“In Surrey you called me Nicholas.”
“I’ll call you lots of things before I’m done,” she said sharply. “Take me back to the chaperones. You’ve made your point.”
“What point is that, I wonder?”
Her lips flattened in disapproval and she glanced around the room again. Avid eyes fixed on them and derisive titters rose above the music. “That I’m completely susceptible to your machinations.”
He frowned, firming his grip on her waist as he swung her around and around. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” She lifted her chin with a pride that triggered the now familiar ache in his chest.
To his piercing regret, the waltz drew to a close. He’d managed to restore some control to his unruly body. The music’s coda heralded the end of touching her. For tonight at least. Pussyfooting around social conventions was a bloody nuisance. He couldn’t hope to get away with another dance. Even one was dangerous.
“I want you to myself.” Much as he strove to sound the assured man of the world, ragged emotion edged the words. Every moment she moved so beautifully in his arms made him ache to get her alone. His hand trailed down her back in a surreptitious caress.
“Ranelaw . . .”
She paused and swallowed and for one searing instant, her hand clenched on his as if she too regretted parting. Her voice was so low, he had to bend to hear. Another drift of that clean, fiendishly enticing scent filled his head. He was sober as a judge, yet he felt drunk on finest brandy.
She spoke with difficulty. “Nicholas, we had . . . we had our occasion. I can’t . . . I can’t be sorry. But it can’t be repeated.”
“I refuse to accept that.”
“You could so easily destroy me.” Antonia’s stare was a burning brand. “If anyone discovered what we did in Surrey, I’d be on the streets.”
“You wouldn’t be on the streets,” he said in a harsh voice. “You’d be in my bed.”
“For how long?” she asked dully.
Something in him wanted to insist he wouldn’t use then discard her the way he used and discarded every woman he seduced. Innate honesty stifled easy promises.
She didn’t wait for his answer. “I can only appeal to your black heart. Please, if you possess an ounce of goodness, leave me alone. Leave Cassie alone.?
?
Shame stirred in his gut. He hated it. And he hated Antonia Smith for making him acknowledge the bottomless abyss of selfishness within him.
Even hating her, he couldn’t let her go.
“I can’t leave you alone.” He whirled her around for the waltz’s last few bars, loathing that within seconds, he must release her.
“Please . . .”
Antonia Smith was a woman born to command, not to plead. Another sour punch of shame in his gut. She’d consign him to the lowest corner of Hades before they were done.
“You should save your scolding for a better man,” he said with genuine regret.
Her lips turned down in cynical disapproval. Even under the hideous disguise, she looked like an angry goddess. “It’s easy to be a better man, Nicholas. You just decide to do the right thing.”
As the music descended to its final cadence, he burned to argue with her uncompromising statement. Instead he remained silent. She’d stared unflinching into his heart, and the barrenness there aroused only her contempt.
The waltz ended and Ranelaw released Antonia with a reluctance she felt in her blood. She hoped his lingering withdrawal wasn’t as obvious to their audience. The room still buzzed with sniggering curiosity. All attention focused on Ranelaw and his drab partner.
Ranelaw extended his arm with a sardonic smile. Antonia curled her fingers around his elbow and raised her chin to hide her turmoil. What choice had she but to pass this off in high style? If she displayed embarrassment, the ton’s cats would shred her.
After ten unexceptional years, every move in the last few weeks set her teetering on the brink of disaster. The abrupt change left her giddy.
To her surprise and relief, Ranelaw didn’t return her to the duennas but escorted her to Cassie and her friends. She wondered what Cassie made of Antonia dancing with Ranelaw. She wondered what Cassie made of Antonia dancing at all.