His dreams betrayed him. Of her. Of wanting more. Of a life that wasn’t meant for men like him.
The scrape of a chair leg across marble had Dom turning to find himself encircled by a pair of London’s most enterprising daughters. One pressed a gloved hand to his arm, her smile knowing, the other all but batting her lashes in time with the strains floating down from the gallery. They were speaking, compliments, invitations, he wasn’t listening. He’d been out of this world too long to remember the exactrules, but long enough to know he wanted no part of it.
Over their heads, a flash of ivory caught his eye. Louisa, in a stunning gown the color of winter roses, skirting the edge of the crowd, headed toward the veranda doors. She didn’t glance back. She didn’t have to. He was already on the move.
The cool breath of night met him halfway, loosening the knot in his chest. Should he admit that hordes of people unsettled him? Was that another secret to share?
Outside, the sounds of the ball softened to a distant hum, the air touched with moonlight and the faint mineral scent of a fountain. This was peace, no prying eyes, no murmured speculation. Unfortunately, he’d earned every whisper the hard way. As for the grasping females, the pawing, the glances, the occasional hand clinging to his sleeve or drifting lower without invitation—though he could extend one when attraction called for it—were enough to make a man lock his door and never come out again.
Louisa was there ahead of him, resting on the scrolled lip of the fountain, her gown a pale shimmer that caught his gaze and held it. In the shadows, the fire of her hair was muted now, a deeper burnished glow, but no less arresting. The urge to tangle his fingers in the strands and throw them both off balance was wildly persuasive.
He hesitated—one part instinct, one part uncertainty—before striding onto the gravel path.
He’d thought himself immune to the lure of chance.
Clearly, he was wrong.
Women had beencircling Dominic Beckett all night, the spectacle enough to send Louisa striding from the ballroom like a frighteneddebutante, though it was temper, not nerves, driving her. She wove through the terrace doors and toward the fountain, the cool promise of its water a foil to the heat coiling in her chest.
She’d seen him first.
Wantedhim first.
She had no patience for the simpering smiles and fluttering fans angled toward the viscount’s younger brother, as though he were some rare prize on a gaming table. They coveted him because he neither preened nor flirted, his indifference drawing them like moths to a lit taper.
And in the end, she was only another moth.
Why did he have to look more handsome tonight than he had in her mother’s parlor? To find him more attractive than any man in England felt like a dangerous fissure in her façade, one she prayed she could keep from his notice. She hadn’t lost herself over someone, not once, notever.
In his formal blacks, Dominic was nothing like the soft, overfed men who peacocked their way through the Season. The cut of his coat traced firm muscle and restless strength, a caged-lion energy that belonged more in Gentleman Jackson’s boxing arena than a chandeliered parlor. He was a little too lean, with a nervous edge to his stance, one that hinted at motion barely contained. All evening the ballroom had hummed with talk of him, an infrequent guest to this spectacle, enigmatic, silver-and-black hair tumbling rakishly across his brow.
A little helplessly, she wondered who would marry him if she did not.
As of yet, he hadn’t tossed his hat into the ring.
The breeze chilled her flushed cheeks as she perched on the fountain’s marble rim. Moonlight caught the water in gray-blue arcs, the splash a steady counterpoint to the muffled gaiety behind her. Here, at least, no one would interrupt.
Until the only person in England she wished woulddid.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel before Dominic appeared, flipping his coattail aside as he settled beside her. “Why pyrotechnics?” he asked without preamble, as if they’d been speaking of it moments ago.
She pressed a startled laugh into her glove, wishing she didn’t enjoy sparring with him.
Louisa turned, her skirt catching on a pick in the marble before she freed the silk with a flick of her fingers. “At the summer fair in Richmond when I was a girl, they lit a Catherine wheel just as the sun went down. Sparks rained into the river like molten stars, and I remember thinking it must be magic. Until my father told me it was saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur, nothing but a quirk of science. It was the first time I realized beauty could be made from fire and powder, if one knew the trick of it. I’ve been trying to harness that trick ever since.”
He fiddled with his cuff link, another of those almost-hidden smiles tilting his lips. “So not a mere hobby then?”
She frowned, irritated, but not with him. “For a woman,anypassion is a ‘mere hobby.’ We’re not allowed more.”
“If I hadn’t been sent down from Oxford, I might have been an engineer. Machinery, steam, the odd experiment. Second sons are allowed to dip their toe into trade without rousing too much ire.” He paused, the words heavy, his gaze wandering away from her. “But the learning issue made that an impossible dream. It would have required a bevy of tutors to read me the texts required to pass my subjects.”
Powerless, she watched as he tipped his head to stare at the stars. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to brush his hair from his cheek. It shimmered in the light, not quite black, but a darker shade of mahogany. What would it feel like to sink her fingers in the overlong strands and bring his lips to hers? She’d never been captivated by a man’s hair before. “You’ve been the subject of conversation all night.”
“Shocking,” he murmured, throat working as he swallowed, drawingher gaze to his hastily knotted cravat. She could easily imagine his impatience making a valet impossible.
“Enigmatic, they’re saying. Mysterious.” Her eyes lingered, but he failed to look at her. She told herself not to say it, not to bait him—then she did anyway. “By the by, the earl kissed me.”
His brows drew together, and his gaze,finally, met hers. “Did he now?”
