After several long moments as he continued to turn her about the dance floor in his arms and she continued to make every effort not to look up at him, she finally replied. “I understand, my lord. We will finish this dance,” she said in a low tone that was as intimate as it was intentioned, “then you will escort me back to my aunt’s side. After that we shall do our utmost to avoid any further social interactions. You shall not approach me again.”
The instant she said the last words, Ralston knew that wasn’t at all what he wanted.
He would wonder later what madness had come over him to respond in the way he did. All he knew was that at some point between taking a breath and voicing his reply, the words he could’ve said were completely obliterated and others took their place.
“Oui, Madame,” he whispered darkly, the reply little more than a textured breath.
Miss Dickson tensed so violently in his arms that he had to pull her even closer or they would have tripped over each other’sfeet. The hand he held in his tightened until her fingernails pressed painfully into his skin, while the other hand she rested on his shoulder curled into the material of his coat.
Yet, she didn’t lift her gaze. It seemed she was far more intent on scanning the ballroom.
Looking for an exit?
Ralston refused to loosen his hold as astonishment triggered bone-deep desire. If he hadn’t already known the truth of it deep down in his core, her reaction just proved it.
Somehow, Miss Dickson and the masked Frenchwoman in the private room of the Lyon’s Den were one and the same. It made absolutely no logical sense. And Ralston could not fathom her purpose in portraying such a ruse. But he felt the truth of it regardless.
In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that he should be feeling some anger or embarrassment or a sense of betrayal. But he didn’t. It was the oddest thing. He felt…relieved, in a way, though he couldn’t begin to explain to himself why.
As her tense silence extended to an unnatural length, he held his breath, willing her to look at him. But after only another couple turns, the waltz came to an end. He felt her sigh of relief and clenched his jaw. He had only another few seconds to bring some resolution to this discovery.
Following her prior instructions, Ralston tucked her close to his side and escorted her back to Countess Henmere. There, he gave a proper bow but said nothing. When he straightened—he finally managed to catch her stark amber stare. What he saw there inspired a flood of molten hunger through his entire being.
The woman wasn’t cowed at having been discovered. She wasn’t shamed or fearful or worried about what he might do with the information.
Instead—to his shock and deepest pleasure—her bold gaze met his with a promise of retribution and punishment for his cleverness and insolence.
His response required no thought at all. With his hands clasped behind his back, he offered a brief but poignant lowering of his gaze, finding the tips of her dancing slippers where they peeked from beneath the hem of her gown. Then he turned and strode quickly away, weaving through the crowd, no destination in mind other than to find a cool, dark place where he could get the fire inside him tamed to a more manageable level.
It was her.
Though the revelation came with a wealth of questions, none of them really seemed to matter.
Chapter Fourteen
After the ball,Charlotte didn’t bother ringing for a maid to assist in removing her gown. Nor did she wait for the summons she knew would come.
The route to the club had become familiar. And she no longer required an escort within the walls of the gambling hell. She went directly to the dressing room where Amélie appeared to be finishing up her own toilet for the evening.
The Frenchwoman turned at Charlotte’s entrance. “Ah, ma chérie! You are here so quickly. Your gentleman has only just arrived. A note was sent to you but a moment ago.”
Though the words implied surprise, the woman’s grin suggested she was not at all astonished to see Charlotte so promptly.
“I may not have waited for a summons,” she admitted with a flush of heat in her cheeks.
“Things are going well?” Amélie queried.
Charlotte wasn’t sure how to reply to that. Before the ball tonight, she probably could’ve answered in the affirmative. But after that dance…
She had no idea how he’d discovered her identity. She’d gone over the scene a thousand times in her mind, but all she coulddetermine was that prior to the dance, he’d been ignorant of her connection to the Lyon’s Den. But at some point…that had changed. Drastically and to dramatic effect.
When she’d heard him say those two words—so low and dark—she’d frozen in shock. There was no way he’d said it by accident. There had been far too much intention in his tone. Intention that had flowed through his hands where they’d met her body, infusing her with crackling heat.
Utterly confused and not a small bit terrified that the man would call her out right there in the middle of the crowded ball, Charlotte had kept her head down and her composure tightly bound. Whatever he decided to do with his sudden knowledge, she would find a way to counter it. He wouldn’t get away without some scars of his own.
But when he left her at her aunt’s side with a deep bow and downcast gaze, she knew…
For whatever reason, he was not going to sacrifice her on the altar of public opinion. He would not disclose her secret and scandalize the whole of society.
