“I mean to sayseductions,” she stressed thes. “You do not go to be alone at night, do you?”
“You’ve avoided the question,” William replied.
“So have you,” she pointed.
“Touché,” he responded, “But am I seducing you?”
Her breath was shuddery. “Sadly, no.”
“I shall try harder then,” he said before taking them on a dizzying spin. “If you stay around for a few more dances that is.”
“You needn’t try,” she swallowed. “I won’t allow you to tempt me into your bed.”
His laugh was soft and smoky. “You misunderstood, my dear. If done right, seduction is not about me leading you into my bed. It is about me giving you enough reasons that you would want to do soyourself. Do you care for a wager?”
“And what would that be, my lord?”
“If by midnight, I don’t earn a kiss from you, I shall never bother you again,” William laid out the first term. “But if I do earn myself a kiss from those rosy sweet lips, you shall allow me to pursue you.”
His knuckles followed the trail of his words, a hot graze against the side of her face and neck, and he trailed his fingertips over her silky, rounded cheek, feeling the rising warmth of her blush down to her piquant little chin. Her eyes were wide and slightly glazed, like that of a doe confronted by a predator.
“Do you agree?” he asked. “It is just a little fun, my sweet, no harm will be done.”
“You lie,” her breathless voice drew him back. “If I do let this happen,Iwill be harmed.”
With deliberate insolence, he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing the tender shell. Satisfaction flooded him when she trembled in response to his touch. “It is a battle of wills, then.”
“I—” she looked over his shoulder. “Everyone is staring.”
“Let them,” he finished.
“I—I must go,” she pulled away and curtsied before hurrying away. The flare of her cloak was the last thing he saw before she vanished in the crowd.
Oh yes, seducing the impetuous little goddess would be a simple matter. Almosttooeasy. He didn’t know which would be sweeter, chasing her or witnessing her succumbing to his wiles. By the time he was done with her, he’d have his cake and eat it too.
There was something unsettlingly familiar about theDevil in Red. Not only was he the same height and build as the man who kissed her that night in the alley—his voice evoked the same shivers up her spine too.
“The Beast of Brookhaven,” she whispered to herself while finding a refreshment table, and hastily picking up a glass of water. “Could it be…”
It was improbable… but not impossible.
For her first foray in a ton’s ball in so many years, she felt that she had not touched her toe into the water; no, she had jumped into the deep end without a care. Was she that unlucky that the first gentleman she had met was a rake instead of a decent, upstanding lord?
Seek out Graham Haswell, the Earl of Hansen,Eleanor had told her.They call him the new Bard of the ton. He’s a poet, smart, successful, and has not a smudge to his name. If there is anyone you should endear yourself to for a future courtship, it is him. And he is handsome, by the way.
Setting the glass down, she looked around the room, as another piece of advice from her friend flitted through her mind.
At masquerades, he is always dressed like Richard the Lionheart, and wears a stole with golden fur around his shoulders.
Banishing the rogue in red from her mind, she decided to look for the Earl and found him across the room, under a canopy with a Greek motif and a few ladies hemming him in like a mouse under a goshawk’s eye.
How could she bypass these women and hold his attention?
As she contemplated the conundrum, she passed under the arched entryway and someone bumped into her back, causing her to trip, gasping as she hurtled forward.
Her hand flew out, bracing for impact with the floor—but collided with something else entirely that was firm and solid…
Blinking, she found herself in a man’s arms—Lord Hansen’s arms.
