The Desperate Love of a Lord by Jane Lark Page A

stepped out, she let herself show nothing but fashionable disinterest, denying that anything had occurred.

    She crossed the hall and climbed the stairs, refusing to look for any reaction in the faces of the footmen who must have speculated on what had gone on in their lordship’s library.
    In the haven of the ladies’ retiring room, Jane took a deep breath. Luck was still not on her side. She had prayed it would be empty; it was not. Three women sat under the attendance of their maids, and Jane needed to maintain the illusion of self-control.
    “Your Grace?” Violet’s ever attentive and highly skilled lady’s maid stepped forward.
    “Gail, please check my hair. I lost a pin or two I think.”
    “Sit here, Your Grace. No need to worry, it is easily fixed.”
    No need to worry? Jane had not hidden her distress as well as she’d thought then. In the mirror, she saw her skin was excessively pale, and her eyes were bright and still dilated with shock. The maid unwound the curls then reset and re-pinned them.
    “Did you see the Earl of Barrington?” the woman next to Jane whispered to her friend. “He’s such a stallion. I heard Verity took him to her bed. I wish he would ask me.”
    The woman’s friend laughed and her fair skin coloured. She flicked open her fan and wafted air across her face. “Last summer, he made me an offer at Vauxhall. Unfortunately, before I could agree, my Charles arrived to drag me away. Even I would consider adultery for a man like that.”
    “He has every woman dangling from his hook,” the third woman chimed up across the room, “with his insufferable refusal to let any affair stretch beyond a single night. He is playing with us. It is his little game. He knows he entices us all to win him for more. He sets us one against another, challenging us to break his nomadic ways. Barrington is a wicked taunt, and yet, such a handsome and skilled one none of us can refuse.”

    Another round of laughter, then the women began to rise, preparing to return to the ball.
    “That will do, Gail,” Jane dismissed the maid, rising too, eager to accompany the women rather than walk alone. “Thank you,” she said in apology for her haste to the maid’s lowered head as the woman bobbed a curtsy. Then Jane turned and followed the other women from the room, two steps behind.
    “I know if I had captured his attention, I would not have lost it for the world, and your Charles would do nothing even if you succumbed to Lord Barrington’s attentions. All the men are afraid of him. Rumour has it he killed someone,” the first woman confided to her friend, with a tap of her fan on her companion’s arm.
    The third woman leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “I heard he currently favours Lady Baxter. He has been following her for nights.”
    At the foot of the stairs, Jane left their trail to re-enter the ballroom via the route she’d used to leave it. A few moments later, she was weaving through the crush and glancing about, looking for Violet. When Jane reached the front of the crowd, her eyes scanned the dancers and the people at the edge watching. She did not spot Violet. Instead, her gaze struck the tall man who she’d sought to avoid before confronting Joshua. He leaned forward to speak into the ear of his partner, and his hair fell across his brow. The action was so familiar.
    Robert .
    Yet the hungry look he bestowed on the slim blonde as his head rose was foreign. His hand slipped from her waist to discreetly brush the curve of her breast.
    He was so familiar, and yet, in other ways, it was like looking at a stranger.
    “You set your mark high, Jane, if you aim for the Earl of Barrington as your first conquest.”

    Jane’s cheeks heated with embarrassment as she spun about and faced Violet.
    “I was not…” Jane began then realised her denial probably made her appear guilty and halted. “I was looking for you.”
    “While enjoying the view?” Violet’s eyebrows lifted as she