The Scandal of the Season by Annie Burrows

Author:Annie Burrows
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-11-07T20:02:57+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Colonel Fairfax gave the correct password to the hostess, ran the gauntlet of the more ruthless of the matchmaking mamas who were waiting to ambush unmarried males and made it safely to the tea table. Though by then he wanted something much stronger than tea.

He took a deep breath and started numbering the buttons down the front of his waistcoat. Only a weak man, a man who couldn’t deal with the reality of his life, would attempt to obliterate his nightmares by numbing his brains with strong drink. And he would never succumb to that type of weakness. He was not going to go down that road. He was not going to become one of those men who needed that kind of crutch to get through their days. The kind of man who made a fool of himself in public because he’d addled his mind, and therefore his self-control, with strong drink. He would take just the one glass of wine. A glass which he did not need, but which gave him something to do with his hands and would help him to blend in.

Once the footman in his hostess’s livery had poured it, he stood with the full glass in his hand, surveying the assembled guests.

It wasn’t long before he spotted her. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, as she’d been doing the first time he’d seen her this Season. Although this time, she’d attracted a court of the type of men the General had warned him about. Respectable, titled, wealthy men on the lookout for a wife.

And he could hardly blame them for considering her. She stood out among the insipid debutantes on offer, in a gown of cream silk with splashes of scarlet here and there. It was not the least bit daring, yet something about the cut of the bodice made a man want to bury his face in all that luscious creamy flesh it framed.

He put the glass down, the wine untasted. Even one sip would be too much. He was barely in control of his wayward thoughts just through looking at her. He was not going to give her any further advantage in this encounter. He’d come out badly on every other occasion they’d clashed.

No. Not every other occasion. The first time he’d met her he’d been courteous and in full command of the situation.

But that had been before Corunna. Before...

His hand went to the buttons of his waistcoat again, checking they were all fastened tight, before setting out round the edge of the dance floor, to where she was standing. Waiting for him. Oh, she was still pretending to listen to the simpleton who was ladling out the compliments, but she’d been aware the very moment he entered the room. Probably the house. There was that invisible silken cord connecting them again. He was absolutely certain that she could feel its pull, too, though he could not have explained to anyone how he knew. He just did.

‘Good evening,’ he said, cutting right through the current spate of flattery one of her court was spouting.

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