His smile widened, becoming wolfish. “Is that a challenge?”
She peeked up at him. “Perhaps.”
Reynaud sat forward, reaching across the swaying carriage, and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. So soft. So warm. She sat very still.
He inhaled and sat back again. “I’ve lived a very long time away from civilization. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the niceties of flirtation. I don’t want to scare you.”
She licked her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. He watched it move, lush and beckoning, as she said, “I… I don’t scare so easily as all that, my lord. And I’ve never been particularly fond of the artifice of flirtation.”
His heartbeat quickened at her whispered words, his muscles tensing to leap on prey. Mine, a part of him far removed from civilization cried. Mine. What he might’ve done next he wasn’t sure, but the carriage shuddered to a halt. He drew in a breath and straightened, easing his bunched shoulders. Glancing outside, he could see they were in front of his aunt’s house.
He turned back to Miss Corning and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
She eyed his hand a split second before taking it.
And he hid a smile. Soon, very soon, he’d take what was his, but right now he had to face the horrors of a London ball.
Chapter Seven
Well, this was a terrible bargain, indeed! But Longsword looked into the Goblin King’s glowing orange eyes and knew that if he were ever to see the sun again, he had no choice. He nodded once. At his assent, a great wind lifted him, whirling and sweeping him high, high, until he was suddenly dumped on hard, dusty earth. Longsword opened his eyes and saw the sun for the first time in seven years. The breeze brushed his cheek. He had just risen and grasped his sword when he heard a roar from behind him.
Longsword turned and beheld the most beautiful lady in the world… in the grasp of a giant dragon….
—from Longsword
Mademoiselle Molyneux had had only a little more than a week to plan the ball in honor of Lord Hope, but in that time she’d created a wonder. Beatrice was hard-pressed not to stare as the viscount ushered her into the great ballroom. Three huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling like miniature stars. All along one wall, tall mirrors were draped with garlands of flowers and gold silk, and a great pyramid of flowers hid the musicians in one corner.
“How splendid!” Beatrice exclaimed. “Your aunt must be a magician to have effected such a delightfully decorated room so soon.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lord Hope muttered. “I’ve always thought Tante Cristelle had powers beyond a mere mortal’s.”
Beatrice glanced up at him in amusement. His body had stiffened beside hers when they’d entered the magnificent ballroom, and heads had turned toward them. People were staring and whispering behind fans. Even so, he seemed to be relaxing a bit, though he fingered the knife at his waist.
“Has she always lived in this town house by herself?” she asked.
“What?” His voice was distracted as he looked across the room, but then he glanced down at her. “No. Actually, this house belongs to my sister—or rather her son.”
“Her son?”
“Yes. He’s Lord Eddings—inherited the title from his father. When my sister, Emeline, married again and settled in the Colonies with her new husband, Tante Cristelle agreed to stay here and help manage the estate.”
Beatrice laid her hand on his sleeve. “You must miss your sister so.”
“I think of her every day.”
An expression of sudden sorrow crossed his features, sharp and fleeting and all the more breathtaking because he so rarely showed any of the softer emotions. She leaned closer to him, drawn by his emotion despite the crowd surrounding them.
“Hope,” a male voice drawled from behind them.
Beatrice looked up to see Viscount Vale’s turquoise eyes watching her curiously. He had a bluish bruise on his jaw. Beside him was his wife, a tall, thin lady with a calm, slightly amused face.
She felt the muscle of Lord Hope’s arm flex beneath her fingers, but his face revealed nothing. “Vale.”
Lord Vale cocked his head. “Pity you’ve shaved off all those whiskers. They gave you a rather Biblical air.”
Lord Hope’s lips twitched.
“Sorry to disappoint.”