A Reckless Encounter. Rosemary Rogers

and look at the man who had destroyed her childhood. She emptied her champagne and gave the glass to a footman. Her fingers tightened on the bone handle of her fan. She waved it idly back and forth, rigidly waiting. Hairs on the back of her neck tightened; it felt as if the careful cluster of artfully arranged curls on her crown were standing erect.

      Lady Jersey said, “He arrives late, and does not even acknowledge the receiving line. Is that Sir John Harvey with him? Perhaps I missed his name on the guest list…”

      Jacqueline’s chin lifted slightly at the implication, and though her mouth was smiling, there was a glint in her eyes. “I don’t turn away pleasant company. Harvey’s father is a baron, and Sir John I find quite charming.”

      “Yes, perhaps. His father is a member of the Carlton House set and quite fast, you know. A gambler, as is his son, but neither is as proficient as Northington.”

      “Neither man has the best reputation,” Lady Cowper said with a flutter of her fan, and her eyes held a speculative glow. “Yet he is so attractive, for all that he seems so…well, dangerous, I suppose you could say.”

      Lady Jersey lifted her lorgnette to gaze across the room. “You must mean Northington. A handsome man, and yes, so dangerous. Quite the rogue, they say. Very adept with the pistol and the sword, and has been known to walk away from several duels, though of course, that’s still frowned upon these days. How many commendations did he receive for his military service?”

      A gleam of naked excitement brightened Lady Cowper’s eyes. “One commendation was awarded for Northington’s courage in leading a charge against Napoleon’s right flank in which nearly every man of his squad was killed but him. But, of course, I’m not surprised that he survived. He has a certain air about him…not just dangerous, but—savage. Yes, that’s it! His skin is nearly as dark as one of Miss St. Clair’s savages, don’t you think? Oh, I wonder what he would look like half-naked. I’d allow him to ravish me, I vow!”

      They all laughed but Celia, who managed to force a stiff smile. No one even noticed her silence. But how could they know what had happened to Maman? Or that she was near dizzy with suppressed anger, anticipation and nausea at this reminder of it?

      Oh, I cannot do this! she thought. I cannot stand and listen to them talk about him as if he’s gallant or brave, or even human!

      But, of course, she could say nothing, and the talk of Northington continued, Lady Jersey once more ignoring the feelings of her companions as she said, “It was reported that Northington disposed of the French at an alarming rate. A bold soldier—and an even bolder rake. He’s cut quite a swath through not only actresses, but several high-born ladies. You do recall that scandal two years ago with Letitia Goodridge? She’s still in seclusion, I understand. Quite heartbroken, they say. Apparently Sir Lawrence has locked her away in the country since she was so imprudent as to make a public scene with Northington. Foolish chit. At least Lady Katherine was discreet. Discretion is everything.”

      The ladies nodded approval and agreement, a silent pact that set the standard of the day.

      “But do look at him,” Jacqueline said in a whisper that reeked of triumph. “Northington could persuade any woman to folly if he chose. I think he’s a devastatingly handsome man, and from one of the oldest families. Scandal barely touches them.”

      “I would think,” Lady Jersey observed, “that would depend upon the nature of the scandal. Ah. He sees us. I expect he will properly present himself now.”

      Celia steeled herself to turn and look toward Lord Northington at last, and drew in a deep breath for courage. Surely he was not truly handsome after ten years, when he had not been what she recalled as very appealing even in his younger days. Indeed, if not for his lineage and family’s influence in the shipping industry, even Americans would not have found his company especially desirable.

      Nerves jangled, her stomach throbbed and there was a loud humming in her ears as she turned at last to look once more upon the man she hated.

      Yet she could not find him in the throng of satins, jewels and lamplight. She had thought there would be instant recognition, that the hatred she had nursed all these years would immediately focus on Northington despite the time that had passed. Yet none of the men present had the face of her childhood nightmares.

      Bewildered, she stood stiffly as her cousin moved forward to greet another man. She had a vague impression of a tall man with dark hair, impeccably dressed and with an air of polite boredom in his movements, but her gaze focused beyond him.

      Celia searched the crowd for Northington, her eyes scanning faces restlessly, barely paying attention as Jacqueline began the introductions. Only when the hated name penetrated her distraction did she realize that the man before her bore the same name.

      “Lord Northington,” she repeated tonelessly, and saw from the corner of her eye her cousin’s slight frown.

      “Yes, dear.” Jacqueline stressed the first word. “Surely you recall his name on the guest list. Northington has honored us with his presence this evening, and we are most delighted.”

      “This must be the young lady who has captured Sir John’s instant admiration,” a deep voice said, the tone slow, rich, seductive.

      She turned her gaze to look fully at the man before her. Her breath caught.

      Eyes of a startling blue gazed down at her from beneath black lashes, and Celia recognized him at once as the man she had seen aboard the Liberty. Confused, it took a moment to find her voice.

      “Sir John is most flattering if he has indeed expressed admiration for me, my lord,” she finally said.

      “I would say he has been truthful, for a refreshing change of pace. Flattery imparts insincerity, but in this case he’s quite correct. You are indeed lovely.”

      His sensual voice had a husky, mocking quality that sent a shiver down her spine. He reached for her hand, took it in his broad palm, held her fingers in a light clasp as he bent to place a kiss upon her gloved knuckles. Celia did not resist. She felt as if all eyes were watching, waiting for her response.

      Panic swelled, coupled with an overpowering need to escape this room that had suddenly grown far too stifling; the music and laughter and smell of perfume threatened to suffocate her.

      But it was his touch that unnerved her most, burning into her skin even through the gloves. She snatched her hand away, saw the leap of surprise in his eyes, heard Carolyn’s soft gasp.

      Faintly, she managed to say, “How kind of you. If you will excuse me, I must attend some personal business.”

      Aware of Jacqueline’s disconcerted stare and Carolyn’s gaping expression, Celia maneuvered a path through the crowd without taking flight or stumbling. She had to escape that penetrating gaze and the discovery that this Northington was not the man she had hated for so long. But who was he? A brother? Cousin? Or perhaps he was a son…Whoever he was, he wasn’t the man she had come to ruin.

      There had to be two Lord Northingtons.

      And she had to collect her wits before she said or did something else foolish. Already, she had risked offending her cousin as well as Northington. Her direct cut would not go unnoticed, nor would her ill-bred behavior. It was nearly unforgivable, and she must seek a way to make amends or she may ruin everything.

      Celia sought a quiet corner away from the crowd and din of revelry, and sank down upon a cushioned bench in an alcove across the hall. Her lovely gown was not made for sitting at all but for dancing and standing, yet at the moment she didn’t care. Her head throbbed and nausea churned so that she felt as if she would truly be sick at any moment. She should leave, but how could she? To go upstairs now would be an insult to Jacqueline after all she’d done, all the preparations she’d made and her hopes for her beloved Léonie’s daughter to make a decent match.

      A burble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat. How can I tell her that’s the farthest thing from my mind? No. I must remain. Ah, I’m such a coward to flee.…

      She