Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

Blakely shrugged. “As you wish.” He swiveled from her.

The effrontery of the man! He wasn’t even trying to give Madame Esmerelda’s prediction a fair chance.

Ned clamped his hand about his cousin’s wrist and turned him back around. “Oh, I think so. Where else could it have come from?”

Aside from Blakely’s pocket. Or any of the fifteen other sources that sprang to mind.

“I assure you,” she said with some asperity, “if that object had belonged to me, I shouldn’t have waited until I attended a ball to dispose of it. Even if I had dropped it, I would never admit prior ownership when questioned.”

“Well.” Ned drew out the syllable and squared his shoulders. “If you didn’t drop it, you must accept it.”

Her lips thinned. “Why?”

Why? Damnation.

“I can’t think of any reason,” Blakely interjected. His gaze seemed subtly mocking. Ned’s stomach sank. His cousin would continue to perform all his tasks in this halfhearted fashion. He had no intention of taking Madame Esmerelda’s strictures seriously. He intended to do the bare minimum, and no more.

But Madame Esmerelda was right. She saw the future. She had to do so. Because if she were wrong about Blakely, then her prediction about Ned was suspect, too. And that he could not bear.

Ned plucked the ebony from his cousin’s hand and held it out. There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to do all the work.

“Unfortunately—” Ned sighed “—there’s no good reason. You’re just going to have to take it anyway.”

She peered at the unfortunate lump of wood. “What is that thing, anyway?”

“What do you think it is?”

The lady reached out one slim finger and tapped the dark surface. She pulled back the digit immediately, as if she’d tapped a hot stove. “It appears to be some sort of round, pockmarked, misbegotten, battle-blackened…citrus?”

“You see?” Triumph boiled up in Ned and he poked Blakely in the lapels. “She knew! She knew it was an elephant! You can’t possibly deny Madame Esmerelda’s power now!”

That, at least, finally got a response from Blakely. The man shut his eyes and covered his face with a hand.

The lady frowned. “An orange is an elephant?”

She was intimidating and elegant. Ned imagined the figure he must cut in her eyes. Boyishly skinny. Overshadowed by his taller cousin. Awkward, ungainly, and just a little too loud at all the wrong times. Most especially at this moment. He flushed from head to toe.

“Yes,” Ned said. His voice still rang too loudly.

At precisely the same moment, Blakely said, “No.”

She stared at the two men. “You,” she said stabbing a finger at Ned, “are mad. You—” pointing at Blakely this time “—are tainted by association. And you—” here, she pointed at Madame Esmerelda standing behind them “—are very quiet. As for me, I am leaving.”

If she left now, fate and all the angels in heaven couldn’t bring her together with Blakely.

“Wait,” Ned called. “We haven’t been introduced! And you didn’t take your elephant.”

She turned around again. “No, we haven’t been introduced. And I certainly couldn’t accept a gift from a stranger.”

Ned bit his cheeks and wondered if he could possibly—please?—disappear on the spot. “Oh, that stupid rule doesn’t matter here. It’s only applicable to nice things. Clothing or jewelry or the like. This is a piece of rubbish.”

She stared at Ned and shook her head. “You really are mad.”

“Yes,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “Now humor the madman, and take the dam—I mean, take the dratted elephant.”

She contemplated him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, dimples formed on her cheeks. She did not smile, but her eyes sparkled. And she placed her gloved hand, palm out, in front of her.

He dropped the wood into her hand. “There,” Ned said. “Now it’s your misbegotten lump of citrus.”

She looked up. Her eyes were gray, and Ned had the sudden impression that she saw right into his heart. That organ thumped heavily under her observation. Ned swallowed, and the world slowed.

Then she dropped a curtsy. “Thank you,” she said prettily. She turned. Ned watched her leave. She strode as confidently as a queen. Ned felt humiliated and exposed. It was only when she turned the corner that he realized that they’d still not been introduced. Of course not. He’d just painted himself as the biggest fool in London. Who would want to make an acquaintance of him?

Not that it mattered. It was Blakely who was fated to have her. He could have her; he’d match her, his intimidating glares bouncing off her cold elegance. No doubt Blakely would fall in love with her.

He turned to his cousin. “Someday,” Ned said bitterly, “you are going to thank me for what I just did for you.”

Blakely gestured sardonically. “I wouldn’t wager on that, were I you. For now, I’ll thank you to head back to the ball.”