And she didn’t want him here tonight.
She had waited far too long for Ben to come back to her. In two years, he hadn’t sent a single word of explanation, and now that he had returned, she no longer cared what he had to say.
Liar. Eve huffed in response to the whisper at the back of her mind. Well, she didn’t want to care. That must count for something.
Lady Eldridge and her guests moved on from a discussion of their latest charity efforts and began gossiping together. Having been the topic of wagging tongues too often, Eve had no desire to join them. She wandered a few steps away before checking to see if the countess had noticed. She hadn’t.
The sea of familiar faces around her began to blur as she resumed the lookout for Jonathan. Perhaps he was lost again. He may be perfectly capable of traveling to Egypt without incident, but he couldn’t navigate a town house to save his life. He often took wrong turns on his way to the men’s retiring room and wound up in the host’s library. Sebastian had even retrieved him from the corridor outside Lord and Lady Sethwick’s family rooms once.
Eve couldn’t search their hosts’ town house for him, but a quick circle of the ballroom might be wise. With Lady Eldridge occupied, Eve slipped into the crowd. She wouldn’t go far, and she would be back before Sebastian and Helena returned, hopefully with Jonathan at her side. She weaved her way toward the perimeter of the room where there was no traffic and stopped to get her bearings. If she headed toward the bank of French doors at the back of the ballroom and looped around, she could make quick work of her search.
She squinted at the guests crowded onto the ballroom dancing a quadrille even though she knew Jonathan wouldn’t be on the dance floor either. He preferred to observe from the sidelines. Oh, how she missed dancing with a skilled partner. A sigh slipped past her lips, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
Heavens. She hadn’t meant to sound so wistful. Jonathan was a good man, a fine gentleman who accepted her just as she was, scandalous past and all. And she cared a great deal for him. A life without dancing was a small price to pay for his amiable company.
With a decisive nod, she swung in the direction of the French doors and squeaked in surprise. Benjamin Hillary, the blasted rat, was headed her way. She froze, not knowing which way to go but certain she didn’t want to talk to him. He hadn’t tried to speak with her since that night at Lady Chattington’s ball, and she liked it that way.
Or she should. She hated that she was a tad bit disappointed he’d been keeping his distance.
Ben hadn’t spotted her yet, since his gaze was fixed on the dance floor. Whipping her head around, she searched for a place to go.
The alcove. No, the plant!
She didn’t have time for debate. Without another thought, she dashed for a deserted corner of the ballroom and squeezed behind the potted palms and ferns.
Saints above, what if she missed her betrothal announcement because she was hiding in a corner? Or worse, what if the evening ended with her brother challenging Ben to another duel? She couldn’t hope to intervene a second time to save Ben’s life.
Damn, the rogue. He was going to ruin her wedding again.
***
Ben made a slow circle of the brightly lit ballroom, stopping occasionally to study the couples as they sashayed past, their cheeks pink from exertion. After several moments, he was satisfied Lord Wellham wasn’t among the dancers, not that Ben was surprised. If his memory served, the earl favored gambling over gamboling.
Reaching a secluded corner near a dark alcove, he paused to check once more for his quarry before he sought out the card room.
“What are you doing here?” a voice hissed. “You are not on the guest list.”
“Pardon?” Ben spun toward the speaker and came up short. His eyebrows veered toward each other. “How do you know?” he whispered back to the mass of green palm fronds.
“Because I helped make the list.” The plant’s fronds parted, and Eve Thorne’s stern glare greeted him. What the devil was she doing?
Her frown deepened when he simply stared, at a loss for words. “Do you have a death wish, Mr. Hillary?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Let me guess, you’ve been attacked by a man-eating plant. Are you in need of rescue, kitten?”