“I’m quite well. The injury is to my will, not my body. He fears my open defiance.”
“I’m certainly glad I could accommodate it,” Lucas replied, arching a brow wickedly.
“So am I.” Her smile broadened and a faint rose hue tinted her cheeks, and Lucas studied the color, enjoying immensely the fact that he was the cause of such a lovely reaction.
Yet even as he thought it, he cursed himself for being so easily enamored. What was it about the chit that made him go soft? It was disconcerting at the least and damn terrifying at most.
“What concerns you?” Liliah asked, pulling his attention from her lovely mouth to her curious expression.
“Nothing of consequence.”
“I doubt that,” she replied, almost too quietly to hear.
Lucas changed topics, feeling the need to distract her as much as she distracted him. “You are utterly ravishing in your innocent gown, but may I say that I much prefer your earlier attire—when we first met.”
Liliah’s eyes widened as she glanced around the swirling dancers, no doubt checking to make sure no one had overheard such a forward remark. Yet, rather than scold him, she arched a dark brow and grinned. “Why am I not surprised? Would it shock you then, to know the gown was borrowed?”
“And no longer in your possession?” Lucas asked, then spun her in perfect time.
Liliah’s full lips tipped in a crooked grin. “Ah, but that is for me to know—”
“And for me to discover?” Lucas finished, flashing her his most flirtatious grin.
“Perhaps.”
“Ah, and here I thought you were bent on”—he leaned in close enough to whisper—“seduction.” Then retreated back to the normal expanse between dancers.
Liliah’s color heightened. “What gave you the impression I’d changed my mind?” she dared.
“Then why are we tarrying in a crowded ballroom, my lady?” Lucas allowed his hungry gaze to lower from her expressive eyes to the perfect bow of her lips. His gaze traced the line of her jaw to her neck and the graceful curves below. The heat in his body pulsed to his lower regions, demanding that he partake of the pleasures promised.
“What do you have in mind, my lord?” Liliah asked, her expression brave, yet Lucas detected a hint of trepidation. It satisfied him to see her show some hesitancy before running headlong into ruin. Perhaps she had more sense than she cared to admit. Yet the folly was indeed to his advantage, his very tempting and desirous advantage.
“Could you not visit Lady Rebecca?” he asked, hinting at something more.
“Or I could simply . . . find you.”
Lucas shook his head. “We’ve taken far more . . . elaborate . . . security measures. Besides, I do not mix business with pleasure, love.”
“Love? My, we’re progressing quickly,” Liliah teased. “It might interest you to know that I have an appointment at the modiste’s tomorrow around two in the afternoon. Perhaps—”
“Done,” Lucas answered, his body tight with anticipation.
“Done,” she echoed.
The music ended, but Lucas was loath to release her, yet he noted the arrival of Meyer, and so he stepped out of the way and gave a curt bow. He let his gaze linger on her form as Meyer held out his arm to her, wordlessly.
As if noticing Meyer for the first time, she hesitated for a moment, then placed her delicate hand on his wrist. Lucas’s chest tightened with an unwelcome emotion as he watched them walk away.
He swore he’d never feel that way again.
He damned the feeling straight to the pit of hell.
Because the last time he felt its surge, it had practically killed him.
Jealousy—thou art a heartless bitch.
Chapter Seventeen
