Nicole Jordan Read Online Free Page A

formal declaration for a proper year of mourning. According to the housekeeper, the official announcement of their betrothal would be made public next month at a betrothal ball, with the wedding to take place three weeks later, after the banns were called. Once they were wed, Mrs. Peeke feared, Heward would control Antonia’s fortune, so what was to stop him from murdering her as he might have murdered her father?
    This was Antonia’s first social function since coming out of mourning. Deverill watched as the baron led her out onto the ballroom floor for a cotillion.
    She seemed happy enough, laughing at something Lord Heward said. But then, the tall, flaxen-haired nobleman allegedly had the suave charm and patrician allure to win the heart of any susceptible young heiress.
    Deverill felt his jaw tighten. He had only a nodding acquaintance with Heward from their few encounters at gentlemen’s clubs, except for one occasion that had left an indelibly repellent impression—when he’d seen the baron viciously wield his cane on a beggar boy for the mere sin of daring to touch his elegant coat. That incident alone had roused an instinctive dislike of the man.
    Directly after meeting with Mrs. Peeke this morning, Deverill had visited his own shipping offices to discover what his people knew about Heward. What he’d ascertained was mainly hearsay but unsavory enough to warrant further investigation, and he planned to call on his director tonight after the ball to see which if any of the rumors could be substantiated.
    However, just because Heward was rumored to be avaricious and ruthless in his business dealings didn’t make him guilty of murder.
    He wouldn’t presume the nobleman guilty without proof, Deverill resolved, but he meant to discover if the housekeeper’s suspicions had merit. If so—if Samuel Maitland had indeed been poisoned by Heward—then he would bring his friend’s killer to justice. And he would make absolutely certain that his friend’s daughter didn’t become the baron’s next unwitting victim.
     
    Given the warmth of the ballroom, Antonia was glad when at the conclusion of the dance Lord Heward left her with her friend Emily and went off in search of refreshment for them both.
    “Isn’t it famous—my first ball is a perfect crush,” Emily declared, surveying the crowd with delight.
    Mustering proper enthusiasm, Antonia agreed. “A decided triumph, just as I predicted.”
    “I am so glad that you could be here to enjoy it.”
    Emily, now the Countess of Sudbury after her estimable marriage last fall, had been planning her ball for months but had waited so that Antonia could attend after she put off full mourning.
    Additionally, her success had been aided by world events. London ordinarily would be thin of company this time of year, for once Parliament adjourned, a significant portion of the Quality normally retired to their country estates for the summer. But the news last week of the Duke of Wellington’s miraculous and bloody victory at Waterloo, which had finally defeated Napoleon Bonaparte once and for all, had brought the ton flocking back to town for the jubilant celebrations.
    “Now if only Prinny would make an appearance,” Emily said hopefully, “my success would be assured. But I suppose that is asking too much. . . .”
    Her voice trailed off as a sudden buzz of excited whispers rippled through the throng of guests during a lull in the orchestra music. Like Emily, Antonia glanced toward the entrance doors, wondering if the Prince Regent had arrived after all.
    Then the crowd parted slightly, and she caught sight of the tall, powerful figure of a man moving toward them. Antonia’s pulse gave an unmistakable leap as she recognized the daring adventurer who had featured so prominently in her dreams more often than she cared to count during the past four years. Blood suddenly began pounding in her ears, making her light-headed.
    “Oh, my word,” Emily breathed, dismay and