could only hope that, beneath her indignation, Emma had sufficient common sense to heed her words.
Escorted by Aunt Elizabeth, when Cassandra and Emma entered the large, mirrored ballroom with French windows leading out on to balconies, it was already congested with over two hundred of the ton’s most illustrious and sophisticated personages. Dancing was in progress, with ladies dipping and swaying, talking and laughing with their partners. Around the room were enormous bouquets of flowers and the immense chandeliers, dripping with sparkling crystals, reflected the dazzling kaleidoscope of colourful gowns and jewels.
Lady Monkton, a widow of ten years and one of society’s most respected and influential ladies, was standing behind her charges like a protective mother hen, her chest puffed out, her back ramrod straight, her eyes proudly resting on her lovely girls.
There was little opportunity for the chaperons to relax and enjoy themselves at a ball, for they felt compelled to keep an eye on their charges at all times—to know who they were dancing with, and who they were dancing with too often.
Cassandra paused to casually overlook the throng to see who was present. Full purses would be plentiful. She never openly asked anyone for money—that would never do—but there were several here who were sympathetic to her cause and subscribed on a regular basis. She observed that Lord and Lady Ross were present. They were extremely wealthy, and Lady Faversham’s husband was an influential London property owner who had frequently made generous donations to the institute in the past. Cassandra glanced at Emma when she gasped.
‘Oh, look, Cassandra,’ she remarked excitedly. ‘It’s Edward—over there. I had no idea he was back in London—and see, he’s coming this way.’
Dismayed, Cassandra saw that the young man in question was indeed wending his way towards them, his blond hair falling attractively over his forehead and a smile on his lips. She saw the pleasure that lit up his youthful face, warming him with astonishing intensity.
She sighed, defeated. ‘So he is, Emma. I do so hope he is not going to be persistent and that you do not forget how to behave—and it is undignified, as well as unattractive, to stand with one’s mouth open,’ she chided, leaving her sister in Aunt Elizabeth’s charge and strolling to the edge of the crowded dance floor to accost and charm anyone she thought would benefit her cause.
Alluring, fiery, and with an unshakeable sense of her own worth, Cassandra was bright and unpredictable—often playful and engaging, just as often frostily aloof. She drew men to her side almost without benefit of conscious effort. But those who fell victim to her potent magnetism soon learned to their cost that the fascinating Miss Cassandra Greenwood, while accepting their masculine admiration as both her right and her pleasure, kept herself beyond their reach.
An uncertain future loomed ahead of her, this she knew, but she was going to meet it squarely in the eye. She would not be looked over like ripe fruit on a costermonger’s stall. There would be no inept youth with groping hands and wet kisses for her but a man, someone to love her with all the masculine authority at his command—experienced, bold and dashing—like Captain Lampard perhaps? She was shocked and instantly ashamed of the way her mind was working. Captain Lampard was totally unsuitable in every way and it was a ridiculous thought which she dismissed at once—but she could not deny it.
Chapter Two
Since his return to London and conscious that someone was trying to kill him—the reason why still eluded him—William had lost interest in society events. When the invitation to Lady Monkton’s birthday ball had arrived he’d given it a cursory glance and was tempted to instruct his secretary to send a polite refusal, despite any social occasion at Monkton House reputed as being exceptional. It was Edward, having returned to London from visiting friends in the country, who’d persuaded him to attend. In fact, young Edward seemed to be in an exuberant mood of late and William was curious as to the reason for it—a young lady, perhaps?
Arriving at Monkton House, he entered the ballroom, impatient to get the evening over with; since he had no desire to strike up a conversation with any of the people who seemed eager to talk to him, in particular the ladies who were delighted to see him back in London after so long an absence, he stepped into the shadows at the back of the room and lifted his champagne glass to his lips.
With one shoulder nonchalantly propped against a pillar, from his vantage point he idly watched the crowd. A smile curved his lips when Edward waltzed a small, exceedingly pretty and engaging young thing around the dance floor. She was dressed in a white silk gown with a blue sash tied at one side in two small bows. The look of complete absorption on both their faces as they gazed into each other’s eyes told him that here was the cause of Edward’s recent preoccupation.
Not best pleased, a troubled frown furrowed his brow. Anyone with eyes in their head could not fail to notice that almost invisible aura with which two young people in love seemed to surround themselves. William had certainly seen it, and because of Edward’s young age and William’s expectations for his cousin to enter his own regiment, he had strong objections to his cousin forming a match with any woman just then. Influenced by his hopes and fears, he would observe his cousin’s behaviour attentively and discourage any entanglement.
His eyes did a slow sweep of the room and came to rest on a young woman on the edge of the dance floor. He looked away, but his gaze was drawn back to her, for there was something about her that kindled his interest—something familiar—her stance, the tilt of her head. Recognition flowed across his face and pleasure lit his eyes, followed by pure masculine admiration as his gaze drifted over Miss Greenwood. The effect of seeing her surprised him.
Instead of the stiff and aloof young woman he remembered in an unflattering drab grey dress, she was now draped in the palest off-white gown, the satin clinging to her, hugging her waist and accentuating her rounded bosom. With regal poise, Miss Greenwood, a proud, striking young woman with large luminous eyes beneath thick dark lashes and exotically winged brows, moved serenely from group to group, untouched by the noise and bustle all around her.
Observing her with the impartiality of a connoisseur, looking for flaws that others would miss, he found only perfection. Her colouring was more vivid in this glamorous setting, William thought. Her hair was the same vibrant honey-gold glistening with innumerable shades beneath the light of the chandeliers. A delicate necklace of diamonds lay against her throat in perfect complement to the gown.
She belonged in beautiful gowns and glittering jewels, he decided. They suited her far better than the sombre grey. But who was she really and what was she doing among the cream of London society? He continued to stand in the shadows, admiring the alluringly beautiful woman, but far more intrigued by the indefinable but unmistakable presence that made her stand out so clearly from the rest.
‘So, William, I trust you will enlighten me as to what your thoughts are as you look at the thoroughly enchanting and delectable Miss Cassandra Greenwood with that possessive gleam in your eyes. Damned engrossed you are.’
William turned and regarded Sir Charles Grisham, decked out in rich peacock-bright satins and velvets—obviously chosen to create an eyecatching display—with a bland expression. His manner was so indolent that he always gave the impression of being half-asleep.
‘My thoughts are my own affair, Charles—though favourable,’ he added with a cynical curl to his lips and an appreciative gleam in his eyes.
‘Singled her out for yourself, have you?’ Charles said in a bored drawl, raising his jewelled quizzing glass the better to study the lady under discussion, the rings on his fingers glinting in the light from the chandeliers. ‘Can’t say that I blame you, and if you are
