Wonderful.
The gossips would be chittering for weeks. He may even have to dance with several other women tonight if he hoped to diffuse whatever story they’d be brewing up about himself and Miss Dickson. Eleanor would likely make a point of bringing it up every time he annoyed her.
This was a mistake.
His companion’s snort made him realize to his horror that he’d muttered the words aloud.
They’d just gotten into position for the dance and she stood stiffly with one of her hands on his shoulder and the other resting tensely in his. “Don’t you dare,” she threatened under her breath as she kept her gaze pinned fiercely to the center of his cravat. “You asked. Now youwilldance with me. The entire song. I will not have you openly insulting me by walking away. I’d be ruined.”
Ralston glared down at the dark, glossy twists of her hair, arranged atop her head as he led her into their first turn. “I’d never do something so wretched.”
The soft sound she made was one of disbelief. That she clearly still thought so low of him bothered him much more than it should have. There was no reason for him to be so affected by her opinion. But he was.
“Do you really think me such a villain?” he muttered.
Her body tensed subtly in his arms, but before she could have a chance to reply, he had to quickly guide her around a couple who were doing more stumbling than dancing. Pressing his hand firmly to her slim back, he effectively spun them out of harm’s way. And though his body had grown tense with silent frustration, he didn’t loosen his hold on her as they came out of the turn.
“You’ve based your opinion on two very brief encounters,” he said in a curt tone. “In truth, you do not know me at all. I would never intentionally do something that could damage your reputation and risk your…”
He paused, tightening his jaw.
Damn, what exactly was the polite way to reference a woman’s search for a husband?
Her response sounded suspiciously like a soft snort of humor. “My desperate hunt for a wealthy suitor?”
Ralston had nothing to say to such a blunt reply.
She gave a wry chuckle and glanced out at the many couples swirling around them. Then she sighed. “I suppose I do not believe you to be the villain I initially thought you were,” she noted quietly. “But with my advanced age and questionable background, I don’t have much room for error, my lord.”
Questionable background? Was there some scandal already attached to her name? After being the one who was always tasked with saving his cousins from their endless recklessnessfor the sake of preserving the family dignity, he could just imagine how they’d all react ifhewere the one to cause a stir in the gossips. It would be utter anarchy in the Fairchild family.
Miss Dickson gasped and gave him a quick flash of her gaze before redirecting her focus elsewhere as she whispered fiercely, “I can see the horror in your eyes, my lord. You’re worried about dancing with me. Does your snobbery know no bounds?”
Ralston couldn’t respond. Not because he knew it was pointless to try to explain the complexity of his responsibilities and deny her incorrect claims against his character, but because shock had stolen his voice.
For a swift and sudden moment, he’d found himself looking into dark, honey-colored eyes. A sharp jolt of recognition instantly brought to mind his last visit to the Lyon’s Den when he’d had wine-soaked, velvet-gloved fingers deep in his mouth and had lifted his gaze to a sultry amber stare surrounded by black satin.
Chapter Thirteen
Denial nearly chokedhim. Surely, he was mistaken. It couldn’t be her.
It was ludicrous to even entertain the idea.
He knew French well enough to recognize a native speaker, and Miss Dickson spoke with no accent. Whatever their similarities, the woman in his arms now was not the woman who’d held him in thrall not many days ago. The idea was absurd. Miss Dickson was a gentlewoman, not a courtesan.
Gratefully, she had quickly looked away again after that brief meeting of his gaze and had no idea Ralston had become lost in a wave of pure disbelief. But as his silence lengthened after her blunt accusation, Ralston noted how the slight downward curve of her mouth was disturbingly familiar.
So familiar, it caused a swift, hot rise of desire in his blood. It required every ounce of his self-control not to allow an embarrassing physical reaction to follow the lust triggered inside him.
Shewas nother.
She couldn’t be.
But no matter what logic tried to assert itself in his mind, he knew the truth. Hefeltit.
Roughly clearing his throat, he forced himself to retrieve the tail of their conversation. “Is it snobbery to wish to ensure the security of my family?” he asked quietly. “I did not create the rules that govern our society, nor do I particularly agree with most of them. But I have a role to play in this world, one I’ve been molded into since birth. Not even I am above ruination, Miss Dickson. However, my fall from social grace would take many others with me. It is not something I am ever allowed to forget.”
Silence followed his low-worded confession, and for a moment, he worried that he’d said too much. But he realized as he began his little speech that he was not only speaking to the intrepid Miss Dickson, he was also speaking with the masked mistress of the Lyon’s Den.
