Regina Scott Read Online Free

asked just as he said, “Is your father in attendance?”
    Imogene laughed. He smiled, a warm, open smile that invited her closer, promised it was meant for her alone. Too bad it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
    “Forgive me,” he said. “Ladies first.”
    “My father wasn’t able to join us,” she said, answering his question. “I didn’t know you were acquainted.”
    She waited, hoping for similar honesty. He turned slightly toward her, lips poised to respond, and she sighted Mrs. Mayweather headed in their direction, eyes narrowed. “Oh, dear.”
    He must have seen the danger, too, for he expertly steered Imogene away. Once they had put a row of columns between them and their hostess, he said, “Your father and my uncle were good friends.”
    Friends? Had she ever been introduced to an Everard old enough to be his uncle? Her confusion must have been written on her face, for he clarified. “Arthur, Lord Everard. You must have met him.”
    Imogene shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t recall. What does he look like?”
    “Tall, lean, fair-haired—a great deal like me, actually.”
    Imogene beamed at him. “Forgive me. A gentleman that handsome would be difficult to forget.”
    He chuckled, then stiffened and guided her behind the dowager’s circle. The older ladies batted their eyes and waved their fans as he passed, and he nodded and smiled encouragement to them.
    On the opposite side of the circle, his cousin, Lady Everard, looked far less encouraging, her pretty face scrunched up in confusion. She had thick golden hair, worn up high and cascading down her back, and dark brown eyes that must run in the family, for they were very like his. Every girl in the room would be wondering how to copy that gown—clear muslin over an underskirt spotted in gold so that it sparkled as she moved.
    “I fear our promenade will end all too soon,” he murmured to Imogene. “Do me the honor of answering two more questions.”
    “Anything,” she said, then chided herself on her eagerness.
    “First, do you remember what your father was doing the night of March third?”
    What a singularly odd thing to ask! Whatever issue he had with her father must have something to do with that day. Imogene thought back. Had they been in London yet? Her father had been intent on getting them all there from their country estate. Business, he’d said, that could only be conducted in London.
    Vaughn Everard was leading her toward the main entrance to the ballroom now. Framed in the doorway, her mother glanced about, obviously in search of her. Mrs. Mayweather stood beside her, foot tapping against the fine wood floor.
    “I don’t remember,” Imogene said in the rush. “What’s the second question?”
    “May I call on you tomorrow?”
    She was so surprised she actually stopped, pulling him up short. The movement was enough for her mother to spy her and start in her direction.
    “Cousin Vaughn,” Samantha Everard said behind them, her voice surprisingly hesitant for her usual confidence in the social scene. “You promised me the next dance. Have you forgotten?”
    His body turned dutifully as he released Imogene, but his gaze remained on hers, waiting. She could almost see the hope.
    “There you are, Imogene,” her mother said, coming up to her and taking her arm. “It’s been a long evening, dear, and I’d like to retire.”
    Samantha Everard’s fingers were reaching for her cousin’s wrists even as Lady Widmore’s wrapped around her daughter’s. Before Imogene could answer him, they had parted, and she knew they would not be given the opportunity to talk again that night. She glanced at him twice as she walked with her mother to the door, but if he returned the look, she didn’t see it. Imogene felt a sigh of pure frustration escape her.
    Her mother waited until they were seated in the carriage on the way home before requesting an explanation. How could Imogene refuse? Elisa Mayweather might be burdened with