The gray-haired viscount stood by the enormous baroque fireplace, sober-faced and dignified, in company with two other gentlemen. One was a broad, bespectacled fellow with a crop of blazing red hair. The other—

Effie stared.

It was Gabriel Royce.

8

Gabriel had told himself he’d come to Grosvenor Square this evening purely to make the acquaintance of Lord Haverford. But the instant he set eyes on Euphemia Flite, he knew it to be a lie.

The care he’d taken when he’d dressed this evening, the onyx cuff links, the perfectly pressed suit, and even the new variety of expensive pomade in his hair, hadn’t been for Haverford’s benefit. They had been for her.

It was a bitter realization. One that prompted a sardonic smile to twist his mouth at the sight of her. Like it or not, he’d been moved to present himself as a gentleman for her sake. To show her he wasn’t the brawling, bare-necked brute she’d encountered in the Rookery.

She arched a mocking brow at him in return. No longer clad in unrelieved black, she wore a short-sleeved evening gown of deep violet silk, her raven hair twisted into a roll at her nape and secured with two sparkling pins in the shape of dragonflies. It wasn’t as luxurious an ensemble as those worn by the three young ladies she’d entered the room with, but there was an elegant subtlety to Euphemia’s appearance that put her friends in the shade.

It took an effort not to stare.

Lord Compton’s face darkened with displeasure. “My daughter, Carena,” he said, wrongly presuming it was she who had caught Gabriel’s attention. “If you will excuse me?”

Lord Haverford murmured his assent as their host headed away.

Compton crossed the room to greet the young ladies. On reaching them, he pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek. A pasty girl with a haughty air about her, Miss Compton endured his tribute with the jaded insouciance of an empress receiving homage from a subject. She gestured to the young ladies surrounding her. Her court, as it were.

Compton bowed to them. His eyes lingered on Euphemia just as they had at the ball last week. She gazed up at him in response, her face lighting with a luminous smile. The viscount was visibly jolted by it.

Gabriel observed his reaction with a flare of scorn. Bloody fool. Couldn’t he see when he was being manipulated by a woman? Euphemia wasn’t interested in Compton. Not that way. Gabriel would wager his last farthing on it.