He was so damned proud and blood-stirringly handsome—his manner solid and unbothered by the ever-curious, constantly covetous stares.
Is that why he’d earned the utterly unfair reputation for being dull? Because he didn’t play into everyone’s desperate yearning for some action or reaction? Did his constancy and firm steadfast demeanor suggest to people that he was a man lacking in excitement or creativity or the boldness of life?
How stupid they all were.
A wealth of passion resided beneath his carefully controlled exterior. A hunger and fire and depth werethere—barely concealed in the darkness of his eyes.
And when that hard and focused gaze swept past her position on the dance floor then came right back to settle with fierce intent, Charlotte nearly stumbled. A blast of self-awareness was quickly followed by a wave of acute desire which angled straight to her core as her heart rate quickened and a heated flush rose beneath her skin.
Merde merde merde merde! How would she survive this?
She forced her attention back to the dance and her partner. She could not give the moment or the man any more of her focus. Not tonight. Not ever again.
She doubted she’d be able to convince her aunt to leave the ball early, but maybe in such an enormous crowd, it wouldn’t be impossible to avoid him the rest of the night. Surely, he’d wish to avoid her as well. Their one dance had already caused a ridiculous amount of speculation amongst the gossips. She knew he would not risk another when it could have very real consequences. He was too careful for that, too aware of societal expectation and personal obligation.
Doing all she could to put the man from her mind, Charlotte forced a pleasant smile as the dance finished and her partner led her through the crowd back to the countess.
Where Redington stood waiting.
As soon as her gaze fell upon him, she knew—something had changed since they’d last breathed the same air. There was a sizzling charge in the atmosphere, like that feeling right before lightning struck.
He lowered his chin to a stubborn angle and furrowed his brow as his direct, unwavering stare ensnared her gaze and held it. His shoulders were strongly squared in his elegant black coat, and his hands were clasped behind his back.
Charlotte was not fooled by his deceptively reserved manner. The truth was sharply evident. It fairly radiated throughout his being. Dark, silent, inescapable.
He would not be lowering to his knees tonight.
She considered running away. Continuing her avoidance. But before she could take such a cowardly action, it was too late.
As she reached Redington’s position, Charlotte barely acknowledged the bow and retreat of her dance partner. A quick glance to the countess revealed that the woman was completelyturned away—either by accident or design—leaving Charlotte and the marquess standing essentially alone.
“Miss Dickson,” he said with a respectful bow of his head. “You look lovely this evening.”
Charlotte began to shake her head, preferring blunt honesty over this social flattery, but a flicker in Redington’s eyes gave her pause and she forced a brief smile instead.
“Thank you, my lord.” Her words were steady though her belly trembled. What was his purpose? What new game was this? She felt unprepared. Uncertain.
“Would you care to dance?”
The question was a shock and she stared at him in open astonishment.
A second dance? It was practically a declaration.
The gossips would certainly see it as such. She could already hear the whispers of those close enough to witness this unprecedented event.
What on earth did the man think he was doing? If he had such a burning urge to talk to her, surely there was a more discreet way to go about it than this performance. And what would happen to her when after the dance there was no declaration or offer or proposal forthcoming?
She’d be ruined.
For some reason, the thought of that didn’t strike as hard as it should have.
Ruined.
Hadn’t she already been completely destroyed by her mother’s death? Was there really anything left of her worth saving?
No doubt, seeing the effects of her dark and tumultuous thoughts in her expression, the marquess took a small step toward her and lowered his voice. “Dance with me,” hemurmured, his voice thickened with intimate intention and a gentle plea.
Her belly swirled with the dark, rich tones and her heart stuttered dangerously.
