Collette blinked up at Mrs. Saxenby and then gaped at Mr. Beaumont. She was generally shy around men, especially handsome men, but one look at Mr. Beaumont, and she was speechless. She had glimpsed him across the room dozens of times, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer masculine beauty of the man standing in front of her. His polished boots rose to his knees, which were encased in tight breeches of ebony. His waistcoat was snowy white with silver thread crawling over it like regal vines. His black coat showcased a slim waist and broad shoulders, while his snowy white cravat highlighted the days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He obviously hadn’t bothered to shave for the evening, and she might have wondered if he’d even brushed his hair. The chestnut-and-mahogany waves curled about his ears and fell rakishly over his forehead.
His splendor rendered her spellbound, and she was struck mute by his eyes. They were a shade of blue that could not be called anything but violet, and they were striking, especially fringed as they were with thick, dark lashes. Collette could have stared at those eyes forever. She desperately wanted to paint them—to see if she could mix just the right paints and match the color perfectly.
Beaumont bowed, and Collette stared at the top of his head, before he lifted it and met her gaze at eye level. He gave her a dashing smile, his eyes crinkling slightly and his lips curving in a most seductive manner. He looked at her as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. As though he knew precisely the sort of effect he had on her.
“Miss Fournay?” The sound of a woman’s voice came from somewhere nearby, though Collette could not have dragged her eyes away to locate the source if her life had depended on it. She could not look away from the handsome man smiling at her.
“I believe it is customary for you to give me your hand at this point,” Beaumont said, his smile never faltering.
Collette heard his words, but she didn’t exactly comprehend them. He had the loveliest baritone voice, not too high and not too low. Exactly perfect.
“Miss Fournay,” Beaumont said.
She blinked and raised her brows at the use of the name she’d almost come to believe was actually hers.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
She held out her gloved hand. He took it and raised it to his lips, kissing the back with a lingering slowness that sent shivers up her spine. And when he should have released her hand and stepped back, he held onto it when he straightened. His gaze never left hers.
“Well, then, I suppose my duty is done,” Mrs. Saxenby said, sounding somewhat miffed. “Excuse me.” And with the silk of her skirts rustling, she walked away, ostensibly to tend to her other guests. Collette could not have said because she was physically incapable of dragging her gaze away from Mr. Beaumont. She should have taken her hand back as well, but she would have as soon dipped it in hot tar than remove it from Beaumont’s gentle hold. Though they both wore gloves, she imagined she could feel the heat from his skin seeping into her own, and just the idea of his bare flesh touching hers made her face flush hotter. She feared her cheeks were red as apples.
Collette had no idea how long the two of them stood there, gazing at each other, hands clasped together. It felt like hours to her and yet like no time at all when he finally released her hand. And then she didn’t quite know what to do with it. She left her hand hanging in midair because it hardly felt like hers any longer.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, indicating the couch cushion beside her.
It was. Lady Ravensgate would return and expect to sit there. But Collette shook her head.
“May I sit beside you?”
She nodded, wishing she could somehow force her lips to move or her voice to return.
“You have not been in Town long, have you?” Beaumont asked. He didn’t seem to require an answer because he went on speaking without waiting for one. “No, I would have noticed you before if you had been here during the Season.”
Collette could not have imagined why. There was nothing special about her—she was shy, average in height and looks, and no one of consequence.
“Mrs. Saxenby tells me you are from France. Lovely country. I spent considerable time there during the war.”
The war. Her father. Collette snapped out of her trance and hastily looked about the room. Palmer and Thorpe were still standing in the middle of the room, but she had no idea what they were discussing. Had they moved on or were they still conversing about the intercepted communications?
“I’ve been wanting to meet you since I first noticed you,” Beaumont was saying. His voice carried over those of Palmer’s and Thorpe’s, and she couldn’t hear what the men were saying. She wanted to move closer, but there was no way to excuse herself and do so without drawing attention. Indeed, when she scanned the chamber she noted that practically every female eye in the drawing room was on her. Even Lady Ravensgate watched her, her expression inscrutable.
“And I think you have been wanting to meet me.”
Collette frowned and glanced back at Beaumont. She hadn’t been wanting to meet him. She’d admired him on occasion—oh, very well, on every occasion—but she hadn’t sought an introduction and had no desire to meet him. He was a distraction, and she could not afford distractions.
“Now is your chance,” he said. “What would you like to know about me? Or perhaps you’d rather take a turn about the room on my arm?”
Collette’s eyes widened. Was the man serious? Did he really think she had been doing nothing but waiting for the chance to hear all about him or serve as decoration for his side? Oh, she did not have time for this sort of conceit.
But she must say something. Even if only a few words to dismiss him. She opened her mouth to say Pray, excuse me. Instead, she said, “Hedgehogs show promiscuous mating behaviors.”
Beaumont’s brows rose, his slumberous violet eyes becoming more alert. “Did you say hedgehogs?”
Collette felt her hot cheeks burst into flames. “Yes. Erinaceus europaeus.” Oh, why would she not shut up? Her mouth seemed to move of its own accord. “The sows and boars do not form pair bonds.”
Beaumont’s lips twitched as though he held back a smile. He had very nice lips. The lower lips was full while the upper lip boasted a decadent indent she would have liked to lick. “What else do you know about the mating rituals of hedgehogs?” he asked.
Rien. Rien du tout! But her foolish mouth did not obey. “Both sexes may have several partners during the mating season.” She would explode. She would burst into a shower of sparks and explode.
“Ah, so very much like the ton during the social Season,” he said. “But I wonder—”
No! She could not allow this to go on.
“Excuse me,” she said, bounding to her feet before she began to spout off about scent-marking. She stumbled forward, feeling almost drunk and desperate to be anywhere but in the presence of Beaumont. Engaging Palmer and Thorpe was but a dream at this point. In her current state, she did not trust herself. It was almost a worse fate to find herself beside Lady Ravensgate at the refreshment table. But at least she was away from Beaumont. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which felt warm, even through her gloves.
“I thought I told you he was not someone with whom you should associate,” Lady Ravensgate said, holding her wineglass close to her mouth so her lips could not be read.
“I did not wish to associate with him,” Collette answered, her back to the room so she did not have to cover her lips, only speak softly. How she wished for something cool to relieve the heat coursing through her body. “He asked Mrs. Saxenby for an introduction.”
Lady Ravensgate’s thin brows rose high on her forehead, all but disappearing. “Really? That is most curious.”
“It is most inconvenient. I had hoped to move closer to Palmer and Thorpe. I thought I’d overhead something of interest.”
“No time now. Mrs. Saxenby is signaling to begin the discussion.”
Collette sighed. The last thing she wanted was to have to listen to men drone on about an irrelevant piece of literature. Her father was sitting in a cell at this very moment, and she was stuck in a drawing room hundreds of miles away, helpless to save him.
She angled her body so she might appear interested in Mrs. Saxenby’s announcement, and in the process had a view of the couch she’d been occupying.
It was empty.
She searched the room for Mr. Beaumont.
He was nowhere to be found.
Disappointment surged through her, and wasn’t that the biggest annoyance of the evening?