Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(30)

After the captious atmosphere of the New York balls, McKenna was pleasantly surprised by the relaxed quality of this gathering. When he said as much to Gideon, his friend laughed quietly.

“It’s always like this in England,” Gideon said. “English peers have nothing to prove. Since no one can ever take their titles away from them, they are free to do and say as they wish. Whereas in New York, one’s social status is a rather precarious thing. The only way you can be certain of your standing is if you’re included on one damned list or another. Committee lists, guest lists, members lists, visiting lists…”

“Are there any lists that you aren’t on?” McKenna had asked.

“God, no,” Gideon said with a self-mocking laugh. “I’m a Shaw. Everyone wants me.”

They stood together at one end of the ballroom, which contained what seemed to be acres of parquet flooring. The air was dense with the fragrance of roses, irises, and lilies, cut from the estate gardens and expertly arranged in crystal vases. The niches set into the walls had been fitted with tiny velvet-upholstered benches, where dowagers and wallflowers sat in tightly compacted groups. Music floated down from an upper-floor balcony, the small orchestra half concealed by bowers of lush greenery. Although this ball did not approach the extravagance of some of the Fifth Avenue affairs McKenna had attended, it put those opulent balls to shame. There was a difference between quality and mere showiness, he thought. That notion was reinforced immediately by the appearance of Lady Aline.

She was dazzling, with strands of white pearls in her lustrous dark hair, her voluptuous body wrapped in a blue dress that molded tightly over the swell of her br**sts. A double circlet of fresh white rosebuds was wrapped around one of her gloved wrists. Extending her hands in welcome, she went to a group of guests near the door of the ballroom. Her smile was a flash of magic. As he watched her, McKenna noticed something about her that had not registered during their earlier meeting…she walked differently than he remembered. Instead of exhibiting the impetuous grace she had possessed as a girl, Aline now moved with the leisurely deliberateness of a swan gliding across a still pond.

Aline’s entrance attracted many gazes, and it was obvious that McKenna was not the only man who appreciated her sparkling allure. No matter how tranquil her facade, there was no concealing the luminous sensuality beneath. McKenna could barely restrain himself from going over to her and dragging her away to some dark, secluded place. He wanted to tear the pearls from her hair, and press his lips to her breast, and breathe in the scent of her body until he was drunk from it.

“Lovely,” Gideon commented, following his gaze. “But you could find someone almost as attractive—not to mention quite a bit younger—back in New York.”

McKenna threw him a dismissive glance. “I know what’s back in New York.” His gaze returned compulsively to Aline.

Gideon smiled and rolled the stem of a wineglass between his long fingers. “Although I wouldn’t claim that all women are alike, I can say with some authority that they do possess the same basic equipment. What makes this one so infinitely preferable to all the rest? The simple fact that you couldn’t have her?”

McKenna did not bother replying to such inanity. It would be impossible to make Shaw—or anyone else—understand. The dark reality was that he and Aline had never been separate—they could live on opposite sides of the earth, and they would still be caught together in a hellish tangle. Not have her? He had never stopped having her…She had been a perpetual torment to him. She was going to suffer for that, as he had suffered for more than a decade.

His thoughts were interrupted as Lord Westcliff approached. Like the other men present, Westcliff was clad in a formal scheme of black and white, with fashionably wide, straight-cut coat lapels and loose, expertly tailored trousers. He had the powerful build of a sportsman, and his manner was straightforward rather than scheming. His resemblance to the old earl, however, caused a prickle of animosity that McKenna couldn’t ignore. On the other hand, not many peers would receive a former servant as a valued guest—McKenna would give him that.

As Westcliff greeted them, his expression was pleasant, if not precisely friendly. “Good evening,” he murmured. “Are you enjoying yourselves so far, gentlemen?”

“Quite,” Shaw said cordially, lifting his glass in approbation. “A very fine Bordeaux, my lord.”

“Excellent. I will see that some of that particular vintage is stocked in the bachelor’s house for your convenience.” Westcliff’s gaze moved to McKenna. “And you, sir? What do you think of your first ball at Stony Cross Park?”

“It looks different from this side of the windows,” McKenna said frankly.

That drew a reluctant smile from Westcliff. “It is a long distance from the stables to the ballroom,” he acknowledged. “And not one that many men could have traversed.”

McKenna barely heard the remark. His attention had returned to Aline, who had gone to greet a newcomer.

It appeared the guest had come alone. He was a handsome man of not more than thirty years of age, with blond good looks that were comparable to Gideon Shaw’s. However, whereas Gideon was golden and weathered, this man was wintry-fair…his hair pale and gilded, his eyes piercing. The sight of him with Aline, light matched with dark, was strikingly attractive.

Following his gaze, Westcliff saw the pair. “Lord Sandridge,” he murmured. “A friend of the family, and held in high regard by Lady Aline.”