Page 7 of Again, Scoundrel

“Ah, Lord Alistair Crawford,” Mrs. Somerville said and glanced pointedly at her pocket watch. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

He looked appropriately chagrined and gave her a graceful bow. “I offer my sincerest apologies.”

“You’re forgiven. But only because you’re handsome and your mother is one of my dearest friends. Now, come greet my guests.”

She took his proffered arm and walked him around the room to make introductions.

Alistair glanced at the other guests, hoping to see his father and get the conversation started sooner rather than later, but found no familiar faces. It struck him then how long he’d been away at sea. Before he’d left London, the small circle of society in which his family operated had felt positively suffocating in its sameness. Now, other than the Somervilles, whom he had known since he was in leading strings, he saw not a soul he was familiar with.

“Have my father and brother arrived?” he asked.

“You’ll find them smoking with the other men, I fear. Bring them to me, would you? Along with my husband. Or I’ll have to take drastic measures to regain their company and begin this dinner.”

“You’d drag your husband out of his study by his ears?” Alistair asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Only if he’s lucky. If he’s not, I’ll drag him out by some other body part entirely.”

“Why, Mrs. Somerville,” Alistair said, suppressing his grin. “I am shocked.”

“Why so? I meant by his hand, of course.”

Alistair gave her a short bow. “Of course, you did. And I will certainly pass on the message.”

“Thank you. And, Crawford, I hope you don’t mind, I’ve sat you next to a relation. Quite a lovely girl, attending with a cousin from America. I believe they’re arriving now. Even later than you.”

She turned and caught sight of Catherine and Violet as the butler led them in. “Oh, goodness!” she lowered her voice. “What a horrid dress. They must have lost her trunks at sea, poor girl. No matter. You’ll like Lady Catherine. She’s from an extremely good family.”

“She’s from your family.”

“That’s what I meant. Come, and I’ll introduce you.”

Chapter

3

“Lady Catherine!” Mrs. Somerville exclaimed as Violet and Catherine were shown into the Somerville drawing room. “It is so good of you to be here tonight.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Catherine said. “And my mother and aunt send their apologies again for missing dinner. The trip was difficult for Aunt Nora, and she’s still recovering. But I am delighted to present my cousin, Miss Violet Goodwin, here all the way from America. She’s to accompany me for the season.”

Violet curtsied, awkward and out of practice. She hadn’t curtsied since she’d been in London three years ago. “Thank you for having me.”

“You are more than welcome,” Mrs. Somerville said and turned her attention back to Catherine. “I’d like to introduce you to your dinner companion for the evening. He’s newly back in town, and we are hopeful he can be convinced to stay.”

She winked at Catherine and then waved Alistair over. “Lord Alistair, come meet Lady Catherine West and Miss Goodwin.”

No, Violet thought to herself, her eyes taking in the long, lean man dressed in his sharply tailored evening clothes who had turned at Mrs. Somerville’s beckoning.

No, no, no.

She’d have recognized him anywhere. The man from the balcony. The one who made her nerve endings alight and her mind empty of all reasonable thoughts. The one who almost kissed her and then left her without a word, standing alone like a fool in the cold.

She watched him approach. His dark lashes and chestnut-colored hair were the same, as was the uncommon height and smooth gait. But the rest of him had changed over the last three years.

He now filled out every inch of those six plus feet with muscle. Broad shoulders, strong thighs, a jaw cut from some kind of marble slab. His face and hands were sun-bronzed and gleaming. He was, impossibly, even more beautiful.

She might have laughed but for the other differences she found in him. A new sternness in his face evidenced by the furrow between his brows and the way he pressed his lips together in a thin, hard line. A coldness in the dark eyes she recalled as warm and passionate. Their depths no longer twinkled with good humor or the arrogance that had once filled them.

No matter.