Free Rakehell's Widow by Sandra Heath Page A

quite so devastating, but she did wonder about him, remembering Piers Castleton’s enigmatic warning.
    The hour was approaching when they were due to leave for Seaham House, and Alabeth was waiting in the drawing room for Jillian. She stood by the window, gazing out over the twilit square where the leaves on the plane trees were almost motionless in the calm of the summer evening. She wore a silver muslin gown picked out with tiny flowers embroidered in black, and a large, soft ostrich plume curled down from her jeweled hair. Black beads shimmered on her elegant shawl and there were rubies at her throat and in her ears. Her only other adornment was her wedding ring, worn outside her elbow-length white gloves. She was conscious of a feeling of nervous anticipa tion, for although she had attended many functions, this was the first one where practically all the ton would be present. It was also Jillian’s first London ball, the first occasion at which she would be properly on display, to be commented upon, gauged, assessed….
    She turned as she heard Jillian’s light steps approaching, and then she was there, a vision in peach, her silver slippers peeping out beneath her hem and a beautiful pearl-studded comb drawing her soft, curly hair behind one ear. Her excitement was infectious, for her lips were parted just a little and her blue eyes were lustrous, and shining as she twirled, all antagonism forgotten for a moment as she dis played her gown for her sister to admire. “How do I look?”
    “Exquisite.”
    “Truly?”
    Alabeth smiled. “Truly. You will set them all at sixes and sevens.”
    Jillian almost hugged herself with delight, but then she seemed to remember that she was at odds with Alabeth, and her smile faded. Her voice became more sedate and her glance was more cool. “Shall we go, then?”
    Alabeth could not help but be conscious of the chill which pushed the warmth aside, but she affected not to notice. “Yes, of course, I believe I hear the landau outside.”
    The hoods of the carriage were down on such a warm, still evening, and they sat side by side, Jillian becoming more and more nervous and excited as they neared Seaham House. There were carriages converging on that one address from all directions, and the evening was noisy with the sound of hooves and wheels. Seaham House itself was ablaze with lights, every window brilliant and not a single curtain drawn. Countless colored lanterns decorated the elegant facade and the steps beneath the portico were strewn with moss and flowers, placed with care to look as if they grew there. Garlands of greenery were draped around the Corinthian columns, and servants carrying flambeaux hurried out to greet each carriage as it arrived.
    The landau joined the long queue, for it was taking some time for each vehicle to be escorted to the foot of the steps, the guests to alight, and the carriage to move on to make room for the next one. Jillian did not notice at all, and it was some time before Alabeth noticed, but fate had placed them directly behind Piers Castleton’s barouche. She watched the servants, flambeaux smoking and fluttering as they escorted the barouche the final yards to the house. The carriage door was flung open and Piers alighted.
    He was very correct in black velvet, pausing for a moment to adjust the white frill protruding from his cuff before turning to accept his gloves from a footman. His white shirt and stiff cravat looked very startling in the half- light, and his disheveled hair gave just the right hint of nonchalance to an otherwise formal appearance. Alabeth watched him, silently acknowledging that whatever her opinion of him, she could not deny that he was incredibly handsome—but then, that was one thing she had never denied.
    He passed on into the house, from which the strains of music emerged into the open air, and then the flambeaux were bobbing beside the Wallborough landau and Jillian was almost on the edge of her seat as she stared