Ever stepped forward, forcing Isabella back until she struck the pier table. His arm lifted, his hand rising to cradle her jaw.
But as in her fantasies, he made no move to bring her lips to his.
Notyet. The first kiss was still on the table.
“Madam Mischief, I think you’re incredible. And far more trouble than anyone is prepared for.”
Chapter Five
Where a rake seeks answers.
Ever knew it was over the moment a man told a woman she was incredible.
Nothing surrendered control faster than a single, exhausted, aroused, infatuated admission.
His shoulder settled against a column, a familiar posture in an unfamiliar evening, his gaze sweeping the ballroom. Another weary gathering—Baron Landry’s engagement bash, this one—the chalk dusting the marble floor, the inane conversation threatening to choke him. Except she was here, altering the tenor entirely. It wasn’t the first time he and Isabella Anstruther-Colbrook had occupied the same space.
But it was the first when she was rumored to be linked tohim.
Ever tracked her progress across the floor in the arms of the third and final man on her dance list, a fresh-faced engineer associate of Weston’s. She hadn’ta full card by any means; most of London was terrified of her. (Personally, he would never forget the image of her covered in his blood, not a tremble in her, though that was his particular fascination.) His appearance at her side—not an arrival together, that was too much, too soon—likely hadn’t helped. If anything, it made them more interesting. All evening, astonished members of society had glanced between them, trying to imagine how two such contrary people might fit.
When he’d begun to imagine he and Isabella fit—dangerously well.
Ever halted a passing footman and seized a glass from the salver. His facade required it. And so did he.
He’d had to remind himself repeatedly since the carriage ride last week that this was a professional arrangement, even as something inside him shifted in every exchange with Isabella. A pact not unlike the one he had with Victoria Cassinton, the modiste who occasionally lent medical assistance to agents of the Crown.
His attention swept the ballroom once more, taking in the youthful faces, the easy laughter, the careless closeness of people who still believed in the permanence of good moments. That buoyant confidence—call it innocence, call it ignorance—let them move through the world as though disappointment were a distant rumor.
I’m too jaded, Ever decided, casting one last glance at Isabella in a gown the color of limes just plucked from the tree.
Too old—and as of this day, older still.
Birthdays leave a sour taste, he thought, and took himself, his brandy, and his moroseness to a lone spot on the veranda. Though Alice had sent a lovely note. And Brick a bottle of Bowmore—surprising that his sentry had remembered at all, let alone chosen the finest Scotch to mark the day.
Moonlight skimmed the balustrade as he approached, silvering the garden beyond. A thin mist hung in the air,darkening the stone beneath his resting hand. Somewhere below, a fountain murmured, and from the open windows behind him came the echo of bright, careless conversation. The wound along his back smarted, though it was tolerable. He’d suffered only a slight fever the day after, and nothing since.
He wasn’t surprised when the troublesome chit who’d occupied his thoughts for days settled beside him, slipping away from a spill of partygoers carrying their frivolity across the lawn and into the gardens. Perhaps he was kidding himself, but he’d sensed a change in the air as she drew near.
He hadn’t experienced attraction like this in years. Exactly like this, maybe never.
It promised to be damned inconvenient.
Isabella—Isa, his mind whispered as visions of her thighs encased in naughtily embroidered garters made concentration a lost cause entirely—gestured to the group now cavorting in the fountain.
She cast him a sly look over the rim of her flute, and before he could caution her on the wisdom of seeking him out, whispered, “Remember, if we keep to our agreement, you want my attention, my lord. The woman you’re courting might tempt you to steal a kiss in the moonlight.”
He turned to face her, his hip braced against the balustrade. He hoped his modest arousal wasn’t evident. “What about the woman I’m sharing secrets with? Does she wish to tempt me?”
Her lips parted on a hushed breath, and Ever took quiet pleasure in her hesitation. For all her remarkable poise, Madam Mischief would make a dreadful gambler. Emotions flickered across her face—triumph, indecision, trepidation.
She wanted to play a role, but hadn’t decided which suited the moment.
He loved her uncertainty, because he was uncertain, too.
Balancing his empty glass on the wall, Ever took hers anddrank the chilled champagne without comment. From her frothy grin and cheerful lack of caution, he’d determined she’d had enough for one evening.
When she puckered her lips and leaned closer, he felt the desperate urge to tell her, “My acclaimed reputation, the one that secured this mindlessRake Review, isn’t real, sprite. I’m no monk, but I’m not that.”
