The Untamed Earl by Valerie Bowman Page A

difference when it’s done with the correct partner.” Swifdon pulled his wife’s gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes shining with what Owen could only assume was love.
    Owen pressed a hand to his flat abdomen. “Blast. I had too much to drink last night, Swifdon. Don’t induce my nausea.”
    A footman walked past just then, carrying a silver tray filled with champagne glasses. “Ah, there you are, my good man,” Owen called out.
    Swifdon snorted. “I thought you said you had too much to drink last night.”
    Owen grabbed one glass for himself and one for Cass. Swifdon followed suit. “I did have too much to drink last night, which is why I’m sorely in need of another drink at present,” Owen said with a grin, downing the contents of his glass quickly.
    Cass frowned at her brother and slapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “Don’t be so—” She stopped short, staring at something beyond Owen’s shoulder. Owen turned to look.
    â€œThere she is,” Cass breathed.
    â€œWho?” Owen saw only a room full of ladies and gentlemen in a dazzling array of colorful evening attire. No one in particular stood out.
    â€œLady Lavinia, of course,” Cass replied, rolling her eyes again.
    Owen’s gaze scanned the room “Where?”
    â€œShe’s over by the potted palm. I believe she’s talking to her sister.” Cass nodded toward the far end of the room.
    Owen glanced over to the potted palm that rested in a corner where two dark-haired young ladies were speaking. He squinted but could not see either’s face. Blast. “Which one is she?”
    â€œReally?” Cass’s face wore an exasperated expression, and her free hand rested on her hip.
    â€œI cannot see their faces,” Owen protested.
    Cass sighed and nodded toward the two. “The one in peach.”
    Owen wrinkled his nose. “Do you mean orange?”
    Cass snapped shut her fan and expelled a deep breath. “I mean peach.”
    Owen turned back to look. Fine. The other girl was wearing light blue, at any rate. He handed his empty champagne glass to another footman. “I’ll be back.”
    â€œBest of luck, old chap.” Swifdon clapped him on the back.
    â€œI don’t need luck,” Owen replied with yet another grin. He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, and took off toward the potted palm. If he could get this over with quickly enough, he might be able to salvage this evening and get in a rousing game of cards at one of the hell clubs on the other end of town.
    He casually strolled over to where the ladies were speaking. The one in orange quickly turned and made a funny little squeaking sound.
    The one in blue turned to look at him. She was a beauty, tall and thin with dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to contain … hostility. In fact, she looked entirely unimpressed. It was not a look he was used to seeing from a lady. Thank heavens it was the one in orange he was after. He turned his gaze toward her. She was shorter with an eye-catching bosom, and curves that made his hand itch to caress them. Moreover, she had a twinkle in her eye that said she found their meeting … amusing. Why?
    â€œLadies,” he said, bowing at the waist and giving them his most persuasive smile, the same one that had been known to charm the stays off many a lady of the ton. He’d been told more than once that his dimple could be practically irresistible.
    â€œMy lord?” the one in orange said amiably. The twinkle remained in her eye.
    â€œAnd you are?” the blue lady said, arching a dark brow and curling her lip.
    He straightened back to his full height. “It wounds me that you don’t remember me, my lady.”
    She did not present her hand. “Be that as it may, I don’t,” she responded. Owen fought the urge to shudder. He glanced back and forth between the two again. The