Page 6 of Tempting the Marquess

Turning, she waved at Caroline. Stephen’s wife was unconventional in every way, not only a shade over six feet tall, but bold, witty, and unashamedly opinionated. They had gotten to know each other quite well since Samantha had returned to London, especially as she stood godmother to Stephen and Caroline’s adorable infant twins Serena and Olivia.

“You’re here! Thank goodness.”

Her friend chuckled, jade-green eyes glinting with mirth. “Never say you aren’t enjoying your first taste of indoor warfare? Honestly, nothing has changed since I made my come out. Eligible gentlemen will always turn ballrooms into battlefields.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. How lucky you are to be married already.”

“My husband is adequate, I suppose,” said Caroline, glancing at tall, dark-haired Stephen with such warmth that Samantha’s heart clenched in envy. The likelihood of a love match of her own was less than nothing. “Although I may leave him for Standish or Ardmore if he continues to raid my apple tart supply.”

Stephen folded his arms. “Four females in the house, plus Louisa and Sam who visit regularly, and I’m the one accused?”

“You can hardly blame the babies. Besides, the crumbs tell tales.”

“And you always were partial to apple tarts,” said Aunt Jane as she reappeared with two cups of lemonade. “Here you go, Sam dear. The first sip is always the worst.”

Caroline grimaced. “Don’t do it. Your stomach deserves better.”

“It’s only lemonade,” said Samantha.

“And lions are merely large kittens,” said Stephen.

Rolling her eyes, Samantha lifted the cup to take a healthy gulp. And nearly choked as the warm, sour liquid made her mouth rebel and eyes water. She tried to remain still, but a paroxysm of coughing overtook her, and the rest of the lemonade spilled down the front of hergown.

OhGod.

Cheeks ablaze, she quickly excused herself to the powder room. It was thankfully empty, allowing time to dab at the ivory silk with a lace handkerchief in privacy, before bracing herself and returning to the narrow hallway.

Just in time to hear the semi-hushed voices.

“I, for one, cannot believe they granted her admittance. To think, a plump rustic of dubious virtue at Almack’s! Alongside well-bred ladies from England’s best families!”

“Oh, I agree. One can only sympathize with the Westleighs, being related to such bad apples. Apparently Lord Claremont had to be carried from his club last week, and do you know yesterday that his harlot wife propositioned Daisy Newland’s brother? Why, he’s still at Oxford! They’re both a disgrace.”

Mortified to the core, escape the only thought on her mind, Samantha began to run. Surely there was a discreet exit somewhere. If she could just take some air untainted with perfume and sweat and malice, she could re-don the invisible armor necessary for a ton encounter. And those girls didn’t even know half of the scandals. If they did, not even the Westleigh connection would save her reputation…

Rounding a corner at pace, Samantha collided with a wall. Or at least what felt like a wall. But as her hands flew up to steady herself, the pearl button on one of her gloves snagged and caught on something soft. Oh God. Surely not...a cravat? Tonight only needed this to finish it off: injuring a gentleman and getting tangled in his clothing. If she were particularly fortunate, it might be the Prince Regent she’d nearly flattened. Or some bad-tempered, scandal-mongering stickler. Not that she had promising marriage prospects to start with, but this would surely set a new standard for total demise.

As Samantha glanced up to calculate the extent of her fall from grace, her heart started pounding. She stepped back, although her glove refused to cooperate, staying resolutely attached to the most stunningly handsome man she’d ever seen in herlife.

“If you’ll allowme...”

Hypnotized by the smooth richness of his voice, she could only watch as nimble fingers swiftly untangled her and smoothed the snowy white cravat. But the urge to study him further was overwhelming and her head tipped back, the only way to view such a tall and broad-shouldered frame, flawlessly attired in a black jacket, gray waistcoat, and breeches.

Heavens.

Square jaw. Deep blue eyes like a midsummer sky. The kind of glossy, closely cropped, chocolate-brown hair that urged the running of fingers throughit.

“Ahem.”

The discreet cough made her jump, and flush with embarrassment at being caught ogling like an unsophisticated ninny. But why did he seem vaguely familiar? Surely she would remember meeting a man likethis.

“I’m very sorry,” she mumbled.

“No harm done. Why were you distressed?”

“I, er…overheard some upsetting comments. But that’s no excuse for nearly flattening you. How dreadful ofme.”

“As I said, no harm done,” he replied politely. Then his brow furrowed. “Forgive me, but have we met? I cannot help thinking I know you from somewhere, Miss...?”