So unholy, that dark gaze. It wanted to strip her to her very soul. She drew a shuddering breath, fixing her focus on the pale marble opposite. Cherubs frolicked there, carved among stone grapes and vines.
“What do you want from me, Lord Cotereigh? I cannot…I cannot give you this…thissurrenderyou demand. I must already admit I’m beholden to you, I must admit my goals would have come to nothing without you, but to admit…admit I…”
She broke off.
But Lord Cotereigh murmured, “Yes. That last admission is the one I want. You were wrong when you said my victory was complete. There is one last thing I need, Madelaine.”
She startled at the use of her name. Again she looked at him, and again it was a mistake.
A lover would have been tender. A lover would have been kind. Lord Cotereigh was unyielding.
His dark eyes held her, demanding, pressing into her inner self, probing and exploring and—
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He only breathed another laugh. “You are many fine and admirable things, but you are a terrible liar. And you are certainly not stupid.”
When she looked away, he took her elbow once more, making her breath catch.
“You feel it,” he whispered in her ear, harsh and low. “You feel it too.”
If God still listened, if he answered her prayers at all, he sent help in a strange form.
Lady Frances arrived, smiling brightly, studiously blind to the hand Lord Cotereigh swiftly removed from her arm.
“Cote,” she greeted him, beautiful in cream satin. “You promised me this first dance. And here I am to collect.”
Twenty-Two
Rash actions were alwaysunwise. He’d made far too many of them of late. The wager had been the first, and though he found he could not regret it, he was irritated by the man he’d become.
Susceptible.
Needy.
He looked down at the lady circling him in the dance, her palm pressed to his. The Lady Frances wascrème Chantillytonight, a delicious concoction of creamy skirts and creamy skin. She even smelt sweet, some hint of vanilla and sugar to her perfume.
But whatever faint appetite she’d ever inspired in him was easy to control. It was rational and simple and entirely how it should be.
He led her in this dance, and despite the last few months of sparring, he’d led her to this point, where she smiled up at him under lowered lashes, pliable and willing at last. Later, if he took her to a quiet room and spoke half a dozen words, she would agree to become his wife.
There. Another victory for tonight.
He looked up as the dance concluded. Mrs Ardingly had danced with the gallant Captain Littleton again. Now he led her from the dance, saying something that made her smile.
Major Tait came forwards. Sebastian stiffened. His uncle took Mrs Ardingly’s hand in his bear-like grip and led her back to the dance floor.
“Now that’s interesting,” said Lady Frances. Sebastian jerked his attention back to his partner. She only smiled at his lapse. “I wonder if your uncle intends to make someone jealous?”
“I seldom deign to enquire into my uncle’s intentions.”
Lady Frances gave a slanting smile. One without much humour. “No. So I’ve noticed.” She glanced back at the other pair. “Your uncle and the Pretty Pariah. What a delightful mismatch. I suppose the world is a globe though, and if you travel far enough in opposite directions, you eventually meet again in the middle. Strange things happen when opposites collide. She’s not to his taste, though,” she mused, tapping her chin with her fan as she stepped back from Sebastian, both of them absently remaining in the set for the next dance. “You know he prefers his women fair.”
She gave him another strange smile. “And you, Cote? Do you have a preference?”
He eyed her glossy blonde ringlets, refusing to stare at his uncle. He would not give the man that satisfaction. But he was aware, out of the corner of his eye, that Mrs Ardingly did not look his way. She did not glance at him for help or for rescue. It annoyed him.
“It seems a trivial matter. A lady’s hair colour is hardly her most important attribute. Nor the most interesting.”
