Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

The truth was, she did miss him. Everything seemed gray and dull, like a winter’s day, now he was gone. Life held no excitement for her, no adventure. She knew that if she really did marry and spend her time in London attending functions and being respectable, she would probably do something wild and ruin herself completely.

She had become aware the other day, as she was walking in the gardens, of a sudden urge to take off her shoes and run barefoot across the grass. Not exactly the thoughts of a proper young lady.

Which made her wonder if Sebastian was right, and she wasn’t proper at all.

Lady Annear’s house in Belgravia was brilliantly lit. Unlike William Tremaine, she was not too old-fashioned to connect her house to the gas supply. As their carriage drew up, there seemed to be a large number of other carriages, and soon they were politely jostling with the other guests, awaiting their turn to be admitted.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” Amy whispered, squeezing her hand.

Francesca thought she looked very well, too, even though she knew it was vain to think it. But her mirror had told her it was true. The rose red satin was very flattering against her dark hair and eyes, and her creamy skin seemed to glow. The expert cut of the garment accentuated her narrow waist and the swell of her bosom. With sleeves so small as to be almost nonexistent, her arms and shoulders appeared almost naked, and the overskirt was very plain, without any adornment. She wore matching slippers on her feet, and some of Aphrodite’s diamonds gleamed around her throat.

The woman Amy had employed to dress their hair had teased and twisted her dark curls into neat ringlets, and placed a wreath of flowers upon her crown.

She decided that she looked like someone she had always wanted to be. It gave her confidence. Perhaps Aphrodite was right; perhaps she would enjoy herself after all. Was it possible that she could be the woman on the moors, wild and free, and also someone sophisticated enough to glide through London society? Look at her sisters, they managed it!

“Miss Greentree? You are new to London, I think?” Lady Annear’s curious eyes slid over her.

“I admit to preferring the country, my lady.”

She had made a faux pas already. So much for gliding through society. Lady Annear’s well-bred face had gone blank. “How very odd.”

“My daughter will soon grow used to town ways,” Amy put in quickly. “London has so much to offer.”

“Indeed. Especially when the girl is pretty and has a large dowry.” Lady Annear’s voice was droll. “What do you think, Mr. Tremaine? Your niece is quite a catch, is she not?”

William gave her his frosty smile. “Indeed.”

“Rumor has it, sir, that you are looking for an earl?”

William frowned. “I cannot imagine how such a rumor began.”

“Can’t you? Speaking of earls…here is someone you know.” Lady Annear beckoned toward an approaching gentleman, a gentleman who looked very familiar. “It is the Earl of Worthorne. My lord, I believe you have met Miss Francesca Greentree?”

The room was spinning.

She heard a gasp from Amy and a muffled curse from Uncle William, but they were no longer important. All she could see and hear was Sebastian, Mr. Thorne, in the guise of an aristocratic gentleman—an earl, no less! Immaculate black evening wear, a crisply starched white shirt and necktie, his dark, wind-blown hair tamed and brushed, and his handsome villain’s face closely shaved. His wicked black eyes fixed on hers with an apologetic smile that quickly changed to a bright spark of desire as they slid slowly over her new ball gown and the creamy skin it exposed.

Carnal thoughts filled her head. She struggled to lock them away, forcing her attention back to the conversation. But he knew. She saw it in his smile.

“The Earl of Worthorne has been away,” Lady Annear was proceeding smoothly, as if completely unaware of the ripples of shock her words had caused.

“Away?” Amy said faintly.

“I have missed him.” Lady Annear smiled. “I am his godmother, you see, and I take an interest in him. When he lets me.”

Was that true? Or was Her Ladyship in on whatever clever game Sebastian was playing? It didn’t matter, Francesca thought with despair; her evening had just been completely ruined.

She wasn’t looking at him. After that first, startled glance, she’d turned her eyes away and pretended he wasn’t there. He could see the flush on her cheek, the rise and fall of her bosom, the flutter of her long lashes.

He needed to speak to her alone. He had to explain. And the only way he was going to achieve that was to remove her from the chaperonage of her mother and uncle.

“Do you dance, Miss Greentree?”

“No.”

He laughed at her impolite answer. Mrs. Jardine was scandalized. “Francesca!” she hissed.

“Then, please, allow me to teach you? You will have to learn, eventually.” He tucked her hand into his arm, holding it there. Apart from struggling in a most ungenteel manner, she had no choice but to allow him to lead her away.