Bride for a Night(152)

His first reaction was one of surprise.

He had been expecting the typical society chit attired in a modest gown, with her pale curls perfectly groomed and her expression one of shy flirtation. He had been introduced to a hundred of them over the years, and they all seemed to be exactly the same, with only their names to offer a way to tell them apart.

This female…

His gaze narrowed as he skimmed over the wrinkled carriage gown in a dark shade of amber and the plump face that was stained with an angry color. She had clearly not bothered to rest or change before arriving after a long journey, which would explain the unruly brown curls that had tumbled from the knot at the base of her neck and the shadows beneath her dark eyes. And equally evident she was not pleased to have been kept waiting.

Peculiar.

This woman did not appear to be the sort of conceited, heartless jade that would seek out Talia to cause her pain. In truth, she appeared genuinely distraught as she glowered at him with evident impatience.

A portion of his simmering outrage eased, and he stepped forward to offer an elegant bow. “Miss Lansing?”

She bobbed a stiff curtsy, not seeming especially pleased to be confronted by an eligible bachelor who was considered one of the finest catches in London.

“Lord Rothwell,” she muttered.

He straightened, lifting a brow. “Have we been introduced?”

“We have, although it is obvious you have no recollection of the momentous occasion,” she said dryly.

Hugo stiffened. Had the audacious female just reprimanded him?

It was unthinkable. Females devoted themselves to fawning and preening and generally making a pest of themselves in order to please him.

“Forgive me, my lamentable memory…”

“Oh, never mind, it is of no account. You certainly are not the first gentleman who cannot be bothered to remember me,” she interrupted his smooth apology, giving a wave of her plump hand. “I am here to speak with Lady Ashcombe.”

“Where?”

It was her turn to be caught off guard. “I beg your pardon?”


He took a step closer, forgetting the reason he had agreed to meet with Miss Lansing as he studied her pale features that were unremarkable until one really looked. Her heavily lashed brown eyes were filled with a restless intelligence, and the hint of a dimple danced near her full, kissable lips.

“Where were we introduced?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because I find it incomprehensible that I would have forgotten. You are quite…” He struggled for the appropriate word. She was not a beauty. At least not in the traditional manner. And he had yet to see any attempt at charm. But there was something that captured and held his bemused attention. “Unique.”

“It was at Lady Jersey’s ball last season,” she grudgingly revealed.

He shook his head. “I must have been in my cups not to have swept you onto the dance floor.”

She folded her arms beneath her ample bosom. The sight of the pale flesh pressing against the lace edging her bodice caused Hugo to harden with a swift, unnerving arousal.

God almighty.

Thankfully unaware of his predicament, she offered a baleful glare.

“I believe you were too busy attempting to sweep Lady Sandford into the nearest bedchamber,” she accused. “And, if you hope to flatter me into forgetting my mission, my lord, you are wide of the mark.”

“Why? Are you impervious to flattery?”

“Enough of this foolishness.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You will inform Lady Ashcombe that I have called or I will—”