Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

Don’t trust me, she’d said.

But how could Ned not trust her? Long ago, she’d predicted he would win free of the deep malaise that gripped him. He had. She’d predicted Ned would make something worthwhile of himself, something worth living for. He hoped that he would. But now, he sensed that awful darkness lurking, a vile monster hiding just beyond the periphery of his vision.

Not trust Madame Esmerelda?

If he couldn’t trust her, he couldn’t trust that she had been right that day so long ago, when she’d told him to live. He couldn’t believe she’d seen a future for him, free of that stultifying despair. If she hadn’t seen the future then all Ned’s hopes for his future were lies.

She couldn’t be wrong. He wouldn’t let her be.

This, Ned concluded, was a test.

He couldn’t rely on anyone else. He couldn’t rely on Madame Esmerelda’s tasks. He couldn’t even assume Lady Kathleen’s icy elegance would bring Blakely to his knees. No. Ned would make sure Blakely married her, even if he had to trap them into it.

But Blakely had not yet arrived.

In the half hour since Ned had arrived at the Arbuthnots’ soiree, he’d been watching Lady Kathleen from the corner of his eye. He would have been aware of her even without his plan. His chest constricted every time she drew breath. It was a perfectly natural response, he told himself, after what he’d planned.

Even now, across the wide expanse of the great room, he sensed her. She was dressed in a white gown that would have been simple, were it not for the hundreds of brilliants sewn into it, in patterns that dazzled his eye every time she moved. They made her blond hair look almost white, as if it were made of platinum.

She, on the other hand, had spent her evening looking everywhere else—at the other men who danced attendance on her, strutting ravens all, at the orchestra performing in the corner, even up at the ceiling, patterned in red paint and gold leaf. She’d looked at him once—a long, searching glance—and then colored and looked away.

Directly opposite his quarry stood his second group of players. To wit: There was Laura, Blakely’s sister. She stood by Ned’s mother, a stick-thin matron, graying hair twisted and curled and adorned with flowers that reminded him of spring. And close by these two ladies was Lady Bettony, an inveterate gossip, whose talent for spreading rumors was surpassed only by the keenness of her observation.

Ned met Laura’s gaze across the ballroom. She gave him a terse nod. She was ready; she understood the task Ned had appointed for her. Laura had been curious, and therefore easily bribed. He’d given her Madame Esmerelda’s address, in exchange for her services tonight.

It was five minutes before eight now, and Blakely still had not appeared.

Lady Kathleen had betrayed tiny signs of nervousness all evening, which Ned detected even from this distance. Her manners were more formal; her light laugh perhaps a touch heavier than usual.

Hardly surprising, given the circumstances.

After all, Ned had sent her a note.

Correspondence with an unmarried lady was a breach of etiquette. Correspondence suggesting that she meet him to explore the unmarked servants’ quarters at the Arbuthnots’ was downright barbaric. But he hadn’t suggested anything truly indelicate. Instead, he’d thought of that look on her face. For all her haughty airs, she’d almost seemed to enjoy talking to Ned. Strange; inexplicable, even. But then, of course fate would serve Madame Esmerelda’s purposes.

He’d turned Madame Esmerelda’s advice over and over in his head. Briefly, he’d considered the horrifying possibility that Madame Esmerelda was admitting she was wrong. That her predictions would not come true. But he couldn’t accept it—wouldn’t accept it, no matter how the possibility ate away at his heart. He had to believe she’d been right that night long ago when she’d told him to live. He had to believe she’d seen his future, free of darkness.

You must stand on your own two feet, without anyone to help you. No; there was only one conclusion. Given Blakely’s stubbornness, Madame Esmerelda’s tasks could only do so much to bring the fated couple together. The rest was up to Ned and the next four minutes.

Assuming Blakely made an appearance. Ned suppressed the touch of fear that accompanied that thought. Blakely would appear punctually. He was always cutting when Ned missed an appointed meeting by even a paltry minute.

But speaking of time, the first player swished into action. Lady Kathleen didn’t look at Ned. She didn’t even glance in his direction. But she waved her hands prettily, as if making her apologies, and slipped from the room.