The Heart of a Scoundrel (The Heart of a Duke #6)(7)

From her narrow-waisted frame, to her pale complexion, there was nothing that roused even the hint of lust in the young woman. A hard smile played on his lips, which sent a dandy in yellow satin breeches who’d been passing too close, scurrying in the opposite direction. The taste of revenge, however, would serve as a potent aphrodisiac when the time came to ruin her. One of Lady Delenworth’s liveried servants stepped into his line of vision, holding out his silver tray of champagne flutes. Edmund flicked an icy stare over the young fool who’d dared interrupt him. The man stumbled back, nearly upending his burden, and then scrambled off.

Edmund returned his attention to the drab wallflower he’d eventually take to wife, but the pale blonde beauty on her right leaned forward, restricting his view. He’d taken care to learn everything and anything about Margaret’s niece; he knew she donned that silly shawl, as though to protect herself from leering eyes. He scoffed. As though one would leer at one such as her. The lady enjoyed reading. And she’d made the fatal mistake of taking two women as her close friends and confidantes. The sad creature had yet to realize that those ties to other people, be it friends, family, or lovers, invariably weakened one. She would learn, and then she’d never again make the same careless mistake.

The blonde beauty more suited to his tastes, leaned back and revealed the other dark-haired young lady—Viscount Waters’ daughter, Miss Phoebe Barrett. He passed a quick, methodical gaze on the woman whose familial connection would lead him to Miss Honoria Fairfax. A delicate jaw, high cheeks, and a pert nose, she may as well have been any other young English woman. He made to return his attention to the woman he’d trap, when Miss Barrett’s full lips turned down at the corner. Even with the space between them, he detected the hard, disapproving glint in her eyes. For one moment he believed she’d noted his scrutiny, which was, of course, preposterous. One such as she could never glean a hint of his treachery. He followed her stare.

Unaware of his scrutiny, she boldly glared at Lord Allswood. A mirthless chuckle rumbled up from Edmund’s chest as the two studied one another. Ah, so the lady had a lover, and by the furious set to her mouth—she was an angry lover. Then, he looked to the fop, Lord Allswood, and followed the other man’s gaze to the woman’s generous décolletage. A wave of unexpected lust slammed into Edmund. The otherwise ordinary lady possessed the lush, tempting form he’d long admired. An angry, lush, lover. Never before would he believe himself capable of envying that fool Allswood. He did in that moment.

As though she felt his gaze upon her, Miss Barrett snapped her head up and looked about. Edmund shifted behind the column, escaping her notice…and waited. He’d grown adept at waiting. For triumph and victory was made all the sweeter with the wait. In addition to the lesson on weakness he’d learned as a youth, he’d also come to know the importance of masterful timing, and so he remained fixed to the marble floor, behind the column, occasionally shifting so he might steal furtive glances at the lady he sought.

Edmund swallowed back a curse at the now empty row of chairs. He quickly scanned the ballroom for a glimpse of the lady and found her in moments. Others might have failed to note the rapidly fleeing Miss Honoria Fairfax as she made her way down the perimeter of the ballroom, but as one who’d perfected subterfuge, he recognized it in another. He immediately started moving after those nauseating white skirts. He gave thanks for that ivory cashmere shawl; the one identifier of the dark-haired woman who represented all on his quest for revenge.

With a purposeful step, he strode through the thick crush of bodies. Gentlemen paled as he cut a swath through the crowd. The married ones frowned, pulling their wives closer. The mamas glowered, pulling their innocent daughters even closer. A hard smile formed on his lips. Then, one of the benefits of being the most feared, unrelenting lord was that it spared him from inane company and made his orchestrated meeting with Miss Fairfax all the easier.

Edmund exited the ballroom and strode down the narrow, dimly lit corridor just as the lady turned down the end of the hall. He quickened his step and then a splash of ivory caught his notice. He drew to a slow stop, a humorless grin turning his lips upward at the corner.

Fate proved once again the undeniable truth—the devil loved a sinner. He swiped the modest fabric off the thin carpet and without breaking stride, stuffed it into the front pocket of his jacket and continued walking forward, after the unsuspecting young lady. Edmund turned at the end of the hall and silently cursed. He ducked back as the dark-haired debutante froze. “Hullo,” she called out.

Either the lady met her lover or courted her own ruin. He paused, counting his good fortune. He’d interrupt any possible assignation between the lady and the young swain she’d meet. There was also the surprising good piece in not requiring the viscount’s assistance in this, maintaining the debt he held over the man. Edmund waited several moments and then peered around the corner. But for the handful of shadows playing off the floors from the lit sconces at each end of the hall, the corridor remained empty. If he were meeting a lover, where would he arrange that assignation? Just another benefit of having taken countless lovers in countless ballrooms in countless trysting spots. Edmund started down the hall, bypassing doors already passed by the lady herself. He made his way to the row of floor-length windows, hardly conducive to concealment, but certainly beneficial when one welcomed the pleasure of a voyeur.

With excitement thrumming through his veins, he silently pressed the handle. He shoved the door open and wordlessly stepped out onto the stone terrace.