An Impossible Attraction by Brenda Joyce Page B

but for his connections; the ladies wanted his hand or at least an affair, or marriage for their daughters or sisters. However, even before he had come into his title, he had learned to put up a huge invisible wall between himself and everyone else. Because even when he’d been a boy, as the previous duke’s son and heir, the sycophants had pursued him. Long ago, he’d become adept at walking through a huge crowd without making eye contact. When someone dared to approach, he either tolerated the intrusion, if so inclined, or sent the person such a quelling look that he or she instantly fled.
    Now Stephen paused to glance back at the tall brunette who had almost fainted in his arms. His blood did not race at his first glimpse of a beautiful woman; he was too experienced and too jaded. But his blood was racing now.
    He slowly smiled to himself.
    She was surrounded by several women, two older gentlemen, and their hosts, and was obviously reassuring everyone that she was all right. The two youngest women seemed deeply concerned for her, so he deduced that they were relations or close friends. He thought he remarked a vague resemblance. Sisters?
    He kept staring, unconcerned whether his interest was remarked. She was unusually tall and very attractive. Her face had strong planes and angles. He would not call her beautiful, and handsome was too masculine a word. But she was striking. He would leave his analysis at that, but he was intrigued.
    And he was never intrigued so swiftly.
    Because of her age, he instantly assumed she was a woman of some experience. And as she was obviously impoverished—no one with means would wear a gown so far out of fashion—there was no reason in the world why they might not reach some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement. His mistress Charlotte had already become tiresome. Besides, his lovers never stayed in his good graces for more than a few months.
    “It is absolutely disgraceful of them to show up here. Imagine! Alexandra Bolton sews Lady Henredon’s clothes! She makes a living! ”
    He glanced behind him at two flushed and furious socialites—one silver-haired and one a brassy redhead—and then saw his current mistress standing just behind them. Charlotte’s blue eyes instantly met his, and she smiled.
    He nodded politely at her, hardly dismayed. He was instead thinking about the fact that Alexandra Bolton sewed for the upper classes, which surprised him. He did not know of any noblewoman in strained circumstances who would do such a thing. It was actually quite admirable. He could not understand the upper class revulsion for “work.” The truth was, he rolled up his sleeves every single day, whether he was at his desk, at one of his construction sites or at a Foundation office.
    “And Edgemont has been banished from our circles for years. He is a drunk, ” the redhead added. “I cannot believe Lady Harrington has allowed them through the front door.”
    The two women walked away, their faces close together. He heard them murmuring about Miss Bolton being jilted at the altar and how she’d undoubtedly deserved it. He sighed. The bitches were gathering for a kill. He truly hated society at times, never mind that he stood at its peak. And he always despised gossip, especially when it was based on malice or ignorance. He suspected that, in this case, the gossips knew next to nothing about Miss Bolton—but they certainly wished her ill.
    He felt a welling of compassion for her. Too well, he recalled and would never forget being a small boy and overhearing the servants or guests discussing him. Not that he cared any longer about being called a bastard, but as a child, those whispers had been confusing and hurtful.
    He glanced back at Alexandra Bolton. She remained seated, but suddenly she looked up, as if on cue. His heart raced again. He did not mind, but he was now somewhat amused by his own reaction to an older, albeit attractive, and impoverished gentlewoman in a rather