Free Susanne Marie Knight by A Noble Dilemma

soar. But then, his following words had crashed her back to the ground.
    To be truthful and honorable are virtues to be commended, my dear.
    Even now she flushed with the remembrance. The admiration in his voice, the special glow to his eyes…
    Fie on it.
    Although she felt an emotional bond with him, she warred with her conflicting emotions. The truth of it was, she wasn’t truthful. Nor even honorable. In fact, she brimmed full of deceit, full of guilt at thus taking advantage of the Earl and his household.
    Her unseemly ambition was to be a published writer of popular novels. What would Lord Ingraham think, indeed, what would he say if — dear God, please no — if he ever found out her secret?
    Oh, for such a breach of etiquette as this, he would condemn her most readily. His ire would blaze out of those uncompromising eyes of his. He would not care to look upon her. He would not wish to speak with her. Her woman’s intuition told her all this…and much, much more.
    Bethany hung her head. Was clandestinely penning a novel worth this possible disgrace? Should he discover her perfidy, could she bear to lose his high regard? But how else was she to manage her expenses if not through an occupation?
    “There you are, Bethany,” Petunia called out as she weaved her way through the party revelers. “The crush here is so frightful. I have been looking everywhere for you.” Stopping by the painting, Petunia patted her hand over her heart as if to calm that particular organ’s frantic beating. She was radiating a happiness Bethany could not hope ever to achieve. “’Tis Weatherhaven. He’s just arrived. I do so want to introduce you.”
    Bethany smiled at her young hostess and took her arm. “And I am looking forward to meeting your Lord Weatherhaven. What is his direction?”
    “Over by that dreadful statue. You know the one — the garish bronze figure. How could you overlook it? Half man, half goat.” She shuddered.
    The Duchess’ ballroom was very large indeed, with a multitude of artworks to marvel at. But one could not fail to notice the tall Greek satyr avidly playing his soundless horn regardless of the company. Petunia dashed through the crowd, towing Bethany by her side. She nodded at several acquaintances but didn’t stop to talk. The only words that passed her lips were for Bethany.
    “The dear man misses me so,” Petunia breathlessly called behind her as she headed for her destination — the horn-playing man/goat. Reaching the gargantuan monstrosity, Petunia halted, then peeked around to the back of it. “Weatherhaven is right over…here.”
    Bethany reached Petunia’s side. The area behind the statue yielded no presence of Lord Weatherhaven…nor of anyone else for that matter.
    “Faddle.” Petunia stood up onto her toes. The delicate curls on her upswept coiffure quivered with intensity as she searched the grand ballroom for her husband. “Now where did the man get off to?”
    As Bethany had never seen Lord Weatherhaven, she could be of no assistance in locating the man. She did, however, see something on the dance floor that severely disturbed her equanimity.
    Lady Ingraham, her attractive face flushed with excitement, participated in a lively cotillion with her escort, Mr. Fenwick. Unfortunately, she danced with such abandon, she forgot herself. To facilitate her steps, she lifted the hem of her satin round gown so high, several inches of her ankles were revealed to all and sundry.
    Bethany blushed. Lady Ingraham’s inappropriate display embarrassed not only herself but her entire family. Bethany’s immediate concern, however, wasn’t for Lady Ingraham, but for David. She put her hand out to touch Petunia’s shoulder. “Petunia, your mother is — ”
    “Gracious.” Petunia wasn’t focused on Lady Ingraham’s imprudent behavior. Instead, she stared in the opposite direction.
    Bethany followed her hostess’ gaze. She saw a distinguished gentleman with dark curls tinged with grey,