The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

that I feel as if I already know you. I remember you from Lushtak’s. You looked so beautiful in all of the clothes that I had to have every single outfit in the hopes that I would look like you.” She smiled and a dimple deepened on her cheek. “Of course, that’s an impossibility, but one can hope.”

Sophia let go of Eva’s hands and turned to the man beside her. “This is my fiancé, David Eliot. If he weren’t so besotted with me, I wouldn’t have invited such a gorgeous creature as you to my home.”

She beamed up at David, and the look of adoration he returned made it clear that she was absolutely right.

As Eva greeted them both, she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. She turned her head slightly and met the gaze of two gray eyes so pale they appeared silver. They were set beneath thick brows in a masculine face that was spared perfection by its angularity—and a nose that appeared to have been broken at least once. Sharp cheekbones and a wide forehead split by a dark widow’s peak kept the man from appearing unapproachable. As did the grin he directed at Eva as he drew a cigarette to his mouth.

David followed her gaze. “Ah, Alexander. Come meet our guests.”

The man put out his cigarette in an ashtray before walking over to the group in the foyer. His gait was casual as he crossed the marble floor. He was powerfully built, even though he wasn’t tall; his silver eyes appeared to take in everything yet somehow find it all wanting.

“Alexander Grof,” he said, extending his hand to Graham. “David and I are old friends from our Harrow days.” They shook, and Graham introduced himself before placing his hand on the small of Eva’s back to bring her closer.

“This is Miss Eva Harlow.”

The man’s unusual eyes met hers again, and what seemed like a jolt of electricity pulsed through her. The feeling wasn’t the same as when Graham looked at her. More the sense of surprise caused by an intruder crashing through a locked door. Alexander took her hand and kissed it, making her wish that evening gloves were still in fashion. She didn’t look down at her hand, sure his lips had left some kind of a mark.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grof,” Eva said, although it wasn’t, not really. He was an attractive, magnetic man, but he was like the luscious red apple hanging from the tree, beautiful to look at, possibly poisonous if eaten. Perhaps she’d seen too many films, but she couldn’t avoid the unsettled feeling he gave her, the sense of having stepped into quicksand.

“Likewise,” he said, and gave her such an engaging smile that she almost doubted her initial negative impression of him. “I’m afraid that I’ve quite upset our charming hostess by appearing unannounced and creating an uneven number at dinner. I tried to leave, but Sophia and David insisted I stay. I’m only saying this so that you won’t think ill of Miss St. John’s hostess abilities, which are beyond compare. I say that with all honesty, having been a guest at her dining table on several occasions.”

“Oh, Alex, don’t be absurd,” Sophia said, blushing prettily. “And am I truly Miss St. John to you? I do believe we should all be on a first-name basis. Those of us who know one another are such good friends, and those who don’t soon will be.” She linked her arm with Eva’s and gave a small squeeze, then led her through the arched doorway toward the staircase. “Please, call me Sophia. And may I call you Eva?”

“I’d like that,” Eva said, warming to the young woman.

As they reached the stairs, Eva gave a quick glance into the room opposite and saw shelves of books and a heavy wood desk—likely the library. Sophia led her on, bringing her upstairs to an elegantly appointed drawing room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, making the large room appear cozy but doing nothing to erase the chill Eva felt from the open back of her dress, or from the sense that something was askew.

She sought out Graham’s gaze, and he smiled at her. Her uneasiness fled. Sophia noticed her shiver and led her to a small sofa, upholstered in a deep blue velvet, next to the fireplace. “I gave instructions for the room to be warmed, and here you are about to catch your death.” She sent a glowering look toward the butler, who immediately pushed a call button, presumably to summon a maid to stoke the fire.

Eva sank down onto the sofa, grateful to relieve her feet.

Sophia continued. “I should get rid of the lot of them—they’ve grown too soft living in London. Staff from the country are far better, I’m told. Not terribly intelligent, but hard workers. I imagine they’re so eager to get out of their hovels and live in a London town house that they’d work twice as hard for half the money.” She smiled at her own wit, apparently unaware of Eva’s frozen expression. It had nothing to do with the temperature in the room and everything to do with what Sophia had just said, especially the word “hovels.”

After Sophia excused herself to see to her other guests, Eva looked for Graham again, wanting him to sit next to her. He was facing away; she started to call out to him, but Alexander moved in front of her, blocking her view. After a brief bow and a perfunctory “May I?” he took the empty seat beside her without waiting for her to answer.

David came toward them before she could react. “I’m your official drinks man for the evening. Sophia says I’m quite good at it, says it’s the main reason she’s marrying me.”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Eva said, glad for his interruption. “I’d like a French Seventy-five, please.” Precious had assured her that this was the champagne drink all the smart women