The sadness in Rosamund’s voice made her heart clench. “You are beautiful, clever, witty, and amusing. To the devil with any man who cannot see that.”
“I am plain, of moderate intelligence, and eccentric. Even I know my faults, though I do thank you for your loyalty.”
“I love you dearly, Rosamund, which is why I must tell you that you are wrong.”
“We shall agree to disagree,” her friend said, raising her brows. “We’re about to have company.”
“Company?” Frowning, she followed Rosamund’s gaze, startled to realize that the dance had finally come to an end, the Duke of Brandon having separated from Lady Lavinia.
And he was striding in their direction. Her foolish body’s reaction to his powerful form was instant and nettlesome.
“Why is he coming over here?” she muttered to Rosamund.
“He looks as if he’s quite intent upon you,” Rosamund saidsotto voce, no help at all.
“Is it too late to hide?”
“I’m afraid so,” her friend said as Brandon reached them.
“Lady Grenfell, Miss Payne.” He bowed, and somehow even the ordinary, polite act was rendered indecently sensual. But then he held her gaze with his emerald-green one and spoke, shocking her even further than his presence before her already had.
“I believe this is my dance, Lady Grenfell.”
Checkmate,Brandon thought smugly as he watched realization dawn in Lottie’s brilliant blue eyes.
It wasn’t his dance, of course. He hadn’t asked her. But he’d pinned her neatly in a difficult situation. She could either call him a liar before her friend or quietly accompany him.
“So it is,” she said at last with a marked lack of enthusiasm, offering him her hand.
He took it, bringing it to his lips for a lingering kiss, inhaling deeply, searching for hints of her scent. And there it was, violets and roses and Lottie, making his randy prick go instantly hard in the midst of a crush of people. It seemed an eternity had passed since those forbidden moments of passion this afternoon, and he remained as desperate for more of her as he’d ever been. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, guiding her toward the sea of dancers who were assembling for the next song.
“You need not look so enthused at the prospect of waltzing with me,” he told her wryly as they took up their positions opposite each other, making certain to hold her body closer to his than propriety called for.
“Why are you dancing with me?” she asked, unsmiling. “Surely there is another debutante eagerly waiting her turn with you. Lady Lavinia is an excellent choice for a bride, but there are others who are every bit as lovely.”
Hmm, so shehadbeen watching him dance with Lady Lavinia, then. He didn’t miss the bitterness in her voice now, and he couldn’t say why, but it pleased him.
“Why would I not dance with you?” he countered, lacing their hands together as the waltz began.
What did she expect after what had happened today in his study? That he would simply never speak to her again? Clearly, she hadn’t thought he would approach her this evening. But how was he to stay away? He’d been able to think of nothing but herevery second since he’d watched her flee his study in a swirl of dusty navy skirts.
“Because I am not a prospective bride,” she said through gritted teeth as she smiled at him. “And you are in dire need of one.”
“But I like you,” he countered smoothly, turning them with effortless precision.
An understatement. He more than liked the woman. It was reasonably possible that he worshiped her. His inconvenient preoccupation with shagging her was already growing tiresome.
She scoffed. “Not a sufficient reason.”
He leaned nearer, his lips close to her ear. “Perhaps I’ve been thinking of being inside you again ever since you left my study, and dancing with you is the closest I can find myself at the moment.”
Her swift inhalation was his reward. He’d hit his mark. She stumbled, nearly tripping on her hems. Brandon saved her, turning her about once more, unable to keep from grinning.
“Are you always this scandalous when you dance, Brandon?” she asked sharply, distinctly unamused.
“Only with you,” he told her easily, bewitched by the smattering of freckles on her nose.
“I cannot think Lady Lavinia would approve,” she said, holding herself stiffly, her gaze trained on a point over his shoulder.
