mother is bearing down toward us at a furious pace,” Emma remarked.
The girls turned to look. Lady Archer meant well. Her sole task in life was the suitable marriage of her daughter, and Lord help anyone who stood in her way. If only she might spend more time embroidering or painting or doing charitable works and less time trying to find a husband for her daughter.
“And she has the Mad Baron for company,” Olivia muttered when she spied him with her mother. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he looked dashing in his evening clothes. But she did. So she didn’t.
“You didn’t say he was handsome, Olivia!” Emma exclaimed, tapping her on the shoulder with her fan. Honestly, her friend had gone soft. Romance had wrecked her. The Duke of Ashbrooke had made a muddle of her brains.
“Handsome in a terrifying sort of way,” Prudence murmured.
The Mad Baron stood in stark contrast to the other gents. He was taller, broader in the shoulders. Everyone else wore brightly colored waistcoats; his was dark gray.
Looking at him through the eyes of her friends, Olivia noted his strong chiseled features, which would have been softened by a smile. Or a lack of that dramatic slash of a scar. He wasn’t handsome. He was dangerously beautiful, but fear clouded her vision so much that she could only see dangerous.
“Good looks don’t signify when he’s a murderer,” Olivia lectured. “I’ll hardly care that he has nice green eyes when his hands are closing around my neck.”
“I want to meet him,” Emma said, glancing curiously in his direction.
“I as well,” Prudence added. “I’ve never met a murderer before. That I know of.”
“And I need to visit the ladies’ retiring room,” Olivia said. Her heart was pounding furiously, like a poor gazelle aware of a lion stealthily advancing toward it. “Urgently.”
They expertly maneuvered through the crowd in the ballroom and along the corridor. With the door locked, Olivia exhaled a sigh of relief and lay down on the settee.
“Are you just going to avoid him all night?” Prudence asked.
“Yes. That is precisely what I intend to do,” Olivia replied. “He can’t possibly propose if he can’t speak to me. If he doesn’t propose, then I needn’t marry him.”
“I confess that I want to meet him,” Emma said. Again.
“Have your husband introduce you,” Olivia suggested. “I cannot believe he hasn’t already. In fact, I cannot believe you didn’t mention that your husband was involved in this disaster.”
“Honestly, I had no idea!” Emma protested. “He mentioned an acquaintance coming down from Yorkshire to help with the engine, but I didn’t put two and two together. Apparently, in addition to terrifying young ladies, the Mad Baron is also an expert in machines. They are constructing the engine at a warehouse that had been converted from stables on Devonshire Street. Blake hasn’t had him come ’round to the house. At least not while I was at home.”
“Even Blake thinks he is a danger to young women everywhere,” Olivia muttered.
“And he is at large in this ballroom,” Prudence said in a hushed whisper, purposely designed to make the hair on Olivia’s neck stand up.
“You may succeed in avoiding his company this evening,” Emma said. “But what about the rest of your life?”
“What do you mean?” Olivia asked. “My plan to avoid him is perfect. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“You know your parents will put you two together at every opportunity,” Emma said practically.
“You must repel him by breaking the rules, remember?” Prudence said. “If only because it will be so much more entertaining for the rest of us.”
“It’s too bad we didn’t bring the sherry,” Emma said. “We could get Olivia ragingly drunk.”
“We should prepare better next time,” Prudence concurred. “Though it’s a pity to waste the opportunity this evening.”
“What else was on the
The girls turned to look. Lady Archer meant well. Her sole task in life was the suitable marriage of her daughter, and Lord help anyone who stood in her way. If only she might spend more time embroidering or painting or doing charitable works and less time trying to find a husband for her daughter.
“And she has the Mad Baron for company,” Olivia muttered when she spied him with her mother. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he looked dashing in his evening clothes. But she did. So she didn’t.
“You didn’t say he was handsome, Olivia!” Emma exclaimed, tapping her on the shoulder with her fan. Honestly, her friend had gone soft. Romance had wrecked her. The Duke of Ashbrooke had made a muddle of her brains.
“Handsome in a terrifying sort of way,” Prudence murmured.
The Mad Baron stood in stark contrast to the other gents. He was taller, broader in the shoulders. Everyone else wore brightly colored waistcoats; his was dark gray.
Looking at him through the eyes of her friends, Olivia noted his strong chiseled features, which would have been softened by a smile. Or a lack of that dramatic slash of a scar. He wasn’t handsome. He was dangerously beautiful, but fear clouded her vision so much that she could only see dangerous.
“Good looks don’t signify when he’s a murderer,” Olivia lectured. “I’ll hardly care that he has nice green eyes when his hands are closing around my neck.”
“I want to meet him,” Emma said, glancing curiously in his direction.
“I as well,” Prudence added. “I’ve never met a murderer before. That I know of.”
“And I need to visit the ladies’ retiring room,” Olivia said. Her heart was pounding furiously, like a poor gazelle aware of a lion stealthily advancing toward it. “Urgently.”
They expertly maneuvered through the crowd in the ballroom and along the corridor. With the door locked, Olivia exhaled a sigh of relief and lay down on the settee.
“Are you just going to avoid him all night?” Prudence asked.
“Yes. That is precisely what I intend to do,” Olivia replied. “He can’t possibly propose if he can’t speak to me. If he doesn’t propose, then I needn’t marry him.”
“I confess that I want to meet him,” Emma said. Again.
“Have your husband introduce you,” Olivia suggested. “I cannot believe he hasn’t already. In fact, I cannot believe you didn’t mention that your husband was involved in this disaster.”
“Honestly, I had no idea!” Emma protested. “He mentioned an acquaintance coming down from Yorkshire to help with the engine, but I didn’t put two and two together. Apparently, in addition to terrifying young ladies, the Mad Baron is also an expert in machines. They are constructing the engine at a warehouse that had been converted from stables on Devonshire Street. Blake hasn’t had him come ’round to the house. At least not while I was at home.”
“Even Blake thinks he is a danger to young women everywhere,” Olivia muttered.
“And he is at large in this ballroom,” Prudence said in a hushed whisper, purposely designed to make the hair on Olivia’s neck stand up.
“You may succeed in avoiding his company this evening,” Emma said. “But what about the rest of your life?”
“What do you mean?” Olivia asked. “My plan to avoid him is perfect. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“You know your parents will put you two together at every opportunity,” Emma said practically.
“You must repel him by breaking the rules, remember?” Prudence said. “If only because it will be so much more entertaining for the rest of us.”
“It’s too bad we didn’t bring the sherry,” Emma said. “We could get Olivia ragingly drunk.”
“We should prepare better next time,” Prudence concurred. “Though it’s a pity to waste the opportunity this evening.”
“What else was on the
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