in the vicinity of her soul, sounded behind her. Her heart clenched.
“Ellsworth,” Evan said with far more composure than she would have thought he had a moment ago.
Violet summoned the most awful sense of determination. She had anticipated this moment, planned for it ever since she had finally accepted he had absolutely no interest in her whatsoever. She turned and smiled politely, ignoring the hitch in her throat. He had always been the handsomest man in the room with his dark hair and deep blue eyes. No doubt if she’d stayed with him, he would have broken her heart. Again. The man didn’t have a faithful bone in his body. “Lord Ellsworth.”
His gaze bore into hers. She refused to flinch.
“Lady Ellsworth.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never faltering from hers. If she were a fanciful sort, she would have thought a hush fell over the entire ballroom, all eyes on the estranged Lord and Lady Ellsworth. Once, the very thought would have terrified her. Now, she didn’t care. “Never is a very long time.”
“Apparently, not long enough.”
The look in his eyes was an interesting mix of caution, curiosity and challenge. But then they hadn’t seen each other face-to-face in close to six years. God knew what her eyes were saying to him. “I believe this is our dance.”
“Is it?” She tilted her head. He appeared exactly as she remembered. His shoulders were as broad, his gaze as endless, his hair as thick and dark and just the tiniest bit disarrayed—as if it was the last stronghold of the rebellious nature of his youth.
Oh, certainly, over the years she’d seen him on occasion from the window of her room as he was leaving the London house, scampering off to the country or wherever he went so as to avoid her during her visits home, thus keeping a promise he’d made long ago. But this was the closest they’d been to each other since the day after their wedding. On further consideration, he wasn’t entirely unchanged. There were a few creases around the corners of his eyes but beyond that, something had shifted, matured perhaps. The look in his eye had once been carefree and flirtatious and brimming with ill-concealed amusement. Now it was direct, firm, compelling. His lighthearted manner six years ago was that of a young man with no particular cares or responsibilities. The air of assurance and confidence about him now was that of a man who had no doubt of his place in the world. This was no longer the happy-go-lucky young man she been forced to wed when she had just turned twenty-one and he was twenty-four. But then she was not the quiet, pale creature she’d been then, either. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
“Violet,” Evan interrupted. “Do you need my assistance?”
What a surprisingly gallant thing to say. Perhaps she had misjudged him.
“No, Evan, but I do appreciate your offer.” She smiled in polite dismissal then paused. “Although might I request a favor?”
“Anything,” he said with a smile.
“Do you see the young ladies over there?” She nodded toward a group of young women sitting together, desperately trying to appear as if they were having a wonderful time and not counting the minutes until they could flee for the safety of home. “They are no doubt reserved and quiet but are probably quite interesting and very nice. Would you ask at least one of them to dance?”
“I shall do better than that,” Evan said gallantly. “I shall ask my brother and a few of my friends to dance with them, as well.”
She cast him a brilliant smile. “In which case you are most certainly forgiven.”
Evan grinned and took his leave.
Violet turned her attention back to James, who, as of two months ago when dear Uncle Richard had passed on, was now the Earl of Ellsworth. The man who had ruined her life. Her husband.
“There are any number of things I may be mistaken about. Nonetheless, this is our dance.” James leaned in and spoke softly. “People are staring.”
She laughed as if he had just said something amusing. “Of course they are, James. We’ve never been seen together in public before. No doubt everyone is expecting we’ll do something they can talk about for days. Now the question is—will we?”
“Shall we disappoint them instead?” He held out his arm. “Dance with me, Violet.”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do.” In truth, there were any number of things she’d rather do including walking on hot coals and being thrown into a lion’s den. There was little difference and little choice. She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to escort her onto the floor.
Regardless of how often she’d practiced exactly what she’d say when this moment came she couldn’t quite summon the right words. Perhaps because it was deeply unsettling to be in his arms again where she never should have been in the first place.
Six years ago, on the night his engagement was to be announced to her friend Marie Fredericks, he had kissed quiet Violet Hagen on the shadowed terrace—later claiming he’d mistaken her for Marie as they were both red-haired and wearing blue gowns. Although really one was a sky blue and the other a sea foam, and Marie’s hair was more blond than red. Aside from that, Violet was decidedly taller and not as curved as Marie. His friends also admitted they had challenged him to give his fiancée a real kiss—the kind of kiss a man gives the woman he intends to marry—and had directed him to the terrace where they later swore they truly thought Marie was. There was as well far more partaking of spirits than was perhaps wise. Unfortunately, in their zeal to witness this real kiss, they tangled in the draperies covering the windows overlooking the terrace, ripping them down in the process and directing the attention of everyone in the room to the real kiss currently in progress right outside.
It wasn’t bad enough that he had kissed her but that she had kissed him back with a shocking amount of enthusiasm for a girl who had scarcely been kissed at all up to that point. And really did the hesitant brush of lips she’d experienced previously with two cautious young men even count as legitimate kisses? Admittedly, Violet had thought them rather thrilling until James had kissed her. She’d been shocked when he’d swept her into his arms. Then, with no more than a moment of hesitation, she had wrapped her arms around him, thinking surely he had realized Marie was the wrong match for him and Violet was so very right. When their lips met and his body pressed against hers, she’d discovered a passion she’d never imagined. It was a real kiss, or at least she had thought it was. She didn’t question the why of it. Stupid, as it turned out. She had no idea he had mistaken her for Marie until he raised his head and realized what he’d done. And that was the first crack of her heart.
The second was the shock on his face and he’d uttered, “Bloody hell, it’s you.”
What could she do but slap him hard across his face?
Still, the damage was done. Which apparently, in the more scandal-prone minds of society, was in the intensity of the embrace—just to add yet another layer of humiliation—rather than the slap. All in all it was the Holy Grail of gossip. A man whose engagement was about to be announced found in a compromising position with the friend of the intended fiancée. Her parents had then insisted on marriage as the scandal was such her mother warned she would never make a decent match now. James’s uncle Richard, the Earl of Ellsworth, had left James’s decision up to him but left unsaid the questions of honor and responsibility involved. In spite of James’s devil-may-care reputation, no one had ever questioned his word. Violet had protested—obviously James had no desire to marry her. It was pointed out James
