A duel would give him exactly what he came for.
Lady Sanders swept a hand towards the gentlemen nearby. “Well? Do you mean to stand there and permit this heathen to ride roughshod over us? Does no one here possess a backbone?”
But the whispers had begun to circle like vultures scenting ruin. Protecting their sordid acts and salacious affairs mattered more than defending a woman with a tainted reputation.
Miss Harland was the only one with the strength to argue her corner. “If I’m to salvage anything, you’ll let me dance with Mr Hawke. I’m sure he’ll leave once the ton have had their fill.” She turned to him. “Well, sir? Is there a shred of honour beneath that armour? Will you leave after one dance? Villains rarely linger past the last chime of the bell.”
That she saw him as such struck a nerve, one buried deep. But revenge came with consequences. Ones he’d need toswallow. “One waltz with you, Miss Harland, and you’ll never have to lay those sorrowful eyes on me again.”
She sighed, then whispered a remark that made her aunt’s fingers go slack. “Some things are more important than reputation. Neither of us can afford for my father to die tonight.”
With clear reluctance, Lady Sanders let go.
Trying not to look too smug, Dominic guided Miss Harland onto the floor, weaving past gilded gowns and the cloying scent of perfume and pomade. He paused beside the musicians. “Play the same waltz twice without pause.”
Revenge was sweeter when savoured.
He meant to relish every second.
“I suppose you plan to scandalise me further.” She shivered beneath his palm as he laid a hand on her back. “I’m surprised you know how to waltz with your clothes on. I hear the only dances at Shadowmere amount to naked romps with strangers.”
Her tone was calm. Her aim precise.
So, she knew how to spar.
He wrapped his fingers around hers, ignoring the jolt that followed—one he suspected had less to do with the woman and everything to do with a well-executed plan.
“Who told you about Shadowmere?” He doubted she’d heard her father boast of bedding a desperate widow so she might keep her house. “I’m surprised you can saynaked rompswithout blushing.”
He drew her into the first sweep, holding her so close he could feel the warmth of her, soft, delicate, unmistakably feminine. It had been years since he’d held a woman. Years since he’d let himself feel anything at all.
“Your name tops the list of men to avoid. Shepherds are warned to guard against savage dogs; innocent maidens, against hawks hunting field mice.”
He might have laughed, were this about pleasure. “You call yourself a mouse, Miss Harland, yet you wield injustice like a Roman gladiator.”
The flicker of satisfaction in her blue eyes was brief but unmistakable. “Perhaps you should have chosen your prey more wisely, sir.” She lifted her chin, her mouth softening as if this were a triumph, not the worst moment of her life. “I happen to be rather skilled with a trident.”
Clever.
Who knew the mouse had wit?
“I’ll give you this,” he said, pulling her close enough to make every chaperone reach for her smelling salts. “Whatever guilt I had left, you’ve stripped it clean. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lured me here just to parade your resilience.”
“You disappoint me, Mr Hawke. Only a fool would invite someone to trample over her reputation before the beau monde.” She studied him. A lesser man might have faltered. “Am I permitted to know what my father has done to warrant such disgraceful behaviour?”
The memory of his mother’s frail body had him firming his jaw, but he’d be damned before sullying her name in the same breath as that degenerate. “His cruelty knows no bounds. The rest isn’t fit for your ears, angel.”
She eyed him curiously. “I might accuse you of the same. You call me angel and claim my ears are delicate, yet you mark me a sinner before all the world.”
“Take solace, Miss Harland. You may find yourself elevated in the eyes of some,” he said, desperate to banish the damned twinge in his chest. The last thing he’d expected was for her to prick his conscience or be mildly entertaining. “Before tonight, you were invisible. See how women look atyou now. As though you possess something they can never obtain.”
She didn’t glance around the ballroom, keen to test the theory. She seemed unfazed by her newfound infamy. “You’re in danger of sounding like an optimist, Mr Hawke, not a man who dwells in shadows. I may not know what my father did, but I know it cost you dearly.”
The comment found a chink in his armour. He’d expected to dance with a fawn, all weak-legged and body aquiver. Instead, she met him step for step, spine straight, chin lifted, a challenge in silk and lace.
“You know nothing about me, Miss Harland.”
“I know you expected me to whimper, to cling to my aunt’s skirts like a frightened child. Yet here we are, waltzing before the beau monde as though you’d written your name on my dance card.”
