Winning the Earl of Winchester (Secret Wallflower Society Book 1) by Jillian Eaton

Author:Jillian Eaton [Eaton, Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-21T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Six

“Are you ready?” Sweeping into Calliope’s dressing room without waiting for a reply, Helena stopped short at the sight of her friend and gasped out loud. “Oh,” she cried, her eyes sparkling as she pressed her fingers to her mouth. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Staring at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, Calliope shook her head in bemusement. Surely the woman staring back at her wasn’t really her. She didn’t have soft golden curls gathered in a loose topknot that allowed silky tendrils to frame the edges of her face. She didn’t have cheeks that glowed or long lashes that beckoned. She didn’t have a long, elegant neck or slender shoulders exposed beneath a thin, see-through layer of pink chiffon. Not to mention, whose breasts were those?

Her lips, lightly glossed with beeswax, opened, then closed, then opened again. “I look…”

“Stunning,” Helena repeated as she came up behind Calliope and met her gaze in the mirror. “Winchester won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”

But it wasn’t the earl Calliope was thinking about as they climbed into the carriage and set off towards the ball. And it wasn’t the earl she was picturing as they joined the long line of guests anxiously waiting to be admitted.

Instead she envisioned a man with eyes like a storm, hair dark as ink, and a forbidden touch that still made her tremble. She wondered who he’d been, and she wondered where he was, and she wondered why she couldn’t stop wondering. Because he had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Less than nothing, given he wished the entire incident had never taken place. But she couldn’t forget the way he’d softened, if only for a moment. Or the pain she’d seen in those deep blue eyes. Or the way she’d felt when his knuckles brushed against the nape of neck.

“Your names and invitations, if you please,” a servant droned, his loud voice startling Calliope out of her thoughts.

Belatedly she realized that while she’d been daydreaming they had climbed a flight of marble steps and were at the front of the line. Then she remembered they didn’t have invitations. Or at least none that she had seen. But before she could try to fumble through an excuse as to where their invitations may have gone, Helena reached inside of her reticule and smoothly produced two envelopes marked with Lord Galveston’s bold scarlet seal.

“The Countess of Cambridge and Miss Calliope Haversham,” she said before she took Calliope by the elbow and steered her quickly past the footman and into the massive foyer. “Go,” she hissed in Calliope’s ear, and with a startled peek over her shoulder at the entryway Calliope followed Helena into the grand ballroom where they were immediately swallowed up by a large crowd of the ton’s elite. It was a circle she’d rarely, if ever, traveled in, but she still recognized a few faces, most of them dukes and duchesses. There was more wealth in Lord and Lady

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