It had not, however, made it impossible to think of her.
Pretending not to notice the way her vividly-colored dresses pulled tight around her ample breasts and her curved waist and her hips-full of sin and promise.Īnd still, there he was, above the rest of the revelry, noticing her, not six hours after returning to London for the first time in more than a year, during which the Atlantic had made it impossible to notice her. Oh, he’d played the part, pretending not to notice the way she filled a room with her bright smile and her brazen charm and her absolutely wild beauty. This other man, this paragon of nobility, would pledge his sword to the lady.īut there was nothing noble about Caleb Calhoun. Another man who was in business with Sesily’s eldest sister, who had bought horseflesh from her brother-in-law and books from her sister, and dandled her nephew-his godson-on his knee, would feel a moral obligation to follow her into the gardens and keep her safe from whatever trouble she was courting. Sesily whisked her ratafia from the table and, without even a glance at the commotion her friends caused at the end of the table, slipped into the dark gardens.Īnother man would, of course. High above the ballroom, watching from the upper gallery, Caleb Calhoun took a glass of champagne from a passing footman’s tray and watched the play below. On cue, Adelaide stepped around the edge of the refreshment buffet, tripped on the edge of the tablecloth, and fell to the ground, drawing a cry of surprise from Imogen, an “Oh! My dear Miss Frampton!” from the duchess, and the attention of the entire room. Society rarely saw the truth when it came to women.
It was incredible that Imogen was known throughout society as an absolute lost cause.
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