There was undisguised intent in his voice.
Of what, she couldn’t be sure. But she felt it in her breasts, the tips tingling and tightening in recollection of the torture his thumb had visited upon them. She felt it in the ache that throbbed between her legs. In the steady sweep of desire that licked down her spine and settled low in her belly.
She swallowed, casting a surreptitious glance around the ballroom. The revelers were all seemingly otherwise engaged, dancing in a swirl of multicolored silks and dark evening wear, the orchestra playing away on their strings. The potted holly and faux snow underfoot gave them the illusion of privacy.
No one was watching.
She swayed toward him before recalling herself. “Lord Harry?”
He touched her chin for a brief moment. Not her jaw, not her throat. It was not a caress but a gentle touch. An affirmation that what they had shared earlier in the carriage had been real, that the connection between them was undeniable. “You are the strangest creature I’ve ever met.”
She stilled, an arrow of hurt somehow zinging its way to her heart. “I will own my strangeness. I would far prefer to be odd than a boring, insipid, brainless female.”
He quirked a golden brow, his expression unreadable. “Who said that there is anything wrong with being strange?”
“You, my lord,” she said. “Rather, to be more specific, perhaps you implied it.”
“I am strange,” he surprised her by saying.
“You?” It was impossible to fathom that a man as beautiful and polished as Lord Harry Marlow could possibly be anything less than perfection incarnate.
“Me,” he affirmed, taking another step closer until his trousers brushed the fall of her skirts.
“How?” she asked, intrigued. Something inside her sparked to life once more, and it was a different something than the mad, corporal attraction that had flared in the carriage.
He took one more step, and she melted into the potted holly bush at her back. They were effectively shielded from the rest of the ballroom. Somehow, not even the prickly ends of the holly leaves disturbed her. Lord Harry commanded all of her attention.
He dipped his head as though he were imparting a secret of the gravest import. “I do not like fruit.”
“That is interesting, my lord,” she agreed with a speculative air. “However, it is decidedly not enough to classify you as strange. A great many people dislike various fruits, you must realize.”
He pondered her with a grave expression. “Allfruit, Lady Alexandra?”
She blinked. “Strawberries?”
Lord Harry shook his head. “Too many tiny, irritating seeds.”
It was a valid argument, but she was also determined to prove him wrong. “Plums?”
He gave a mock shudder. “Too tart and fleshy.”
“Cherries,” she said triumphantly.
“Alas, the pit of the cherry comprises at least half its density,” he said in a regretful tone. “I cannot appreciate a fruit that is mostly seed.”
Was it her imagination at work, or had he stepped closer while she’d been distracted by shuffling through her mind for fruits he could not deny enjoying?
“Oranges?” she asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid the pith and seeds are far too distracting, as is the necessity of peeling to reveal the fruit itself.” He shook his head once more. “All that effort for a citrus that is often sour and unworthy.”
“The same could be said of most people,” she observed before she could stifle her tongue.
“Yes.” A sudden, beautiful grin curved his lips then. “Do you know what I like about you, Lady Alexandra?”
Oh dear. She would have retreated farther into her nest of holly, but the prickly thing was already clinging to her silk. Moreover, the last scandal she needed was to topple backward, skirts in the air, into an upended pile of Christmas shrubs. But he was crowding her, and his intimate tone, nearness, and the delicious, masculine scent of him was enough to weaken her every intention to behave as a proper lady ought.
“What do you like about me?” she asked in spite of herself, for he was charming and he was handsome, and he was also different. No gentleman she’d ever met before him had been able to keep pace with her, to navigate the turns and tangents of her mind without pause. Certainly, no man had ever enjoyed it.
