A Reckless Encounter - Rosemary Rogers MIRA

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and stench of death in his nostrils, the screams of dying men drowning out everything but the instinct to survive. He had learned the art of killing, refined it, then been sent home to be civilized once the war ended.

      It was difficult. Acquired savagery still surfaced at times, still seethed beneath the thin veneer of civility. So he’d left England for a while, traveled, seen places in the world that were exotic and dangerous. He’d gone to South America, Spanish California and New Orleans in the American South, and when he’d come home at last, it was to find his entire life irrevocably changed.

      Had he remained in England, he would probably have died of the same fever that had killed his brother. It was an ironic twist of fate that he’d survived legions of French while Anthony—the heir, the golden son—had died at home in his bed.

      There were times Colter almost envied him.

      5

      Light from thousands of candles and wall sconces illuminated the vast ballroom. Glittering jewels sparkled on bare bosoms and elegant coiffures. Music soared above the chatter and laughter of hundreds of guests, linen-draped tables lined walls and potted plants cast feathery shadows on polished floors. Celia scarcely recognized her cousin’s ballroom. It exceeded her childhood dreams.

      It had seemed immense when vacant, but now the ballroom had shrunk to a suffocating constriction of space. For a brief moment, she was slightly panicked. How had she ever thought for a single instant that she could manage this? She was out of her depths here among these people far too accustomed to the trappings of wealth and polite society. Since arriving in London she had realized how far apart her world was from this glittering society. The chasm was wide. Almost too wide.

      Nervously she ran a swift hand over the skirts of her new gown, the satin and tulle embroidered with tiny gold stars and ending in a graceful train. It was caught just beneath her breasts with a wide sash also embroidered with gold stars upon lush blue velvet. Matching slippers were adorned with stars sewn in glittering gold threads. The only concession to the cool night was a silk shawl of sheer white, spangled with more gold stars.

      Lily had dressed her hair, piling it in luxuriant curls atop her crown and allowing artful tendrils to fall over her forehead, temples and neck. A wreath of gold stars was placed upon her brow, with a matching piece that was attached to the comb securing her curls.

      “It is the a` l’enfant style,” Lily said, gazing at her with approval when Celia had stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Ravissante!”

      Astonished at the transformation, Celia hadn’t even heard Jacqueline come into the room until she came up behind her, saying with delight, “How beautiful you are, petite. But you should hurry, for we must form the receiving line.”

      “I…I’ll be down very soon, I promise,” she’d said, and saw that Jacqueline understood.

      The light hand on her shoulder squeezed tightly. “You will be quite the thing tonight. No one will be able resist not only your beauty, but your sweet charm. Just be yourself, and all will be well.”

      But would it? Celia thought distractedly that if Jacqueline knew the truth she would not be so certain of success. There were moments she considered leaving rather than disappointing her cousin, but still she stayed. She must face Northington again, must see for herself the man who had brought so much pain into her life. She could never be free until he paid for his injustice.

      Now that the moment was here, she wavered between anticipation and stark fear. Yet the face in her mirror looked composed, showed nothing of her inner turmoil.

      At last she took the wide, curved staircase to the ballroom on the second floor. She waited, heart thumping an erratic rhythm. It was so crowded, a whirl of men in evening breeches and elegant coats, a glitter of jewels and flashing smiles in a sea of strange faces.

      Finally she spied Jacqueline in the receiving line. She was in her element, laughing gaily, reveling in the success of her first ball of the Season. The guest list included most of the upper strata of society, and quite a few were in attendance. Ladies Jersey and Cowper formed a gracious quartet with Jacqueline and Carolyn. Celia knew them by reputation only. The formidable ladies could ruin a young lady’s aspirations with a simple rejection to the inclusion of Almacks, their vaunted club, and it was the single-minded goal of many London mamas to have their daughters accepted into that desired society.

      Celia had no illusions about her future. Yet her desire to please Jacqueline made her dutifully agree to all the preparations. It was necessary to feign interest in a suitable marriage in order to achieve her true goal.

      Oh, but she truly felt guilty over the subterfuge. Jacqueline was far too kind and loving to be duped in this manner, and several times Celia had hovered on the verge of confession. Only the memories of Maman’s tragic death and the man responsible kept her still silent.

      And now she would once more face Lord Northington. Fingers gripped her ivory fan so tightly it crackled a protest, and she relaxed before it broke.

      I must remain calm. It is the moment I’ve waited for all these years.…

      Would Northington recognize her? Remember the little girl whose mother he had killed as surely as if he had plunged a dagger into her heart?

      “Celia dear,” Jacqueline beckoned, a gloved hand urging her forward. “Come and meet Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper.”

      Pasting a smile on her face, Celia moved forward to greet the two formidable grande dames of London society. Oh, she thought in surprise when they greeted her quite graciously, they are very pleasant. Perhaps it is just their reputations that are intimidating, though they are assessing me quite openly.

      “Will you remain long in our fair city?” Lady Jersey inquired, her lace-and-ivory fan wafting a slight breeze over elegant features as she gazed at Celia. “Lady Leverton informs me that you’ve only recently arrived from the Colonies.”

      “Yes. I’m not at all certain how long I’ll remain in London. I suppose that depends upon the kindness of my godmother and her husband. Lady Leverton has been far too good to me, and I’m truly enjoying London sights.”

      Emily Cowper leaned forward, fascination evident in her round face. Rumored to be the most accommodating of Almack’s patronesses, she seemed genuinely interested in the American colonies. “Tell me, how does our city compare to the Colonies? Is it true that wild savages roam the streets of cities in America, or is that only one of those ridiculous rumors that so often abound?”

      Celia snagged a glass of champagne punch from the tray carried by a passing footman, and smiled brightly over the rim.

      “As it happens, it’s partially true. On occasion the natives have been known to visit the city, but for the most part, they prefer their own company. Can you blame them? However, it wasn’t so long ago that uprisings and massacres indeed were visited upon American cities. The retaliation was quite harsh.”

      “Ah, I do not understand this American penchant for hostility,” Lady Jersey remarked, blithely ignoring the recent war with France. She flicked her fingers in the air to indicate contempt. “One would think they would be too busy rebuilding their primitive capital to even consider retaliation upon savages.”

      Celia delicately refrained from mentioning that it had been British soldiers who had burned Washington and the Capitol before ravaging the countryside only five years before. She said instead, “There are hostile tribes of natives still inhabiting the wilderness, but they remain distant for the most part.”

      “How terrifying!” Lady Cowper gave a delicious shiver. “I cannot imagine such a horrid fate. All those brown men running about half-naked and abducting females—they have been known to do that, no?”

      Celia nodded. “It has happened.”

      “How terrible! I’m so glad I live where it’s quite civilized.”

      “You wouldn’t think it so civilized if you were to walk past St. Giles Cathedral,”

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