Not that she would have turned him down when this was what she’d been working toward.But the pull she experienced as he stood there, grief etched in every aspect of his bearing, was nothing short of terrifying.
And yet, she faced the sympathy and the attraction he’d managed to sow somewhere deep in her conscience, reminding herself, while accepting the arm he offered, to fight it with unrelenting resolve.
They returned inside just as the orchestra struck up a waltz.He led her onto the dance floor and drew her into his arms, the confidence he exuded that of a man who’d partnered with countless women before her.His hand was firm on her waist, his steps sure and strong as he guided her into the dance with effortless movements.She could feel the power in his body, the contained energy humming beneath the surface.
Yet there was an unexpected gentleness to him as well.His touch, while possessive, was not rough.He held her close but did not crush her.And his eyes, as they gazed into hers, gradually softened, allowing her a glimpse of something that looked almost tender.
Impossible.
“There’s something about you I can’t understand,” Mr.Croft murmured, his voice a low rumble between them.“Why haven’t you married?”
The question caught her off guard, and for a moment she struggled to form a response.Averting her gaze, she watched the rest of the dancers rush by in a blur.She should have anticipated him asking this and was slightly annoyed with herself that she hadn’t.
“My questionable heritage makes me something of a mongrel,” she said at last.
“Mongrels have their merits,” he said while turning her in a wide arc.“They tend to be smarter than purebreds and have fewer ailments.I personally prefer them.”
Her gaze snapped to his and she saw that he meant it.Perhaps dancing with him had been a mistake.At this close range the man was a far more dangerous adversary than she had expected.
She’d foolishly believed herself strong and capable of resisting his charm.Yet he had the most disturbing ability to make her pulse beat faster.
“I also have a responsibility to Harlowe,” she said, attempting as best she could to focus on their conversation.“He’s done so much for me, I could never leave him.”
“Your loyalty is admirable.Harlowe is certainly fortunate to have you.”His thumb stroked gently over her waist, sending a shiver down her spine.“But every woman deserves a life of her own.A chance at love, a family to raise, and all the things that make life sweet.”
His words echoed the secret longings she’d buried so deep they’d been forgotten until this moment, and for a second she imagined what such a life might be like.A home of her own, a husband who loved her, children with bright smiles and...
No.
She shook her head to clear the images.That life was not meant for her.Duty and sacrifice were the prices she would pay for the privileges she’d been given.
The music faded and she stepped away, breaking the intimacy between them.
“Thank you for the dance.”A polite smile was all she dared.“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to rest for a bit.Loath as I am to admit it, the slippers I chose to wear are not very comfortable.”
“Of course.”Mr.Croft tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.“There are some comfortable sofas in the drawing room where we can sit while we take some refreshment.”
The offer was unexpected.It gave her a choice between the reprieve she’d intended to seek and the chance for them to speak at greater length.While she did feel the need for a private moment in which to collect her thoughts, she could not ignore the opportunity he provided.
Added time spent together would help strengthen the bond that was growing between them.If she turned him down, there was a chance he might not extend the offer again.
So she accompanied him from the ballroom to seek out a spot where her imaginary sore feet could find some relief.
Progress was being made this evening.Mr.Croft’s interest in her was increasing.What she did not dare to consider was whether or not her interest in him was limited to her assignment.
The problem was that in order to sell her lie, she had to convince herself of it so well she began to believe it.She had to allow herself to like Mr.Croft, maybe even to fall for him, and that was a dangerous game.Though perhaps the most dangerous part of all was how easy she feared it would be.
She buried that thought and reminded herself of her purpose.
Befriend, gain access, destroy.
Affecting a limp, she leaned on him, removing the distance between them and pushing the length of her arm against his.He instantly switched position, bringing one arm around her for added support while continuing to guide her forward.
“There’s a vacant sofa in the far corner,” he said.
But as they walked, Samantha heard a man say, “To even suspect you of murder is the utmost of ridiculousness.I’m glad you won your case against Bow Street.”
20
