But the expression on Eleanora’s face was nothing short of delectable.Deus, he wanted to devour her. Slowly and with infinite attention to detail. He’d start with that lush mouth of hers and then proceed down the creamy skin of her throat. He’d take great pleasure in dragging her hideous fichu away with his teeth and then move on to the bounty of her breasts.
But first, a waltz.
It didn’t matter that he had only one arm that was capable of working properly thanks to the stitches and bandaging on his wound. It didn’t matter that he was still in a more weakened state than he preferred and that he’d spent far too much time on his arse over the past few days.
He was damned well dancing with Miss Eleanora Brett.
Nothing, and no one, would stop him—not even the august, frowning lady herself.
Her response was as swift as it was predictable. “I am not dancing with you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Of course you are.” He cast an encouraging smile in Princess Annalise’s direction. “Run along and sit down, cousin. Miss Brett and I shall show you how it’s properly done.”
“No, we most assuredly will not!” Miss Brett denied, but the becoming color creeping up her throat to her cheeks was giving her away.
As was the way her body angled toward him, as if in unspoken invitation. She wanted to dance with him. And more.
He hadn’t mistaken those heated kisses they’d shared, even if she had hidden from him ever since. And oh, he knew well why she’d retreated like a frightened little mouse running from a cat. It was because she didn’t trust herself to be able to resist him.
“But youdowish to instruct the princesses properly, do you not?” he asked gently, keeping his voice low and intimate.
Again, he was preying upon her weaknesses. Miss Brett was a determined thing. He admired her tenacity. And he was all too aware of how she regarded her responsibility where the princesses were concerned—they were paramount.
He watched as indecision flitted over her lovely countenance, wishing he might pluck that dreadful cap from her head so that he could glory in the golden beauty of her hair. Knowing he didn’t dare push her that far with an audience.
“You must know that I do,” she said coolly, her nostrils flaring in that way she had, which told him she was agitated.
“Then ’tis settled.” Nando offered her as gentlemanly of a bow as he could muster, given his injury.
It was still a better effort than she’d made, although he would be happy to admit that he’d enjoyed ogling her backside. If Eleanora had known the view she’d given him of her derriere as she bent over, he knew she never would have presented him with her back. But she wasn’t always as diabolical as he was, and he’d sat there on the uncomfortable couch, drinking in the sight like the bounder he was.
Looking as if she’d just taken a great gulp of lemon juice, Eleanora dipped into a curtsy. He wanted to kiss her witless.
“Cousin Emmaline,” he called to the princess at the pianoforte, who was ever eager to be complicit in his adventures, “please do begin.”
“The princesses are not your cousins,” Eleanora reminded him icily.
He scarcely contained his grin. Claiming a familial connection to them suited Nando for two reasons. One, it annoyed her. Two, it allowed for greater freedom. He enjoyed the company of the princesses. However, he had absolutely no designs on their virtue.
There was only one woman he wanted, and she was currently glowering at him with thunderstorms in her eyes.
Damn, but he adored her.
Nando grinned as Princess Emmaline obligingly began playing the music, effectively negating the need for a response from him. He stepped into Eleanora, too close for propriety or a proper waltz and not caring one whit, flattening his palm on the small of her back. Such a perfect place on a woman—one of his favorites, as it happened, for it seemed to have been uniquely carved by God himself for a man’s possessive touch.
His hand on Eleanora’s back was like the fit of a perfect glove, quite as if it belonged there. As if it always had. Her lips parted as he pulled her into him, her expression suggesting she felt the same sense of rightness that he did.
“I’m afraid I can’t hold your hand and raise my arm up properly,” he told her quietly. “You’ll have to settle your hand on my shoulder instead.”
Eleanora’s brows snapped together, her scowl doing things to his cock that he had no doubt she would be horrified—and secretly intrigued—to learn.
“How is this example any better than my own?” she demanded curtly.
As he began guiding them around the room, Nando leaned close, almost setting his lips on her ear. “Because you wanted to dance with me, my dear.”
“I did not.”
Her denial was predictable.
