as he slipped away to begin his work. Tessa was apt to be attracted by a mystery.
“Why, Miss Talbot!” A familiar, velvety masculine voice rang out behind her. “Is that truly you, or have I had too much to drink already?”
She turned to find Major Maxwell Hamilton-Smythe watching her. As always, he looked impeccably tailored in his dress uniform. And as always, he had a glass in his hand and a roguish gleam in his eye.
In spite of herself, Claire returned his smile. “Nobody who knows you would discount the latter possibility, my dear Max.”
The man was a snake. Claire had decided that long ago, when he’d pursued her so relentlessly. But he was the most handsome snake she’d ever set eyes on. There had been a time, when she was younger and not yet reconciled to a lifetime of spinsterhood, when Max Hamilton-Smythe had made her question whether buying a husband would be so terrible, provided she knew that’s what she was doing, and she got good value for her money.
“As a matter of fact,” she added with mock gravity, “I am a look-alike Miss Talbot has employed to stand in for her at dreary social gatherings she cannot otherwise avoid.”
The wry jest had barely left Claire’s lips when all thought of levity abruptly deserted her. What if Max was Tessa’s fortune hunter?
With a giddy surge of relief, she remembered that Tessa’s suitor was an American. Besides, Max had recently married some poor creature whose fortune exceeded both her beauty and her good sense.
Max bolted the last of his drink, then handed the empty glass to a passing footman. “Well, whoever you are, will you do me the honor of a dance?” He offered Claire his arm. “For old times’ sake?”
“I’m not certain old times merit it.” She took his arm just the same, and let him lead her to the dance floor. “Besides, shouldn’t you be squiring your wife this evening?”
“She’s not here.” Max gave a cheerful shrug, as though her absence did not trouble him vastly. “Indisposed, the poor darling.”
As Max whirled her around the ballroom, Claire tried to decide whether she pitied Mrs. Hamilton-Smythe her husband’s callous neglect more than she envied the woman for being with child.
After two waltzes and a further exchange of good-natured barbs, Claire took her leave of the major, more convinced than ever that she’d been wise to keep out of his attractive clutches.
“It’s been amusing to see you again, Max. But I mustn’t keep you from your mission to deplete Lord and Lady Fortescue’s wine cellar. Do tell your wife I hope she’s feeling better soon.”
“About my wife…” Max maneuvred Claire into a corner near the musicians’ dias and lowered his voice. “Just because I’m married now doesn’t mean you and I couldn’t—”
“It most certainly does, Max, you reptile.”
He gazed at her as if the word were some kind of endearment, and added in a coaxing murmur, “Barbara and I have an understanding.”
“Ah.” Claire fought the urge to slap his face. “Then perhaps you and I should have one, as well.”
Max’s sea-green eyes glittered with lust…or perhaps it was avarice. Claire had never succeeded in telling the two apart.
“I understand that you are as monstrous a cad as ever.” By the tone of her voice, anyone overhearing them might have thought she was paying him a compliment. “And you understand that I would not dally with you if you were the last man on earth. Now, do we understand one another?”
If she’d hoped to goad the major into losing his temper, Claire would have been disappointed.
Instead, he clucked his tongue at her while looking intolerably smug. “I promise, you don’t know what you’re missing. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”
On the underside of a rock!
Claire turned away from Max, intending to toss the insult over her shoulder.
Instead, she found her slippers glued to the floor as she watched Tessa waltz past in the arms of a man.
Tessa’s partner was not quite as tall as the major, and most women might have deemed him not half so handsome. But Claire could not take her eyes off him, for he danced the way he walked, with a jaunty, athletic grace that made people turn and stare whenever he passed.
His hair, a rich dark brown, clung to his head in crisp, close-cropped locks. He had a high-bridged, aquiline nose and a wide, bowed mouth that managed to suggest both good humor and unswerving determination. Alert, roving gray eyes nestled beneath forceful dark brows. For the moment, they fastened on Tessa with an intensity that took Claire’s breath away.
“Miss Talbot?”
“Go away, Max!” she snapped. “I don’t want you for a lover any more than I wanted you for a husband.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Talbot, it’s only me—Hutt.”
A searing blush suffused Claire’s face as she turned toward the agent. For an instant, she forgot about Tessa and her partner. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hutt! I thought you were…someone else.”
“No harm done, miss.” Not even the faintest suggestion of a smirk twitched at the corner of the agent’s thin lips.
Once again, Claire congratulated herself on having secured his services.
“My inquiries have yielded some information about the gentleman, Miss Talbot.” Though he’d succeeded in hiding his amusement over her gaffe, Mr. Hutt could not conceal his satisfaction over his own quick work. “I thought you’d want to know straightaway.”
Tessa’s fortune hunter!
Claire spun around again, her gaze combing the room in search of him.
Behind her, Obadiah Hutt began to rattle off his report in an eager voice. “I have discovered the gentleman’s name, miss. And I’ve discovered he is not an American, as Lady Lydiard supposed.”
Not an American. No.
From across the ballroom his voice drifted, mellow and musical, with the distinctive lilting burr of the Highland glens. Claire steeled herself to resist its enchantment, but failed.
When Mr. Hutt began to speak again, she held up her hand for silence.
“But, miss, don’t you want to hear the gentleman’s name?”
Across the ballroom, Ewan Geddes glanced up and caught her watching him. For an instant, puzzlement knit his full dark brows together.
Then it cleared.
His bow mouth stretched into a wide, devilish grin, and he winked at her.
“I know his name, Mr. Hutt.” The hand Claire had held aloft balled into a tight fist, as did the one by her side. “Furthermore, I know he is no gentleman.”
Chapter Two
A good job he was at a ball with an orchestra playing, Ewan Geddes thought. It gave him an excuse for dancing around the room without looking like a daft fool!
For ten years he’d worked and struggled to get where he was now—with Miss Tessa Talbot in his arms and no man having the power to take her away from him. Surely Fate had wanted them together, no matter how unlikely a match they once might have seemed. Considering how far he’d risen in the world, Ewan knew nothing was impossible for a man who had faith in himself, and the boldness to act decisively when an opportunity arose.
The music stopped, but he continued to twirl Tessa around the floor, narrowly avoiding several other couples who had paused to wait for the orchestra to begin again.
“Ewan!” Tessa squealed. “What are you doing? We can’t dance without music!”
“Ah,