At last she pressed her fingertips lightly into the crease of his elbow. She barely touched him—she wore gloves and he two layers of fabric between them—but he still jolted at the awareness she created in him. He caught a whiff of her scent as he led her out to the floor. Cinnamon, honey, vanilla. Sweet treats stolen in the night. He wanted to see if she tasted the same.
Soon enough, though. He had no doubt in his own ability to seduce. He just had to get past this shell of hers. Pick the locks. He was good at that.
The music began and her eyes fluttered shut. A tiny moan escaped her lips. He laughed. “Don’t like to waltz, my lady?”
To his surprise, she didn’t respond, but just stared up at him, unmoving as he placed a hand on her soft hip and lifted her hand with the other. They stepped out in time together, falling into the circle of dancers.
For a while, he allowed her the silence. Being this close to her let him study her a bit and that was paramount to what he was doing. She had a smattering of light freckles across her nose. That was the only imperfection on her skin, and a telling one. The widow, it seemed, had not completely locked herself away in grief over the past year. She had been out in the sun, at least a little. Without a bonnet, perhaps.
Interesting. It indicated a desire to live again, certainly. Something he could…well,manipulateseemed a harsh term for it.
She had full lips. Very full, actually. They were a pretty shade of pink, bordering just on red. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, but there were lighter flecks there. Greens and ambers. He wondered briefly if one could count them all, parse them out from one another if he took enough time.
He blinked, drawing his gaze away with a start. Was he waxing poetic? A desire to have this woman was playing tricks on him. Or perhaps his mind was simply creating a narrative where he was not the evil bastard his friends believed him to be.
He glanced back and found Katherine had not removed her gaze from his face. She continued to stare, unwavering as he twirled her ’round and ’round. It was disconcerting, actually. Ladies tittered, they blushed behind fans flirtatiously. They did not simply stare, expressionless, at a man.
“You are quite graceful, my lady,” he said, hoping to break the tension with the compliment.
“Ladies are taught to be,” she said, tone as flat as her expression. “You would know, wouldn’t you? I’m certain you havedancedwith a hundred of us.”
“None so light-footed as you,” he said with another smile.
He had meant to flatter her, but it clearly did not work. She rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes at him. Like he was some stupid, uncouth, green boy stammering over his words.
He wrinkled his brow, pushing away the discomfort her reaction caused in him. The song was ending soon, he was running out of time to pursue her, and now he had a question pulsing through his mind. Troublesome. Undeniable.
“Why do you dislike me so much?” he said.
He expected her to blush at the directness. To stammer and deny what was so patently obvious. Perhaps even feign politeness.
She did not. Instead, she kept her gaze firmly on his and said, “Because you are a cad, Your Grace. Someone who cruelly uses others for his own purposes and doesn’t care a whit about the consequences because he is too spoilt and cruel to ever experience them.”
His mouth dropped open and she stepped from his arms, performing a curtsey as the song ended, as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary to him.
“I hope that settles this, Roseford,” she said. “And we do not have to have this conversation again. Good evening.”
She pivoted then, walking away to leave him on the dancefloor, staring after her in shock. At least for a moment.
And then…he followed her.
Katherine’s hands would not stop shaking as she burst onto the terrace behind the ballroom and fled to the wall. She rested her palms there, pressing hard so that the rough surface would dig into her flesh and remind her to be grounded. She had not been grounded with Roseford.
She had been emotional. She had lashed out. How he would laugh at that, she knew. And how he could turn it against her if that became his whim. He was good at that: twisting circumstances. Just look at the waltz they’d shared. His fingers had pressed so warm into her skin, his gaze had held hers with such intensity. That was seduction and she had been forced to fight not to be wrapped up in it like a little fool.
She would have to be a fool to believe in his attentions when she knew the purpose behind them. That bargain he’d made with his friends, the one that said he would win her…as if she were a twisted prize!
“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered into the wind.
“Why all the vitriol, my lady?”
She froze. She’d been so focused on her tangled emotions, she hadn’t heard Roseford come out onto the terrace behind her. Now she pivoted and found him a few steps away. They were alone. Just as they had been all those years ago.
Her heart stuttered at the moonlight slashed across his face. At the longing his expression created in her lonely body. She despised this man for what he had done and not done. She couldn’t forget that. Ever.
“Must you stalk me across terraces all over London?” she snapped.
One brow arched as he took a step toward her. He looked confused and the irritation she felt toward him ratcheted up another notch. That long ago night on another terrace had been a pivotal part in her life, as had the one after. He didn’t even remember it or her. She was just another in a long line of ladies he’d discarded.
