“Rayne,” Searle bit out grimly.
“Searle,” he returned with equal rancor.
“Husband and brother,” Leonora said warningly. “I do expect you both to be courteous on my account. I know how very much the both of you love me.”
“It is his only redeeming quality,” Alessandro and Searle both muttered at the same time.
Disgruntled, he could do nothing but meet the equally peeved gaze of his former nemesis. Perhaps they were not as different as they believed.Diosknew they ought to have been friends, would have been allies, had not the campaign to land Searle behind enemy lines gone so hopelessly awry.
“Oh, how fortuitous,” Leonora said then, giving them a quelling look before turning her attention in the direction of the dancers Alessandro had been doing his damnedest to ignore. “Here comes Lady Catriona now.”
At last.
But his betrothed was not alone. Rather, she was accompanied by the sallow Englishman who had been her partner in the last dance. Alessandro stared at the man, who was either too stupid or too self-important to care he was inciting Alessandro’s wrath.
Pleasantries were exchanged as Lady Catriona and the man—Viscount Dutton—added themselves to the circle. Alessandro ignored most of the drivel the man spouted.
Two days had passed since he had touched Catriona in the garden, and all he could think about was touching her again. The softness of her skin. The way she smelled sweetly of jasmine. How she had tipped her head back, her blue eyes melting into his. Or how her lips had parted, an invitation he resisted with only the greatest exertion of control.
He had almost kissed her.
He hungered for her lips beneath his, even now, when he had sworn to never again take another woman’s mouth with his. It was shameful, the way his body had reacted to hers. He hated it, and yet he also craved it. He could not help but wonder what it would be like between them, whether or not their lovemaking would be as fiery as he believed it would be.
Her eyes flitted to his then, as the fool escorting her began a dialogue with Searle. The pink flush blossoming in her cheeks told him she was recalling their shared moment in the garden as well.
He suddenly wished they were back in the garden rather than surrounded by two hundred sets of curious eyes and gossiping tongues.
“You have come,” Lady Catriona said to him softly so the others could not overhear. There was approval in her voice.
Had she doubted him?
He inclined his head. “I am always true to my word.”
A small smile flirted with her lips. “I am glad to hear it, Lord Rayne.”
The strangest urge hit him then, like a fist to the jaw landing out of nowhere.
He wanted to dance with her.
Perdición.
He had not danced at a society event since he had been obliged to obey his sire and forced to become a proper English lad. The only trouble with his father’s plan was Alessandro was the half-Spanish son of his Spaniard wife, a woman who had been his mistress. Alessandro, with his dark hair, eyes, and skin, and scandalous mother, had been an outcast from the moment he had been born into this cursed world.
On principle, he had eschewed all English customs from the moment he had been old enough to have a choice. He had immersed himself in the land of his mother’s birth, using the language she had taught him before her death instead of English. Why, then, would he wish to engage in niceties at a ball?
The faint strains of the next dance reached him.
A waltz.
He had danced it before, on the Continent. The English had considered it far too fast, but he supposed times were changing. And fortunate for him, too, for there was nothing he would like more in that moment than holding Lady Catriona in his arms. He had five more days to wait, after all.
He bowed to her. “Will you do me the honor, Lady Catriona?”
Her brows rose. “I thought you did not dance.”
He cast a glare in the direction of his sister, who had obviously been responsible for relaying that salient bit of information to his future bride. But Leonora was chattering animatedly with the viscount and her husband, ignoring him. Just as well. At least the fop was occupied.
He returned his attention to his betrothed. “I do tonight. With you, my lady.”
