Page 5 of To Break the Rules

“Hardly,” Silas said, a little aggrieved by the comparison. “And women cause nothing but aggravation. I’ve never met one yet who wasn’t more trouble than they’re worth, and what’s more….”

Silas trailed off mid-sentence as the thread of the conversation eluded him.

“Ah, yes,” St Clair said, sounding unbearably smug. “That’s who I wanted to introduce you to.”

The woman across the ballroom was quite simply the most exquisite vision of loveliness that Silas had ever seen. Her hair was black as a raven’s wing and swept up to show a slender neck. The heavy tresses were coiled in an elaborate coiffure and studded with seed pearls that shone like tiny stars against a midnight sky. Skin the colour of gold satin made his fingers itch with the desire to discover if it was as soft as it looked, and Silas was horrified to discover his chest tight, his breath catching in his throat.

She was all curves, a dark blue silk gown encased her lovely figure, with more pearls studding the low neck of the dress, which drew the eye to her ample bosom. All at once his mouth was unaccountably dry, and Silas took a large swallow from the glass he held, never taking his eyes from her. She was searching the room, apparently looking for someone.

The largest, darkest, thickly lashed eyes turned towards him, taking a moment to look him over, and then moving on without interest.

A jolt of irritation shot through him at being so easily dismissed.

“Who is she?” he asked, unwilling to show any curiosity, but quite unable to go another moment without knowing.

“No one really knows,” St Clair replied, the amusement in his voice perfectly audible. “They call her Señorita Lucia de Feria, though Miss Hunt tells me she’s Portuguese, not Spanish. The rumour is her mother was Anna-Marie de Feria.”

Silas dragged his gaze from the woman to regard his friend. “The Duke of Craven’s mistress?”

St Clair’s mouth quirked a little. “The Duke of Craven, the Earl of Davenport, the Earl of Montrose….” He waved a hand in an airy fashion. “I don’t remember the rest. An expensive piece, whichever way you look at it.”

“Which of them is her father?”

“That,” the earl said, his eyes alight with interest. “Is the question of the day, my friend. No one knows, and the lady won’t say.”

“So, who is her current protector?” Silas asked against his will, feeling an ugly sensation rise in his chest at the idea of any man owning the rights to such a woman.

“She has none. To my knowledge, she has refused every man who has approached her, from barons to dukes to wealthy Cits. She’s had offers which would make your head spin, and no one can meet her price.”

Silas felt a bewildering rush of emotion as he stared at the woman. Relief that she had not yet given herself to a man’s keeping, and the hot sting of jealousy at knowing that, no matter his own wealth, he’d never be able to match the offers she’d already received.

“What is her price?” he asked, the question out before he could think better of it.

St Clair gave a low laugh. “No one knows. The lady implies that she is not for sale, yet she is clearly illegitimate and of questionable parentage, to put it mildly, and even a beauty like that would be hard pressed to find a suitor to marry her against such a background. The rumour is that she refuses each offer only to make herself ever more exclusive. Either way, she’s got the male portion of the ton salivating and opening their wallets.”

St Clair was watching him, he knew it and hated the fact he was so riveted by the beautiful creature across the room, but he couldn’t seem to look away.

“I can tell you she is intelligent, charming, and a delightful companion,” the earl added, grinning as Silas glanced at him with undisguised envy in his expression.

“You’ve met her?”

“Yes. She’s one of Harriet’s friends,” he said with a sigh.

Silas repressed a smile at the wistful tone of the earl’s remark and returned his attention to Miss de Feria. He watched as the young woman’s eyes searched the room once more and this time caught his. She held his gaze for a moment, a little surprise in her expression, perhaps taken aback by the intensity of his regard. Silas felt a prickle of awareness down his spine, and a surge of desire so intense it rocked him to his bones. The woman was dangerous, he knew it with every instinct he possessed. He’d do well to stay a long, long way away from her.

“Would you like an introduction?” St Clair asked, the question sending longing surging through his blood.

Silas swallowed. “No,” he said, his voice harsh.

With resolution, he tore his gaze away from her and turned his back.

***

Lucia frowned as the man who had been staring at her with such unsettling intensity looked away and turned his back on her.

She had dismissed him as no one of consequence, a man who had no part in her plans, judging him by his shockingly unkempt appearance. He looked as though he’d slept in his clothes, his hair was too long and the dark shadow of beard at his jaw suggested he ought to have shaved before he’d come out. He was large and rugged, with an air of something not quite tame about him, unlike any other man here. Frankly, he looked as if he ought to be outside doing manual labour of some kind, rather than glowering at everyone at a society event like a rabid dog in a butcher’s shop. Having been obviously dismissed by him when half the men here were clamouring to lavish her with everything from houses and carriages to priceless jewels, she was honest enough to admit to feeling a little miffed, and extremely curious.

“Who is that man talking to St Clair?” she asked Matilda, striving for nonchalance.