Page 33 of How to Wed a Courtesan

She wasn’t certain if she could ever allow herself to open herself to him again as she’d done before, but perhaps it was time to at least become acquainted with Evander once more, to give them both a second chance.

The birthday celebration was larger than anticipated, with Evander’s guests pouring into Westix Place. It was good to see some familiar faces in the crowd: the Marquess of Kentworth, Viscount Rawley, the Earl of Dalton and his lovely new Countess.

Eleanor had been the first to arrive with Charles—a match that filled Evander’s chest with pride. To see his sister a duchess, and more than that happy, was all he wanted for her.

There was one guest, however, who had not yet arrived. The most important one of all.

Lottie.

Evander checked his pocket watch. She was only a few minutes late, and dancing had not yet started. He considered the chalked dancefloor, the pine boards artfully covered in a whirling design of brilliant colours. The art had been costly, and would be ruined once the dancing began, but Lottie would love it.

Except if she did not arrive soon she would never have the opportunity to see the colourful work before its destruction.

‘Miss Charlotte Rossington,’ the caller bellowed from the entrance of the ballroom.

Evander’s attention snapped to the open doorway as Lottie entered.

Her sapphire-blue velvet gown had a white silk sash just beneath her bosom, where the fabric flared out over her waist, and white silk gloves ran up her slender arms, stopping an inch above her elbows. What appeared to be diamonds sparkled and winked in her dark hair as she moved through the room.

Towards him.

His breath caught and the entire world faded away as she strode towards him with the grace of a queen. She was dressed more grandly than the finest duchess, and her modest neckline, he noted, was at least an inch or two above that of most women in the room.

Her gaze was fixed on him, and it did not waver as she approached.

‘Lottie,’ he whispered.

‘Happy Birthday, Lord Westix,’ she said formally, her chin elevated to an almost haughty angle.

It was a reminder of their need for refrain from familiarity with one another. While he didn’t relish the idea of once more having to revert to titles and all that, he understood the need. He would take Lottie any way he could get her—even if it was as Miss Rossington, beneath the ever-present judgment of the watching ton.

Though he suspected the formality was also for her. Another layer of protection. He had hurt her—he knew that. God, how he knew that.

But now he might finally have a chance to prove to her he was a trustworthy man. One worthy of her heart.

He tried to dim his smile, but doubted his success. In truth, it was most likely impossible, when he was filled with such elation at knowing she’d accepted his invitation. And at what it might mean.

‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said.

She discreetly glanced around the room. ‘Everyone is staring.’

‘Of course they are.’ He lifted her hand and kissed the smooth white silk of her glove. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.’

‘Flatterer,’ she accused, with a pleased smile.

He straightened and gave her a coy look. ‘Whatever is necessary to ensure I see more of you.’

She lifted a brow.

‘And you’ve arrived just in time,’ he said quickly, before he could chase her off. ‘The dancing is about to begin. Will you do me the honour?’

She hesitated.

‘It is my birthday,’ he reminded her with a grin. ‘And I have a surprise I want to show you.’

Before she could protest, he indicated the dance floor. Her attention wandered to the chalked artwork and her eyes widened.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, already knowing her answer and glad of having gone to the expense and effort.