He ground to a halt in front of her. And damn her pulse for quickening. His blue uniform cut a fine figure with a crisp cravat and his glossy curls were tied back to frame chiseled features. No powdered wig like most of the stuck-up men out in the ballroom. He went still, staring at her. She breathed in as his masculine scent washed over her. Something spicy. She sniffed again. Sandalwood and cloves.
“What are you doing here, Miss . . .”
“Warstein. Samantha Warstein.” She sunk into a curtsy and his eyes narrowed.
“What’s behind your back?”
Oh, God. Her shoes. She’d forgotten she still clutched them. Heat flooded her cheeks and she slowly brought them forward.
“I—I...” she stammered, and the perfect disguise came to her. She would play the simpering wallflower. Easy enough as it was a role she played so often at these society events. “My shoes were too tight and I just wanted a break. I—I didn’t think anyone would find me back here.” She hung her head, staring at his polished boots—a stark contrast to the pink stockinged toes peeking from beneath her lace hem.
“Never fear. I was not seeking you.” Good. He bought it. So why did her heart sink a little at the words?
“Excuse me.” He reached past her and flung the door open.
An empty room greeted them.
Lieutenant Thompson’s lips pressed together and he stepped inside. Alarm coursed through her. If Uncle Henry and his men were still in there, hiding...
“Oh dear.” Samantha poked her head in and she faked a gasp. “Oh my. Did I interrupt a—a rendezvous?” She used her shoes to fan herself and the lieutenant spun to face her.
“Of course not.”
Another gasp, and she backed away from the door. “If anyone should see us here... alone...”
That did the trick. When in doubt, the age-old threat of losing one’s bachelorhood over being caught in a compromising situation could be counted on to spur a man to action. With one last look around the dark room, Lieutenant Thompson joined her in the hallway.
“Put your shoes back on.”
She blinked at his sharp command but obeyed.
He held out his arm and after a pause, she set her hand at his elbow. Her fingers burned at the touch and she stared at the spot. Only a week before, she had battled this man. She nearly laughed at the irony.
The lieutenant gave a little cough and she jerked her gaze away. “Now, back to the ballroom with you, before your absence is noted.”
When they passed through the arched doorway into the crowded room, she let out her breath and released his arm.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she murmured before twisting toward the wall. Abigail stood there with a slack jaw. Wonderful. She’d never hear the end of this. She took a step forward.
“Not so fast, Miss Warstein.”
Chapter Four
Christian waited, notinghow Miss Warstein’s body went stiff before she turned to face him.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
Her face had paled, but he couldn’t drag his eyes from her hair. The candlelight from a chandelier overhead reflected off the fiery curls draped over her shoulder. When he first caught her in the hallway, all he could think of was that infuriating vixen who had called herself “Captain.” Such a rare color. And to see it twice in the same week? Fate liked to taunt him.
He let his eyes slide over Miss Warstein, who stared at his boots. Taller than most women, her body stretched long and lithe beneath her gown. She chewed on her lip, pretty and pink, and he couldn’t help sweeping his gaze to where her neckline plunged low, baring the rounded flesh of her breasts. Desire slammed through him, heavy and hot, and he took a small step back.
Goodness, what was wrong with him?
It was because she reminded him ofher.
All week he’d tried to picture what she must look like behind her mask. If only he had ripped it free when he’d had the chance.
Miss Warstein wrung her hands together under his scrutiny and he cleared his throat before extending a hand. “Would you like to dance?”
