As he followed the Wentworths down the staircase and into the crowd, he spied the aforementioned heiress. Her lush, dark beauty made the reigning insipid blondes look blandly faded. His loins tightened at the sight of her ripe figure and shining locks. Perhaps the gown was too mature for the debutante. Or perhaps too much time had passed since his last visit to a house of pleasure. Either way, he would do best to avoid her for her sake.
Ian took a deep breath as he plunged into the crowd, bowing and renewing introductions. It was fortunate that he had fed tonight; else the scent of so much fresh blood would drive him mad. Unbidden, his gaze rested once again on the Winthrop girl, then narrowed. There was something amiss with the look in her eyes.
Though he was unable to read minds, Ian’s gift lay in detecting the subtle nuances in a human’s movement, gestures, expressions, and voice. If he desired, he could win any hand of cards he played. Every instinct in his body told him the debutante was planning something. It wasn’t merely the lack of avarice in her eye that most girls of her age and status possessed; her mother had enough of that for the pair. But the impish twinkle to the beauty’s subtle smile told him that she was up to mischief.
The girl downed a glass of champagne with unladylike haste. Whatever she was going to do must take courage. He would have to keep a discreet eye on this intriguing creature. Lord Wentworth was quite a good fellow for a mortal, and it would be a shame for his party to be spoiled by some foolish chit.
***
Angelica stifled a yawn with a sip of her third glass of champagne. She had danced her slippers off with eligible and ineligible gentlemen alike. On the ballroom floor, she’d executed the first part of her plan to scandalize the ton. Instead of exchanging mild pleasantries about the weather and her family’s health, she’d attempted to shock her dancing partners by speaking her mind.
To a foppish baronet, she’d mocked male fashions, comparing the brilliant colors of satin knee breeches and bright waistcoats to the plumes of strutting peacocks. With a wealthy earl, she’d pried into his business ventures, discussing shipping investments and banking practices as if she were about to plunge into a wealth-making endeavor. With a dull viscount, she went as far as to go into gory details about the exhumation of corpses in Frankenstein. The abrupt manner in which the man’s face had turned green was most satisfactory. She even danced twice with each of them.
Proud of her daring, she anxiously waited for the dance offers to cease and the gossiping to commence. To her vexation, gentlemen became more ardent in seeking out her company. She finally had to plead exhaustion and quit the floor, praying that no gentlemen would seek out her father to offer for her hand.
Angelica’s lip curled in disgust as she fanned beads of sweat from her forehead. Why will these bloody fops not leave me alone? Last week Lady Dranston’s daughter was a complete wallflower because of her incessant prattle about horticulture. What could I be doing wrong?
A viscount bowed before her. “You look overheated, Miss Winthrop. If you would permit me to escort you, I know of the most pleasant alcove in which you could cool off.” He licked his fat lips and ogled her bosom.
Her stomach roiled in revulsion, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. No doubt he would try to steal a kiss from her, and if she were caught, she would definitely be ruined. On the other hand, often a man would marry a girl he compromised. Especially a girl with a dowry of her size. The thought of being leg-shackled to this lecher for the rest of her life, much less allowing those fleshy lips anywhere near her person, made her skin crawl.
“No thank you, my lord. I am quite comfortable as I am,” she said coolly.
He bowed once more and strutted off in search of other prey. Angelica felt sorry for the next poor girl.
“I absolutely adore your gown.” A voice intruded on her thoughts.
She turned to see a lady in a shockingly low-cut gown of emerald silk smiling down at her. Angelica had seen the blonde before at other engagements but could not remember her name.
“Thank you.” Before she could return the compliment, a girl her age in a classic gown of virginal white approached. She also looked familiar with her golden curls and cherubic lips.
The girl curtsied to Angelica before she turned to the older woman. “Oh, Victoria, Lord Branson danced twice with me tonight! He is so very handsome and dashing.”
The lady in the green gown rewarded the girl with a bitter smile. “Then you must ignore him for the rest of the evening.”
The girl’s face fell in disappointment. “But…”
“But nothing, Claire. He is in debt up to his ears and only has an income of four thousand per annum besides.” Victoria fluttered her hand. “Oh, forgive us. I did not introduce myself. I am Lady Victoria Wheaton, and this is my sister, Miss Claire Belmont.”
Angelica curtsied. “How do you do? I am Miss Angelica Winthrop.”
Claire gasped in dismay. “Not the Earl of Pendlebur’s granddaughter?”
Victoria smacked her sister on the arm with her fan as Angelica replied, “I am. Is there something amiss with the fact?”