Read Elizabeth Powell for Free Online Page B

man.
    Unfortunately, plump pockets and a title had also turned him into a target. This evening he had had to sidestep more than one overzealous matron who wished to introduce him to her daughter. Or daughters. Everly shuddered. Just now the Honorable Mrs. Denton Claremore had attached herself to him like a remora and proceeded to expound upon her progeny’s virtues. If Admiral Locke didn’t move soon, Everly would have to find another method of escape. At present, all he could do was nod politely as Mrs. Claremore rattled on, all while stretching his senses to catch fragments of the admiral’s conversation.
    After another minute Locke excused himself—at last!—and headed toward the doors at the far side of the room. Relief surged through Everly.
    “Forgive me, Mrs. Claremore,” he said, interrupting the lady’s monologue, “but I am promised for this dance. Perhaps I could meet you daughter some other time.”
    “Oh, a moment, Captain!” The feathers on Mrs. Claremore’s turban quivered with excitement. “Here is Georgianna now—allow me to introduce you.”
    Everly pretended not to hear her. Locke traveled quickly through the crowd, and Everly had to be discreet in his pursuit. To his dismay, the woman’s brassy voice made discretion impossible.
    “Captain! Yoohoo, Captain Everly! Just a moment, if you please. My daughter is most eager to make your acquaintance!”
    Heads turned in their direction, but Mrs. Claremore was undaunted. She scudded after Everly like a ship of the line under full sail, her voluminous tangerine satin skirts billowing out behind her, one plump hand firmly clutching the wrist of her equally plump daughter as she towed the mortified girl in her wake.
    If he didn’t keep moving, she’d get close enough to loose her boarding hooks.
    Ahead of him, Locke detected the commotion and turned, a slight frown on his face. Everly’s heart plummeted into his polished evening pumps. Now this was a pickle. He couldn’t trail Locke without the man’s notice, but if he stayed where he was the redoubtable Mrs. Claremore would overtake him. A strategic retreat was in order. Everly ducked around a large cluster of guests, sidestepped behind a Grecian column, and slipped into an alcove that was half hidden by a potted palm. He watched the women approach and prayed that they had not seen him decamp.
    Whatever deities heard his impassioned plea took pity on him; the woman surged past, skirts flapping like unchecked sails as she dragged her protesting progeny behind her.
    “But I don’t
want
to meet him, Mama!” the girl wailed. “He’s only a baronet, and that dreadful limp—I cannot bear to look upon him. I—I vow I shall faint!”
    Mrs. Claremore shushed her daughter and stared into the crowd. “This is no time for the vapors, girl. He’s rich as Croesus, and don’t you forget it. A fortune makes up for a host of defects, even such as his. You must marry a wealthy man, you know that, and beggars cannot be choosers.”
    In the alcove, Everly’s broad shoulders drew tight, hisjaw clenched, utterly appalled to hear these sentiments spoken aloud. He had hoped never to hear such terrible words again. Felicia’s rejection had thrust like a dagger through his heart. To his dismay, the blade was still there, and now it wounded him afresh.
    Mrs. Claremore, determined in her pursuit, scudded with her daughter into the nearby refreshment room. To guard against discovery, Everly faded further back into the shadows of the alcove. He was completely surprised when he shouldered into another warm body.
    The stranger, equally startled, uttered a little gasp, teetered, and fell against him. Everly found himself with an armful of jasmine-scented silk—and a nicely rounded armful it was, too. In the dim light, he was aware of disarrayed dark curls, immense eyes, and one of the finest bosoms he had ever seen in his life. He couldn’t resist staring.
    “I beg your pardon!” the young woman exclaimed. She