but suddenly the changing shapes and colours garnered less of her attention.
‘Good evening, Uncle,’ David said.
‘Hello, David.’ Sloane added, ‘Lady Hannah, I hope you are well.’
‘Very well, sir,’ Hannah replied.
Morgana moved away from the kaleidoscope and rose from the chair.
‘You must look, Mr Sloane,’ insisted Hannah. ‘It is called a kaleidoscope and your nephew has brought it to show me.’
Sloane took the chair Morgana had vacated and Morgana backed away, nodding politely to other guests and exchanging a few words with them. She was not certain what she said to them, however. All her senses were attuned to one man, his voice, his scent, every move he made. She strolled to the other side of the room, hoping more distance from him would help, making herself look anywhere but at him. She watched Athenia Poltrop and her parents greet her aunt and uncle. Athenia’s gaze riveted upon her cousin Varney and his upon her.
Morgana settled in a chair at the corner farthest away from where Sloane had ceded his place at the kaleidoscope. Hannah called to Athenia to come and look at her new curiosity. Lord Cowdlin signalled Sloane over and handed him a glass of claret.
Morgana forced herself to watch Hannah and Athenia. Athenia glanced towards Varney and quickly looked away. She glanced at him again and twirled a lock of her hair in her finger. Varney excused himself from the gentleman with whom he had been conversing and quickly came to Athenia’s side.
That morning, Harriette Wilson had taught those exact techniques—how to manipulate a man’s interest by mere glances and the simplest of gestures. Athenia performed the exact steps just as if she’d been present at the lesson, summoning Varney to her side as effectively as if she’d shouted his name. Morgana stifled a laugh. Harriette’s tactics had worked! Where had Athenia learned them? Was snaring a man’s attention really so easily achieved? Could even Morgana make a gentleman approach her side merely by employing a few coquettish tricks?
Morgana glanced at Sloane, the only man she wished to draw to her side. If she could make Sloane come to her, Sloane, who wanted nothing to do with her, it would indeed prove the power of Harriette’s techniques. She strained to remember them.
Sloane happened to glance in her direction. Morgana gazed at him pointedly, then quickly averted her gaze. She glanced back. He was looking at her! Her heart skipped a beat. She felt for the lock of hair that escaped Amy’s efforts and now tickled the nape of her neck. She twisted it in her fingers and quickly averted her gaze. A second later she dared peek through her lowered lashes.
Sloane found his gaze naturally wandering to where Morgana sat, even though he’d resolved to avoid her. She was tinder to his senses. One little spark and they’d both go up in flames.
Still, catching sight of her was vastly preferable to enduring the sudden hospitality of Lord Cowdlin. There was not enough the toadying hypocrite could do to see to his comfort. A glance at Morgana had become like a rope tossed to a drowning man.
Finally another guest arrived to snare Cowdlin’s attention, and Sloane scanned the room for a place to hide, his eyes lighting on Morgana. She sat alone in a corner of the room, her lively ginger eyes taking in everything, even taking in him. Her eyes were particularly captivating this evening, set off by the dark green of her dress and the feather in her hair.
Damn him. He craved her company. They were two of a kind, he and Morgana. Both too ready to cross the bounds of correct behaviour, just the reason he should stay away.
He forced his gaze elsewhere and Lady Cowdlin caught his eye, giving him a meaningful smile and inclining her head ever so deliberately towards her daughter.
Sloane inwardly groaned. He let his gaze travel past the woman, as if he had not noticed her blatant signal to dance attendance on Hannah. Coming to this dinner party only put him in deeper with the Cowdlins—as well as bringing him back in close company with Morgana.
He looked over to her again. Her eyes met his, looked away again, and very slowly glanced back. She again fingered that lock of loose hair that had been driving him to madness with how it caressed the soft ivory skin of her neck.
He might as well go mad in her company as by staring at her across the room. He walked over to her and sat in the chair next to hers.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Morgana?’ Enjoying your torture of me, he meant.
She turned her magical eyes upon him. ‘Shall I be honest, Sloane, or do you wish me to say what is proper?’
The thought of how improper Morgana Hart could be put his senses on high alert, the very sort of reaction he needed to avoid. ‘I do not expect what is proper from you.’
Her smile froze on her face and he kicked himself for his illchosen words.
‘I will be proper, then, to spite you. I am having a delightful time. And you?’ Her eyes glittered with anger, which merely caused the blood to race faster through his veins.
He met her gaze. ‘I think it is a dead bore.’
She laughed, an unaffected sound that caused one or two of the company to look over at them. ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.
More guests were announced. ‘Lord and Lady Rawley.’
‘Deuce,’ muttered Sloane, as his brother and sister-in-law entered the room. He glanced at Morgana, ready to apologise for his profanity, but was taken aback by the sympathy in her eyes.
‘Tell me, Sloane,’ she said quickly. ‘What did you think of the kaleidoscope? Was it not remarkable?’
He peered at her, then realised she was trying to distract him and give him a reason to avoid his brother’s pointed glare of dislike. Such kindness surprised him in light of their hot words that morning.
‘Very remarkable, Miss Hart. I’ve rarely seen such beauty.’ But he spoke of her beauty, not the bits of coloured glass.
She fingered that stray lock of hair, and he longed to feel its silky texture between his own fingers. Putting her hands in her lap, she gave him an intent look. ‘Some day, Sloane, if you should ever need a friend’s ear, I would listen.’
There was no curiosity lurking in her offer. He examined her face and found only concern. When had anyone last been concerned about him, especially someone he’d so pointedly hurt with his sharp words?
‘Good evening, Sloane.’ His brother stood before him.
Sloane stood. ‘Rawley.’ He turned to Morgana. ‘Miss Hart, may I present Lord Rawley.’
Morgana offered her hand with a gracious expression. ‘We met at the musicale. Lord Rawley.’
Rawley shook her hand, barely grasping her fingers. He gave her a knowing leer. ‘You live next door to Cyprian.’
Sloane’s hand curled into a fist at the use of his given name and the insinuation towards Morgana in Rawley’s expression.
‘Yes.’ She managed to sound admirably ingenuous. ‘I do indeed. And where do you live, sir?’
Well done, Morgana,
