Free Reckless Viscount by Amy Sandas

with a group of young gentlemen near the dance floor, she wasn’t terribly surprised. The sense of foreboding she had been struggling to suppress now had a discernible cause.
    She would have loved to say she had forgotten all about the young English lord who had briefly courted her nearly two years ago. In truth, she would likely never forget his superior smirk and assessing leer.
    She stared at the man who had once gone out of his way to ruin her. The man who had not let the secrets of her past lie fallow, but had revived them over and over again in the rumor mill until no one could be expected to forget that Miss Abbigael Granger, super-rich daughter of the imposing politician, had a touch of insanity in her blood.
    Lord Atwood looked exactly the same as when she had last seen him in Dublin. He was the epitome of British masculine elegance. Pale skin, artfully disheveled hair, long graceful fingers and a perpetual expression of dissatisfaction, as if the world around him never quite came up to snuff.
    As if sensing her attention, Lord Atwood glanced in her direction. Recognition flared bright in his eyes and his lordly expression slid into one of malicious delight. He remembered her well enough.
    The odd sort of acceptance she had experienced at first seeing him turned to chilling paralysis and only one thought took purchase in her mind.
    So this is how my dreams are finally dashed. Once again in a crowded ballroom, face-to-face with that man.
    A group of four young ladies passed in front of Abbigael, momentarily interrupting the line of sight between herself and her old antagonist. It was enough to spur her into action. Later she would chastise herself for her cowardice, but right now, her only thought was to flee. She glanced to Lady Blackbourne and saw that she was deep in conversation with some of her racing cronies and hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Not wanting to waste another second, Abbigael joined the giggling debutantes, walking close enough to appear a member of their group, but not so close that they would wonder at her proximity in the crowded ballroom.
    She initially thought to slip away to the water closet, but when it became obvious the young ladies were heading in that same direction she took the first opportunity to alter her course. Now fully out of sight from Lord Atwood, she turned against the flow of guests and continued around the edge of the ballroom.
    She came upon the small conservatory by surprise. One moment, the wall at her side simply opened up.
    On instinct and urged by a touch of fear she hadn’t yet shaken, she turned in and was instantly surrounded by lush spreading ferns set at varying heights, small fruit trees and exotic flowering plants. The windows lining one wall from floor to ceiling allowed the faint glow of moonlight to filter into the space that presented no other illumination.
    Abbigael proceeded cautiously, not so naïve that she didn’t realize the little conservatory would be perfect for anyone wishing to steal a few private moments. She had no desire to come upon an amorous couple in a delicate embrace. By supreme luck or divine intervention, the room was vacant. And when Abbigael spotted a small cushioned chaise set back within the enveloping greenery, she rushed toward it in relief.
    From her position on the chaise, she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the ballroom beyond. She was completely hidden from view. Now, as long as no one came along to disturb her, she might actually manage to bring her anxiety under control. She would only sit for a moment. A moment to gather herself and calm the nerves that were intent upon dragging her back to memories she could not afford to revisit. Not now.
    There had to be a way to stifle Lord Atwood before he had a chance to spew his poisonous rumors. And spew he would. She had no doubt about that after catching sight of his churlish grin.
    Surely the earl and countess could be of some help in that area. Their social influence was