Nicole Jordan Read Online Free Page B

excitement lacing her tone. “Is that . . .”
    Trey Deverill, Antonia finished silently for her friend. “I believe,” she answered rather unsteadily, “it is Mr. Deverill.”
    “What is he doing here at my ball? I sent him no card of invitation.”
    He was heading directly toward them, Antonia realized, her stomach rioting with butterflies. But then, miraculously, he paused to speak to a gentleman who had waylaid him.
    “He looks a bit like a pirate,” Emily observed breathlessly.
    He did indeed, Antonia thought, relieved to have more time to prepare herself before coming face-to-face with Deverill.
    Even dressed in a tailored black coat and white satin knee breeches, he was the picture of raw masculinity. His gleaming brown hair, thick and wavy and sun-streaked, was an unfashionable length, almost reaching his shoulders, while his striking features were still deeply tanned. With his height and sleek, powerful build, he commanded the attention of every eye in the room.
    Hers in particular. Every inch of him was as vital and bold as Antonia remembered.
    Then Deverill turned toward her again, and her gaze locked with his. She couldn’t look away. Absurdly, all her nerves began thrumming in anticipation, as if her entire being had suddenly come alive after a long sleep.
    Emily, too, seemed unaccountably flustered. “He is moving this way. What should I do, Antonia? Should I refuse him admittance? Mr. Deverill is not considered respectable, even if he comes from a highly genteel family and is exceedingly rich.”
    “No, you don’t want to make a scene,” Antonia replied in a rallying tone. “Try to act naturally, as if you expected to receive him.”
    But when Deverill came to a halt before her, it was Antonia who had difficulty managing the pretense of composure.
    He was breathtakingly handsome at close range, captivating with his sea green eyes gazing down into hers so intently. It aroused her just to look at him—
although surely the flush infusing her body could be attributed to the warmth of the ballroom.
    “Miss Maitland,” he murmured briefly in greeting, in that deep, rich voice she still remembered.
    To her surprise, though, he barely acknowledged her before bowing politely over Emily’s hand. “Pray accept my apologizes, Lady Sudbury, for appearing uninvited. I have been away in India this past year and just heard the terrible news about Miss Maitland’s father. I was a close friend of Samuel Maitland’s and wished to offer her my condolences.”
    Emily was not proof against Deverill’s easy charm. “That is most kind of you, Mr. Deverill. And you are welcome to join us if you wish.”
    Returning his attention to Antonia, he took her gloved hand. “I am keenly sorry for your loss. Your father was a remarkable man.”
    Antonia winced, feeling the familiar sharp stab of grief that had diminished little in the year since her father’s passing. “Thank you,” she murmured, discomfited by the touch of Deverill’s fingers as they pressed hers.
    “No doubt you miss him.”
    “Very much.” She missed her father dreadfully. Yet she was determined to throw off her gloom and look to the future; it was what Papa would have wanted, she was certain.
    Deverill was regarding her sympathetically. “Since you are out of black gloves now, Miss Maitland, perhaps you will honor me with a dance for old times’ sake.”
    She eyed him in surprise, wondering what his purpose was, knowing it would not be quite the thing to dance with a man of Deverill’s notoriety. She was glad to have an excuse to refuse him. “I am afraid my dance card is full, Mr. Deverill.”
    He flashed a slow grin. “I expected nothing less. But surely your intended partner will understand that we wish to renew our acquaintance. If you will excuse us, Lady Sudbury?”
    Not giving either lady a chance to respond, he took Antonia’s elbow to guide her through the crowd.
    Caught off guard, she lacked the presence of mind to protest