The Lady is Trouble (League of Lords Book 1) by Tracy Sumner

Author:Tracy Sumner [Sumner, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-17T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The man that blushes is not quite a brute.

~Edward Young

Chandeliers scattered fiery prisms across the ballroom floor Julian traversed, his path blocked by viscountess, earl, baroness, marquess, earl—each an oar stuck at an awkward angle, pulling him off course through a lake of society jetsam. The orchestra played at a level allowing for conversation should he desire it, when he only wanted to make it to the veranda, imbibe his third glass of champagne, smoke his second cheroot, and wait the night out.

The tapestries in the vision had looked quite valuable—Boucher, he learned—a reasonable discussion point, viscount to duke. A footman had taken no note when he mentioned seeing them years ago and questioned if they were in this home, one of Ashcroft’s many. The footman had been quite knowledgeable and had unwittingly given Julian the tapestries’ exact location. Interestingly enough, he’d also mentioned a house fire last week and advised Julian to pay no mind to the charred area staining the drawing room floor.

Humphrey was right. Ashcroft needed help before he gutted a structure to completion. Julian wanted to laugh when the topic was as far from humorous as one could get; the rumor circling the ballroom was that the Duke liked to dabble in pyrotechnics, hence the occasional blaze at his estates.

The subdued light provided a forgiving lens with which to behold the glittering, bejeweled mob, but still, the colors stunned, making him question how Piper tolerated it in combination with hundreds of brilliant auras. It was hard enough for him; already, his head pounded from the unwanted visions even as he tried to limit what he touched.

“No need to face this horde sober, Beauchamp.” Lord Holt, the Earl of Stanton, grabbed a flute from a waiting footman and thrust it at Julian, leaving him no opportunity to refuse. Holt had a fast wit and was one of the few men Julian knew who had stooped to commerce to save his earldom from insolvency—as Julian had done for the viscountcy. He gave Julian an update on his wife and his mistress, the upcoming Henley Royal Regatta—as they’d been in the same boat club at Oxford and soundly beaten Cambridge two years running during those years when Julian had tried so hard to fit in—before elbowing his way back into the crowd.

Leaning against a pillar, Julian dipped his head to avoid the interest of the ladies on the hunt. From first-season virgin to widowed countess, they were at turns wide-eyed and blunt. His attendance had drawn comment—it was rare. Strangely, the seductive glances, whispered entreaties, and bared breasts made him moody and even a bit cross, where before they’d left him bored. Chalk dust swirled with each passing group of dancers—a stunning floral design on the floor meant to keep the masses from slipping on new leather soles to their padded bottoms.

Amazed to feel so isolated in such a crush, Julian was quite simply alone with his visions.

A modest distraction, they shimmered through his mind, the champagne acting as an antidote.

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