing with health, her lips generous and soft. There was a stubborn pride in the set of her small chin, and her eyes were the brownest he'd ever seen. Her lovely eyes were under delicately arched brows, and her generous mouth seemed to be made for smiling and perhaps kissing. Faintly shocked at his errant thought, he glanced away briefly. His eyes traveling over the many people at Lady Springfield's townhouse, every public room, garden, and terrace seemed to be overflowing with guests.
When he looked back to her, the lady was pushing through the crowded ballroom with deft ease. At the edge of the hall, she paused, turned toward him, and stared at him for several unblinking moments. There was a clear invitation he should follow. James made his way in her direction, leisurely, ensuring no one paid too much attention to him, though it was quite unlikely with the number of people crammed into the ballroom.
James exited in time to see the tail of her gown disappearing around a corner. He made his way down the hallway, passed a few guests, and made a similar left turn. She was not in sight, but then he spied a door which had been left discreetly open. James made his way to it, pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
“Close it,” she commanded huskily.
Something unknown surged through him, and the sensations were so baffling he took a few seconds to comply. She was being impetuous, shortsighted to risk them being alone in such a place. The scandal, if they were seen closeted away, would be horrendous for her. James was used to the endless speculations into his life, and the various sobriquets of wicked and dissolute.
However, he closed the door with a soft snick. A merry light danced from the fireplace, and a lamp was lit in what appeared to be a small parlor. The heavy drapes were also drawn, revealing a garden by the windows.
“Why are you here?”
“I was invited.”
“Balls are not your haunting ground, Lord Maschelly. That is commonly known,” she retorted, clasping her hands before her middle. A nervous and telling gesture.
The lady was charming indeed. She was short, lushly curved and quite petite, and the top of her head would barely reach his shoulder. And it bemused him that he would like to kiss her. She inspired wicked fantasies of tangled limbs atop silken sheets, and he felt like a cad for having the provocative thoughts.
He wanted to move closer but knew he would be like a hulking beast beside her sweet, delicate femininity. With a scowl, he glanced down at his large hands. Possibly even scare her, for now, she looked at him with wary determination. James must never forget she had survived an attack which still haunted her. She had a deceptive air of fragility, but he saw the core strength staring back at him.
“Who are you?”
“Lady Verity Ayles, sister to Lord Sutcliffe,” she said with a lift of her chin. “Though I suspect you are aware of my identity. I ask, my lord, again, why are you here?"
He knew the earl. Sutcliffe visited the club often enough to gamble and tumble with the sought-after Cyprians which visited each night, searching for their next wealthy protector.
He recalled the earl was young, eager to please those more powerful than himself, and ill-equipped to be the head of his family. A few nights ago he had been at the club with the Marquess of Durham. The earl had laughed loudly at everything the marquess said, and from what James had overheard, the man had little in the way of humorous anecdotes. He bragged of seducing debutantes and married women, hardly something to be proud of.
“I attended the ball to find you, Lady Verity.”
She inhaled sharply and stepped toward him. Her expressive eyes danced over his face, and the light of hope inside them made his throat close for a few seconds.
“Because?”
“I will teach you to fight.”
“You can open your eyes,” the earl said, his voice rich with amusement.
With a gasp, her lids flew open, and a hand fluttered to her chest. Verity hadn’t realized she had closed them in profound relief. “My lord, I—”