The strains of the cotillion started, and the viscount shifted their position. “Would you do me the honor?”
“Two dances? You certainly wish to cause talk tonight, don’t you?” She smiled archly, even as her pulse raced with the excitement of their conversation.
“As I’m already causing talk, why not make it worthy?” he answered. Yet his gaze focused just over her head, as a wicked gleam illuminated his green eyes.
She was about to turn, but he led her toward the dance floor. As the music started, she hazarded a glance in the direction he had focused on earlier.
Luc’s heated gaze seared through her, and she wondered if maybe she had just made a deal with the devil.
After all, he was a fallen angel.
And no angel was more beautiful than the Earl of Heightfield.
Chapter Ten
Lucas edged around the dance floor, his gaze trained on his friend, his mind overworking as he considered Heathcliff’s curious expression a moment before as he was leading the lady in question back to the dance floor.
Two bloody dances.
He might as well have announced his interest in theTimes.
Certainly the ton would not expect him to offer for her hand—no . . . there had been no waltz. That would have been the fatal error.
His gaze lowered and he noticed a fleeting brush of Heathcliff’s hand along Liliah’s waistline as they passed each other in the dance. Hot blood raced through his veins, and there was but one word that echoed in his mind.
Mine.
The possessive nature buried deep within caused all other emotions to recoil. It was only as he took a step forward that he came to his senses.
Marching out on the dance floor and stealing her away from his friend wasn’t going to solve any of their problems; it would simply add to them.
And he had quite enough problems at the moment.
So he bided his time, watching, waiting, and cursing himself a bloody fool for even reacting in such a way.
Hadn’t he been down that road once?
Caring for another only led to loss.
Marriage bred betrayal.
And beautiful eyes only told even prettier lies.
Forcing his gaze away, he studied the room. The buzz had died down and he wasn’t the center of the gossip at the moment, or it at least seemed that way. A footman passed, and Lucas lifted a glass of champagne from the silver tray, sipping the cool refreshment as he ambled toward the game rooms. Yet as he moved closer, his interest was redirected as he heard Liliah’s name mentioned as he passed a brood of dowagers, all cackling amongst themselves.
“Chatterwood is going to have forty fits—”
“If he ever leaves the faro table,” another woman chimed in, her gaze sliding to the gaming rooms and then back to her companion.
“True enough. Hadn’t you heard that she was betrothed to the Earl of Greywick’s son? Is that what you told me, Mary?”
Liliah betrothed? Somehow he doubted the validity of that claim, especially with the man in question utterly desperate for the other lady.
“Well, that is the talk from the duke. Heaven only knows if it’s accurate.” There were a few titters and Lucas’s interest waned. As he pushed off from the pillar, he heard his name.
“You didn’t miss Lord Heightfield’s entrance, did you?”
He suppressed a groan.
