Perhaps this wasn't necessary. After all, Charlotte was unfortunately right: no man was likely to make her an offer. She was thirty years old, well
past her prime, too tall and too curvy to wear the current fashions well, too strong-minded, too unwilling to flatter the preening males. Observing a few nights of the Revels of the Heavenly Host should be enough to scare her away from ever contemplating changing her stance on love and marriage.
It was a shame, because Charlotte would make a wonderful, loving mother. But motherhood came with husbands, and price was too dear.
"Voila, enfin!" Louise cried, stepping back, clearly well satisfied with what she had wrought
Lina stared at her reflection. She was exquisite. A work of art. A creation cold and lifeless and beautiful. Good enough to lure the dissolute Viscount Rohan into her bed, further ensuring the necessary demise of Charlotte's hopeless daydreams.
"Eh bien," she said tonelessly. And she rose from her dressing table, ready to finish the job. Charlotte only considered the green sarcenet for a moment before dismissing it in favor of the insipid peach that turned her ivory complexion to ash. She ignored Meggie's objections, waiting until the last minute to head down to the ballroom. Lina would be more than capable of sending her back to change, if it weren't already too late. The first guests had already begun to arrive, and Lina looked resplendent in clinging pink silk that molded her delicate curves. She gave Charlotte a look, then shrugged, as if her poor sartorial choice was no more than she'd expected, and Charlotte took up her place behind her. Had it been up to Lina she would have been by her side, greeting the guests as an equal, but Charlotte staunchly refused. There were few advantages to being a poor relation, but this was one of them. She didn't have to stand in line and smile and simper at idiotic young men and elderly villains. This was going to be one of the major crushes of the season— Lina had invited everyone, and Charlotte held her place as long as she could. It was only when she could see the black-and-silver mane of Etienne de Giverney overtopping everyone else's as he moved toward them that she panicked. Where the dashing Comte de Giverney went, his younger cousin, Viscount Rohan, was likely to follow, and she wasn't going to take that chance.
She slipped away without a word to blend into the mass of guests, making her way toward the back of the ballroom. The only safe way to escape to her bedroom would be to take the servants' stairs. The main staircase stood just outside the ballroom, and she would be in full view of the arriving and departing guests if she tried to disappear by that route. Not that anyone would notice the movements of a poor relation, but she didn't want to take the chance.
Author: Anne Stuart
At least she was fortunate enough to have escaped before she had to endure Viscount Rohan's lazy glance, if she even got that much from him. The less she saw of (hat particular gentleman the better off she was. Adrian Rohan was fully as wild as his father had been, and while most women loved rakes, she did not. She threaded her way through the crowds, invisible as a woman of no wealth, beauty or youth could be, the door to the back stairs almost in sight, when a tall male figure suddenly loomed up in front of her, and she barreled into him, too intent on escape to stop herself in time.
Strong hands caught her arms to steady her, and she found herself looking up into Adrian Alistair de Giverney Rohan's beautiful, exquisite face. He was one of the few men tall enough to make her actually have to crane her neck, and she was too startled to watch her tongue.
Luck was most definitely not on her side. For the first time in her life Meggie's coaching paid off and Charlotte uttered the fateful words Bloody hell.
His lordship had already released her, had murmured a polite apology beneath his breath in instant dismissal and was about to move on, her existence barely acknowledged, when her low-voiced but clearly enunciated words stopped him, and his hard blue eyes focused on her for what she was certain was the first time, despite the fact that they'd been introduced at least half a dozen times during the season and danced on one notable, horrible occasion.
He blinked. And then a slow smile curved his mouth, and it was truly the most wicked, deceitful, appealing mouth, and his gloved hand reached out again to catch her elbow before she could escape. It was just the lightest of touches, perfectly within the bounds of propriety, there was cloth between his flesh and hers, and yet this touch burned.
Bloody hell, she thought again, having finally grown comfortable with the phrase. Of all people, why did it have to be Rohan that she barreled into?
"Miss. . . ?" He clearly racked his brain. "Miss Spenser, isn't it? Have I done something to offend you?"
She dropped a swift curtsy, difficult enough in the swirl of guests, and surreptitiously tried to pull away. How in heavens did he remember her name? She was hardly part of his world. His long fingers tightened. "Of course not, my lord. I do beg your pardon. I have no excuse for such appalling language. "
Now that he was actually looking at her, the plague of emotions was even worse, she thought, scowling. It had been bad enough, always watching him from across crowded ballrooms, fighting off the foolish daydreams that went all the way back to the fairy tales of her youth when she knew full well that this was no handsome prince—this was a wicked wizard, an evil faerie out to cast a binding spell on her.
Up close it was far, far worse. The warmth in her belly, the tightness in her chest, the tingling in places she wasn't even going to think about. And the burn where his hand touched her arm. He was looking down at her. "You're Lady Whitmore’s companion, are you not?”
"Cousin," she snapped before she could stop herself. And how in the world did he know that much? She'd counted on her own invisibility.
Again that faint smile. "I stand corrected. Though aren't poor relations often required to serve as companions ? "
It was a rude question, but nothing compared to the shock of her language. And he still wasn't releasing her. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Rohan," she said firmly, yanking her arm free a bit too roughly.
He released her arm, only to catch her gloved hand in his. Then he smiled at her, a smile faintly tinged with malice. "I think I must insist upon a dance. Miss Spenser. Penance for your shocking breach of manners. ”
That was all she needed, she thought. She'd danced with him a hundred times, beneath the starry sky, dressed in a gown that suddenly turned her into an irresistible beauty, all in the dreams she'd wickedly allowed herself. Dreams she'd known better than to indulge in, but which she'd allowed herself any way, and now she was paying the price. She knew from watching him that his grace on the dance floor was something quite extraordinary, his form perfect. And yet there was a certain something in the way he moved that had more than one chaperone shaking her head, looking for some reason to bar him from the innocent young ladies who clamored around him.
She had no chaperone, though at the advanced age of thirty she was too old to be considered innocent, she reminded herself.
"I don't dance," she said. "Please release my hand. "
He didn't, not for a long moment. He truly had the most unsettling eyes, she realized. Usually his lids drooped down lazily, hiding his gaze, but she could see their deep blue depths, summing her up quite handily, and she thanked God those years of practice kept her blushes from showing on her pale skin, no matter how she squirmed inwardly.
"Now, why do I get the impression you disapprove of me. Miss Spenser?" he said.
She was feeling curiously light-headed and she deepened her scowl. Her expression was usually sufficient to scare men away, but clearly Viscount Rohan didn't scare easily. "I don't know you. Lord Rohan. How could I disapprove of you?"
"Perhaps my reputation precedes me. You've got that starched-up look like you tasted something particularly nasty. "
People were watching. She'd never held a public conversation with a man for more than a few brief moments, and never with a pink of the ton like Rohan. She was supposed to be invisible, for heaven's sake.