The dandies and popinjays around her had a greater chance at snatching King George IV’s crown than laying claim to the enigmatic beauty.
From this night, until however long it took to tire of her, the temptress belonged to him.
And she wanted him too.
While couples assembled around them, his and the woman’s gazes remained locked.
From the moment she caught sight of him, she’d traced the tip of her tongue over her lips, nibbling at that flesh. Inviting him. Tempting him.
Every last swath of her skin, dripping in crystal, lace, and satin though it might be, could not hide the flush of color that covered her body.
The lady’s trimmer waist and smaller breasts set her apart from his usual bed partners.
She sank into a curtsy in response to his bow.
Culross offered his hand.
His delectable prize laid her gloved fingers in his with the same eagerness she’d shown when he’d staked his claim before her gaggle of suitors.
Lowering his lashes, Culross applied firm pressure to her hand, letting her know with his subtle squeeze and lingering hold who she belonged to this night—and in the nights to come.
Her fingers trembled.
Not with fear but something deeper, more elemental. Anticipation.
As they galloped down the line, the speed of their sashay brought their bodies briefly brushing. Her bejeweled silvery-white bodice grazed his leather-lined double twill great cloak.
A fresh wash of color rolled across the small, unmasked portions of her face.
Culross fought the urge to snatch the covering free, to expose her.
He would.
And when he did, it would be for him alone.
As they approached the turn, Culross placed his hand firmly at the small of her back, staking his claim, marking her as his.
They faced each other with joined hands.
Her fingers trembled. Culross deepened his pressure, steadying their quake. The distance their outstretched arms forced between them stretched the crystal-beaded satin taut across her breasts.
The reel’s tempo picked up to a frenzied speed.
Burning for her, Culross abandoned the polite rules of dance and drew his lady nearer.
Amid the swell of footfalls striking the marble floor and the whine of the orchestra, he detected the way her breath caught.
The moment Culross released her, his graceful mystery lady stumbled. She swiftly righted herself.
Before the gallopade forced them apart, outside the set, Culross leaned his mouth near hers. “My glittering diamond needs my touch, does she?” he purred.
A siren’s smile teased the corners of her lowered lips upward. “I do not need any gentleman.”
She neither bowed nor simpered. Her refusal, her spirit, a challenge stirred something he had not felt in a year—maybe ever.
“Is that right?” For the first time since he’d returned from sea, he felt a flicker of amusement. “Then that is good news for you, sweet?”
The lady trembled in his arms. “In what w-way?”
