“What are you up to, Ranelaw?” She glanced around fretfully.
All eyes fixed on them. Laughter, much of it cruel, lit the watching faces. Futile rage ripped at his gut. Antonia was worth a million of these self-satisfied fribbles. Hell, Antonia was worth a million of the Marquess of Ranelaw.
He’d walked into the room and immediately seen her in her frumpish costume. Something in him had mutinied. Society wits talked about diamonds of the first water, but for Ranelaw, Antonia was the one true gem among all these paste imitations.
By God, he’d make her shine before he was done.
“You shouldn’t be sitting with the old tabbies.”
She flushed with annoyance and her back was ramrod straight. Under the spectacles, she looked flustered and annoyed and poignantly young. “Yes, I should,” she retorted through tight lips.
He fought a nigh irresistible urge to press his mouth to those lips until they parted and begged for more. Even for a libertine, publicly kissing a respectable woman was beyond the pale.
“You should be draped in silk and rubies, commanding the room with one flash from those ice blue eyes.”
Before she could snap him down, he executed a series of turns that left her clinging just to stay upright. She drew a shuddering breath and the stiffness eased from her spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cassie staring with unguarded interest.
He shot her a triumphant grin—he felt triumphant, he danced with the woman he desired. To his shock, she grinned back. Not the polite, consciously appealing smile she usually awarded him, but a full-blooded grin.
“Please stop.” Antonia clutched his shoulder as they circled the room. “You’re making me a laughingstock.”
“I want to dance with you,” he said stubbornly, although he couldn’t mistake the throbbing misery in her voice. His hand tightened, feeling the warmth of her skin through their gloves.
“I don’t want to dance with you,” she said with renewed defiance. Behind those distracting glasses, he caught the sparkle of anger. She didn’t act like a servant. She acted like a lady playing at fancy dress.
“I can’t dance with you, but you’ll give yourself to me?” he asked slyly.
The blood drained from her face and she cast a horrified glance around the watching crowd. “We can’t talk about that,” she insisted in a frantic whisper. “Not here.”
He blithely ignored her. They were far enough away from the other couples for privacy. “I want to do it again.”
Aghast she stared at him. “No . . .”
He smiled at her. Surely she couldn’t be surprised. He’d had her once, too briefly. Even so, it was the most intense sex he’d ever enjoyed. “Yes.”
The prospect of another encounter was so intoxicating, he missed a step. She stumbled and for one breathless moment, her breasts slammed against his chest. Automatically his arm hooked around her back, crushing her. His heart battered his ribs.
“Ranelaw!” she gasped, struggling for balance. As she fought to straighten, she brushed against him. Her head jerked up and she stared appalled into his face.
She’d discovered how aroused he was. He’d wanted her the moment he saw her. After all this physical contact, he was as hard as an iron bar.
He glanced longingly at the open French doors. Through them waited a garden with dark walkways and hidden arbors. Two or three gliding steps and he’d whisk her into the night.
Two steps . . .
A soft breeze wafted through the doors, begging him to heed the impulse. Steal Antonia away to unbridled pleasure.
For all the lure of the forbidden, he didn’t make that final move. Hell, now he was stuck having to restore himself to decency. He couldn’t shame her by announcing to the world that she made him as randy as an untried boy.
Quickly she found her feet, forcing a small gap between them. He burned to snatch her against him. The bloody agony of it was that he couldn’t. Not here.
This was death by desire.
She glanced down to his rampant cock and bit her lip. Sweet, fugitive color seeped under her skin. “You shouldn’t have started this.” For once, animosity was absent.
A rueful laugh escaped. “I couldn’t help myself.” Nothing less than the truth. “You’re utterly irresistible.” Again the truth.
“Stop it, Ranelaw,” she snapped, her eyes lifting to clash with his.