Book SIX of the series, Garland of Druids
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Before he had time to ponder her identity his hostess appeared. Adam was always slightly amused at how any member of his family seemed to be viewed as a trophy when one of them appeared at social functions. Adam turned to her with a smile, wondering how soon he’d have been there long enough for his departure to be unremarkable.
“I saw you eyeing our beautiful ballerina, Adam,” she gushed, tapping him on the shoulder. “Would you like to meet her?”
Quite suddenly Adam thought he would. Better than leaning against the wall all night. Something about the blonde’s air of absolute disdain intrigued him.
“So she’s a ballerina, my lady. That explains the unusual poise. Yes, introducing us would be most kind of you, ma’am.”
Lady Erickson, wife of the Swedish ambassador, smiled with just a touch of malice. “The beauty has spurned conversation with almost every other man in the room. Let’s see if she can resist the last of the elusive and handsome Dellafield bachelors.”
She grabbed his hand and escorted him across the room. She cut ahead to cross in the path of the blonde girl. Adam caught his breath. Her pale golden hair shone in the lights from the chandelier. Her cobalt eyes were fringed with extraordinary thick lashes. Those arresting eyes stared at him from regular features which were without a flaw. She held her head proudly on her slender neck, her gorgeous hair, pulled back almost too tightly from her beautiful face formed a coil at the nape of her tilted head. Much more suitable to her than the current piling of hair in a bunch on top. The size of the confined mass begged a man to rip it loose and admire the flow of gold as her hair tumbled. She was perfection. An icy perfection, with no hint of warmth in the depths of those stunning eyes.
Adam took a step toward her, once again admiring the lovely blue of the aura floating round her head. To his surprise, it glowed in a shade similar to his mother’s. Morgan’s never showed this frosty edging but the colors of their hovering auras were much alike.
At this short range his interest flared anew. Her skin looked absurdly soft. What would she taste like if an amorous man kissed his way down every inch of that exquisite flesh?
Lady Erickson came to a halt, looking triumphant although Adam didn’t want to think why.
“Slaide, this is Adam Dellafield, probably the most eligible bachelor in London and doubtless the most handsome. Adam, Slaide Rivendell, the newest star of the Royal Ballet. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
She hurried off, quite obviously satisfied with herself. Adam winced. Just the kind of introduction he didn’t want.
Before Adam could speak Slaide Rivendell did. She looked at him for one second, her eyes the most brilliant blue he’d ever seen. A much deeper blue than her aura. After glancing at him, she half-turned as if to leave. She spoke almost mechanically, her voice devoid of any feeling but annoyance.
“You’re indeed handsome, but you doubtless know it, Mr. Dellafield. You don’t require my adulation.”
She turned to walk away, but Adam caught her arm and held her back.
“Have I met you before and offended you, Miss Rivendell? If so I apologize. Otherwise I find it hard to understand your rather offensive attitude. And I seriously doubt I’d forget meeting you.”
He allowed his voice to be edged with his resentment. This girl was lovely, but no amount of beauty could excuse such blatant rudeness.
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