Thief of Hearts

Chapter 1 David Lambert swirled finest claret around his crystal glass, watching its ruby perfection as it moved before raising it to his lips. He didn’t actually drink it, just wet his lips and lowered it. He needed a clear head. He looked out at the gathered party, ensuring every last vestige of disdain he felt for them was buried, and nothing showed on his face but fashionable boredom. Lies were fascinating things. All it took to be believed was absolute confidence in its execution. And, in this particular instance, the visual accoutrements of wealth and status which proclaimed him to be of the set who drank such fine wine. It had taken a long time, but his patience had paid off, and finally he was receiving invitations to some of the more exclusive events. His attendance at Sir Granville Fallows’ house party was testament to it. He almost smiled. He slid the gold watch from the pocket on his waistcoat, flipped it open, glanced at the hands which had not moved in many a year, then dropped it back into place. He knew the dark green of his embroidered waistcoat and the emerald nestled in the perfect whiteness of his cravat highlighted the green in his eyes. He also knew that if he wore blue his eyes would take on a bluish hue. Muddy grey eyes and hair of an indeterminate shade of brown coupled with average height were a definite asset when one had no wish to be remembered. He made an infinitesimal adjustment to his cravat, raised the glass to his lips again, and watched his vibrant companions carefully. It was an interesting gathering. No blushing maidens and hopeful mamas here. The guests were…seasoned. David raised his glass to his lips to hide his smile. It certainly promised to be profitable. The dinner gong sounded. Jewels glittered in the candlelight as the guests moved to dine. Ladies took the arms of gentlemen and the ancient dance began. Large double doors opened silently as if by magic as the guests approached, and the hundreds of invisible servants on whose shoulders such a magnificent event rested, slid into place with well-oiled precision. The February air was chill, despite numerous fires, candles, and heavy brocade drapery at the windows. David shuddered. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold or if someone had stepped over his grave. He placed his glass on the tray of a passing servant with a nod and turned to the Dowager Countess of Westborough who had appeared beside his arm. They had been introduced earlier in the evening. A handsome woman, probably at least twenty years older than his nine and twenty. She was still attractive but knew it. Somehow, that made her less so. He bowed courteously. “My lady, you do me an inestimable honour.” He placed her hand on his arm and joined the stately procession past wood panelled walls adorned with enormous, serious paintings of what he presumed to be his host’s family. She glanced up at him and applied her fan, sending a waft of deeply unpleasant perfume his way. There was no doubt some hidden meaning to the way she waved it, but the Lord alone knew what. He didn’t much care, but he ventured a guess and allowed a slow, slightly flirtatious smile to spread over his lips, and slanted her a lazy glance. She smiled in return and slid the fan onto her wrist beside her reticule. “Mr. Lambert. I don’t think I’ve seen you at Sir Granville’s parties before.” “Indeed, you haven’t, my lady. This is the first time I have attended one.” He allowed his smile to deepen as her fingers tightened a little on his arm. “Do you know many people?” “A few.” “Then I shall be delighted to introduce you about.” “You are too kind.” She looked up at him with a sparkle in her hazel eyes. “Although I feel incumbent upon me to mention that if you are looking for a bed partner for the weekend, you would be well served to look elsewhere.” David swallowed his surprise and managed to summon a smile he hoped conveyed shock at her forthright statement, tinged with disappointment. “Duly noted,” he said, and was apparently successful because she preened. He was most certainly looking for a bed partner. He was always on the lookout. Sir Granville’s weekend parties had a certain reputation, but it would be a bed partner of a very different sort to the countess. He could only hope that she meant what she said, and he wasn’t expected to set up a flirtation. She nodded graciously to the footman who held open the door for them. “I find it is always best to establish the parameters of a relationship on such a weekend as this.” David smiled again and flicked a glance in the direction of the footman holding the door, staring straight ahead. His heart did an odd flutter in his chest. Beneath the customary powdered wig, he found a pair of large, dark, lash fringed eyes of a colour, that if pressed, he would have described as violet blue set in a sharply sculpted pale face graced with plump, red lips. It was a truly, truly exquisite face. David’s heart beat faster as he manoeuvred so he could glance again, but he was caught looking by the footman himself. The young man met his gaze. Those violet blue eyes widened for a second and a gentle flush appeared like rouge on porcelain-pale cheeks. He blinked a couple of times and looked away, swallowing as he did so. Judging by the dark eyebrows and lashes, David surmised the footman had dark hair. He was astonished to discover he was hot all over. Dismissing the feeling, he escorted his companion to her chair and took his seat beside her. He settled in and allowed himself to be consumed by the convivial company of outrageously wealthy men and women. The entire table, nay room, sparkled with jewels and gold in the soft candlelight, and echoed with the soft murmur of genteel conversation. His eyes paused for a moment on Viscount Charnley, who sat at the other end of the table, thankfully. A familiar sense of anger knotted his insides, and he dragged his eyes away lest he be caught staring as the utter disdain he felt for him wasn’t quite so easy to disguise. His gaze travelled further and fell on the Earl of Standish and again, he looked away quickly. He didn’t have many rules in his life, but not paying return visits to a gentleman’s chamber was one of them. Standish had been uncomfortably persistent since an encounter during the previous year. He held onto the notion that Standish was now recovered from whatever maggot he had taken into his head, but in reality, he knew it to be a faint hope. Footmen filed in soundlessly with soup tureens and proceeded to serve a fragrant consommé. He moved slightly to accommodate the arm that slid beside him holding a dish and glanced up. It was the violet-eyed young man. He was close enough for David to catch the faintest scent of him. Unadorned by the unguents and pomades favoured by the gentlemen of the Ton, it was the warm essence of man and David’s heart fluttered again, this time quite badly. When the footmen retired to stand behind the chairs of the guests, Violet Eyes stood behind his and David’s neck prickled. He ignored the sensation and concentrated on the soup and the conversation around the table. The food which followed was plentiful, and of the highest calibre. Sir Granville was, he recalled, noted for the skill of his chef. He then recalled he was also noted for his handsome footmen. David cast a glance at the young men standing behind the guests opposite and had to conclude that the assertion was correct. The food was indeed delightful, and the footmen…delectable. He moved his head slightly to dispel the sensation of being watched. When the meal was finished, and the last spoon of syllabub consumed, Violet Eyes reached around him to take his dessert bowl and he noted slender, bony wrists with long, elegant fingers and clean nails. David glanced up and unexpectedly met his gaze. Those violet eyes widened, and pale cheeks flushed pink again. David held the contact longer than he should and read a shy interest before he departed with his dessert dish. David took a sip of his wine and resumed his conversation with the dowager countess whilst firmly reminding himself of his other rule, which was, never bed the staff. He glanced about the table, weighing up the possibilities, and was uninspired. A fair haired military man, Kingston if he recalled correctly, resplendent in red, caught his eye momentarily and as David was surveying him he looked down the table at him. David smiled. The man stared at his mouth for a moment and nodded tersely. David took another sip of wine and looked away. Once the meal was finished, the ladies repaired to the drawing room with their hostess, leaving the gentlemen to their cigars and port. His host, Sir Granville Fallows, was a bluff, genial man who enjoyed displaying his wealth, so he had no doubt they would both be of excellent quality. David raised his glass to his lips but didn’t drink. He hated the feeling of being in his cups. Hated feeling out of control. He watched and noted carefully those who had no such qualms.