desperately determined to merit Marianna Deveril’s love.
He managed a rueful smile. “I’m indulging in self-pity. Forgive me.”
“What if Sir Blair doesn’t find me suitable for this post?”
“He will.”
“I wish I were as confident. My resemblance to his late wife may not count for me, but against,” she murmured, glancing around. She noticed large ice blocks placed among ferns on special stands to take heat from the air as they melted, but the night was still so hot the ballroom windows had been thrown open to the starry May sky. She was just wondering how so much ice was obtained in summer, when their names were announced.
“Mr. Stephen Woodville, and Mrs. Reynolds.”
There was an immediate stir as more and more people saw a woman who appeared to be the ghost of the late Lady Deveril.
Stephen’s hand moved over hers on his sleeve. “Let’s to it, I suppose,” he breathed, summoning a bland smile as they went down the shallow flight of six steps to the ballroom floor.
For a moment she felt panicky, and glanced nervously back over her shoulder. What if she couldn’t return to her own time? What if she were forced to stay here in the past forever? But as they reached the foot of the steps she quelled the fear by reminding herself that so far she’d been able to return easily enough. There was no reason to think she couldn’t this time as well, so she walked on with Stephen, but with each step she became aware of attracting more and more interest. She could hear the rustle of whispers, and several times was sure she actually heard Celina’s name.
The minuet was still in progress, and Stephen’s hand tightened over hers as he nodded toward the crowded floor. “There’s Marianna. The petite brunette in the gold satin gown. She can’t have heard us being announced, or she’d be looking this way. Her partner is Alex Handworth, the numskull she’s to marry.”
Laura glanced where he indicated. Marianna Deveril’s darkly elfin beauty was set off perfectly by her golden gown. Her long-lashed brown eyes were large and expressive, and her hair was cut short at the back with a becoming tumble of forehead curls at the front. She seemed such a picture of innocence it was difficult to believe she’d fallen so far by the wayside last summer as to surrender her all to Stephen.
Her future husband was an angular young man with straight brown hair, a receding chin, and a questing nose. He hardly glanced at his future wife as they danced, and when the minuet came to an end, he immediately went to join a group of friends—not that Marianna appeared to mind, on the contrary in fact, she clearly breathed a sigh of relief.
Stephen whispered suddenly. “That’s Blair going over to her now.”
Laura saw again the devastatingly handsome man she’d spied upon so reprehensibly. Seeing him with others made her realize he was taller than she thought, and even though he smiled warmly at his sister had a distinct air of melancholy and danger. He made Byronic heroes spring to Laura’s mind, and—if such a thing were possible—he improved each time she saw him.
Regency Laura, knowledgeable in such things, assessed his clothes. His superb black velvet evening coat had to be the work of one of Bond Street’s finest tailors, his white gloves of the best glover, and the elegance of his neckcloth must have taken his valet an age to achieve. His grace of manner would have set him apart even at London’s Carlton House or the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, and there wasn’t a man present who came even close to him for looks or style. Yet as he raised his sister’s hand to his lips, he seemed unaware of the fascination he exerted over the many ladies glancing in his direction.
He turned to offer Marianna his arm, and for the first time his gaze fell upon Laura. He faltered, and his brown eyes widened with shock. His reaction was so marked his sister, who hadn’t seen her, looked inquiringly at him. He indicated the
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