“I saw your intended. I did not fall into raptures over him. Not good enough–”
He looked down on her again, meeting her eyes. She saw his anger and, for the first time ever, observed a hint of vulnerability in their depths. It was all flattering.
Thunderstruck for a moment, she gave a small shake of her head. He was jealous of the duke. The knowledge provided her a sudden buoyancy.
“You would make a lovely couple,” he added.
She missed a beat and managed to step on his foot. Glaring up at him, she opened her mouth to reply but paused when she saw how he was watching her. His eyes had narrowed slightly, drawing his brows into the beginnings of that furrow she so enjoyed, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “You’re baiting me.”
His expression didn’t change as he led them into a turn. When it was finished, he said, “Perhaps.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, keeping his perfect form. “Because I like how you become extremely proper when you take affront to something. You’re adorable.”
He called her adorable. The term of endearment touched her. “Adorable is for puppies and babies,” she said. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than marry the duke.”
“We could find him a place in the back of the conservatory. Your family might boast two mummies.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped with his outrageous suggestion. “Your offer does have appeal.”
He angled his head to her sister, who glared daggers at them. “I take it your sister is part of your betrothal conspiracy?”
“A good sister would jump in front of a carriage to save her sister. Louise would push me in front of the cart.”
“That bad.”
“Worse.”
“Perhaps I should introduce her to the Cheyenne.”
He swept her around and Elizabeth peeled with laughter.
Zachary loved to hear her laugh. “Your sister is resentful for she must compete with the most stunning woman in the room.”
Up close, Miss Spencer was exceptionally lovely. Best of all were her mouth and her eyes. Together, they created a sort of wry, amused liveliness, as if whatever occurred to her, she would remain calm, composed and unruffled through it all, and then she would find some value in it to make her smile.
She angled her head up. Her lush mouth mocked him. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Rourke?”
Elizabeth Spencer was a flower among weeds. The red gown she wore was molded snugly to her narrow waist. Her breasts pushed high enough to spill impressively over the bodice. On any other woman, the gown would be uninspiring, but on Elizabeth, the gown evoked timeless elegance.
“I’m being honest. I wanted to fight every man around you.”
At that moment, another couple bumped rudely into them. The woman trilling with laughter and no apologies.
“Damn.”
Elizabeth missed a step. “Pardon?”
He held her closer and angled his head to the couple.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“Martha and Elias Johnson. Who would have thought they’d be in New York?”
“Acquaintances of yours?” Elizabeth stared after them.
His body grew numb as the Johnsons sniggered and danced away. “More or less. Less would be the crux of it. Stringing them up from the chandeliers might be too kind.”
