“You look a little lost, my lady,” he said quietly.
Her eyes, so big and pure, found his face and her lips, rosy and full, parted on a breath, and he noted the bottom one had an inviting—and faintly familiar—divot at its center. She stared at him with rich blue eyes.
Swallowing, she said, “I don’t think it is wise to take advice from a Devil.”
“Spoken like a smart lady,” William smirked wickedly while offering her the glass. “But what if this Devil is looking for redemption from an Angel? Surely, you can help the most sullied of souls.”
“I am not sure I have divine powers, my lord,” she replied. “And even if I did, I am unsure I could cure you. If a gentleman dresses like the Cloven Hoof, certainly, he has done some wicked things.”
The strains of the waltz came from the orchestra, and William extended a hand and asked, “Would you do me the honor of your first dance?”
CHAPTER 6
It took a moment, but she rested her hand on his, and satisfied, he whisked her onto the floor.
Her gloved hand was much smaller than his, and he clasped it gently, but his other drifted a little lower on her back than was appropriate. She stiffened, of course, but did not pull away.
He couldn’t prevent himself from gazing at the lovely curve of her cheek and her plump lips. Moving her onto the floor, he began the first forward step. She followed his lead without a falter.
“It has been too long since I waltzed,” she said quietly, breaking their uncomfortable silence.
“As for myself, but you haven’t lost the skill,” he replied. “Clearly, you have been taught well.”
As they glided over the floor, he cast around for a good question, finally remembering one he had uttered to Colin. “Are you a debutante? If you are, how is it that no chaperone gave me a quelling stare and warning to be utmost respectful?”
“I am somewhat of an anomaly,” she replied quietly. “Not a debutante nor am I married; but somewhere in-between, in the ether of uncertainty,” her lashes swept up. “Fear not, my lord, there is no chaperone to take you to task, though I do have a friend here that I must report to.”
The tops of his thighs brushed against hers and leaning in, he breathed in and caught the freshness of her, rose water and a hint of lilies. She looked up at him, and in her gaze, he saw a multitude of emotions.
“In the same vein, do you have a female companion here that would be problematic for me?” she asked. “I would hate to step on your wife’s slippers.”
A disparaging laugh left him. “Wife? Hardly. I am unencumbered, my dear, and yes, I do include children as well.”
“Why not?” she asked as he took her into a turn.
Once again, his eyes were drawn to her rosy and plump lips, and if how the lace mask molded to her delicate bone structure was any indication, she was a tiny little doll, and he wanted to see all her porcelain skin in his bed, under the moonlight.
My bed? Get a hold of yourself man, you never take a lady to your bed.
Any bed would suffice, he decided.
“Courtship is an endless circle of monotony,” he muttered. “The endless dances, curtained to two waltzes per night, the stifling strolls through the gardens and supervised carriage rides,” his top lips curled in derision. “Not to mention the visits with the parents, choking down dry watercress sandwiches, and discussions of the weather. No, thank you.”
“You are a bachelor then,” she said decisively.
“Confirmed and unwilling to change,” he spun them. “However, you must have beau’s clamoring at your door.”
“And that is where you are wrong,” she replied quietly. “I tend to fade into the wallpaper, my lord.”
“Sacrilege,” he murmured. “How can that be? You are gorgeous.”
“And how do you suppose that?” her lips curled. “My mask is covering my face.”
“Whatdoesshow is enough to tell me you are devastatingly beautiful,” William replied as the music crescendoed. “She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspectand her eyes, thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
“Byron,” she said. “Such sweet nothings. Do you use poetry as ammunition in your seduction, my lord?”
“You agree that I am seducing you?”
