Caroline Saunders arrived back in the main ballroom ready to commit murder. Timothy Walters was yet again pushing her to the limit.
“Ah, there you are, I was wondering where you had got to. Oh, and you found a friend. Walters, how are you?”
She forced a smile to her face. Her brother Francis did not need to know that the latest in a long line of persistent suitors was in grave danger of being stabbed through the heart with the pencil from her dance card.
“Yes, I was on my way back from the ladies’ retiring room when he found me,” she replied.
Alongside Francis stood his best friend, Harry Menzies. Harry had often stepped in to save Caroline from her overenthusiastic admirers. She caught the angry glare he shot at Timothy.
“You are not making a nuisance of yourself are you, Walters?” said Harry.
Timothy took a step back. Over his shoulder, Caroline saw several of her other gentleman admirers pointing in her direction. An excited cry rose from them as they hurried over to join the gathering.
“Miss Saunders!”
Francis rolled his eyes. Her regular circle of courtiers had found her.
“Well, I see you are set with your group of gentlemen friends. Harry and I would not wish to get in the way of you selecting your future husband, so we shall take our leave. I will be in the cards room for the next hour. See you at supper, Caroline,” said Francis. Her brother bowed low and added a flourish of his hand.
On any other night, Caroline would have simply laughed off his tease, but tonight she felt hot tears sting her eyes. With her older sister, Eve, recently married, suitors were now pressing their case for Caroline’s hand.
She turned to face her group of admirers, steeling herself for yet another long evening.
On the other side of the ballroom, Julian stood and watched proceedings. Gentleman after gentleman lined up to pay respects to the young woman who had been so rude to him. It was only when he felt a gentle tap on the arm that he finally looked away.
“Watching the latest batch of doe-eyed dandies throw themselves at the Ice Queen’s feet, are you? Fools, every one of them.”
He raised an eyebrow and looked at his companion. “The Ice Queen?”
His late father’s mistress, Lady Margaret, snapped her evening fan open and held it in front of her face before leaning in. “Caroline Saunders. Father is French-born, hence the exotic looks. Mother, Lady Adelaide, is the sister of the Duke of Strathmore. Very good ton family. Miss Saunders is considered to be the most beautiful young lady in all of London society. A top catch in the marriage stakes.”
Julian nodded. Caroline did not have the typical look of an English rose; rather, she was more enticing. In the hallway, he had noticed her pale blond hair and green eyes. She was a stunning beauty by any man’s standards. It was little wonder she had a court of admirers clustered around her, no doubt hanging on her every word.
She was a rare creature indeed, but bitter experience had closed his heart to that sort of woman. He would bet a sack of pennies that beneath her enchanting looks was a cold, hard heart.
“She might be beautiful, but she has a sharp temper on her. I had the misfortune of encountering her a short while ago. That tongue of hers could cut through leather,” he replied.
Lady Margaret snorted. “I don’t expect too many of her admirers have even noticed the disdainful way she treats them. They are just happy to be within her circle. Many men would give their right arm to be a member of her select court. And of course, the man who finally manages to secure her hand in marriage shall be the envy of all the others. Rumor is she has already turned down more than a dozen marriage proposals.”
One of the Ice Queen’s courtiers offered her a glass of champagne. She shook her head and waved him away. Another gentleman stepped forward and presented her with a glass of wine.
She accepted it, took one sip and with a loud huff of indignation promptly handed it back to him. She pointed to the back of the group and both hapless gentlemen retreated from her presence.
Julian and Lady Margaret exchanged a sideways glance.
“You know who she reminds me of . . .” Lady Margaret started.
“Do not mention her name,” Julian replied through gritted teeth. In the short time he had been studying her, she had displayed several of the more unpleasant traits of Julian’s mother.
Even after she had married his father, the Countess Newhall had continued to reign over her own select court of admirers and lovers. If there was one person in London who did not envy the man who eventually married Caroline, it was Julian Palmer.
“When the time comes for me to start looking for my countess, I shall be particular in the sort of woman I seek. I will not repeat the same miserable mistake my father did,” he said.
Lady Margaret nodded. “We all hope for that.”
Julian turned and met her gaze. “Rest assured, dearest Maggie, I will never marry Caroline Saunders.”