Perhaps she could take advantage of this encounter to speak more plainly than she could in a crowded ballroom. “I want you to leave Cassandra alone.”
He prowled forward, his movements smooth and lethal as the panther she’d compared him to earlier. The uncertain light from inside revealed that he wasn’t smiling and that his gaze remained intent upon her.
Another frisson of awareness rippled through her. Thank heaven she was so far below his touch, in both rank and beauty. If he leveled those glinting eyes on her with any purpose other than subverting her duty, she’d be lost.
“Why should I care about your wishes, Miss Smith?”
Antonia spread her hands and decided on honesty. “Cassandra’s too good for you.”
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw him more clearly than she wanted. A ghost of a smile flickered. “She has better manners than her chaperone, I’ll give her that.”
“Let her find some decent young man to make her happy.”
“Bore her stiff, you mean?”
“Decency isn’t necessarily boring.”
“Haven’t you found it so?”
Without making any overt move, he was far too close. Looming above her so his head blocked the stars. The faint illumination from inside cast a sheen across his gold hair as if even the candlelight couldn’t resist touching him.
Despair engulfed Antonia as her gaze clung hungrily to his lean, rangy body. It was wrong, wrong, wrong that he was so beautiful. It was wrong that she was so susceptible to his beauty. Beauty was an accident, a random arrangement of muscle and bone and coloring. It shouldn’t have this power to cut to her heart.
“What . . . what are you doing?” she asked nervously, abandoning her pretense at bravery. She backed away, to find herself trapped against the balustrade.
“Proving your expectations correct, of course,” he murmured, bending nearer.
Curse that deep, musical voice. It always made her senses vibrate, even in a packed room. Here where there was only night and silence, that rich voice was as alluring as treasure to a miser.
His scent teased her nostrils. Soap. Healthy male. He should smell like fire and brimstone. Instead he smelled like everything clean and good. She resisted the urge to draw that delicious scent deep into her lungs. Good Lord, she was in enough trouble.
Although the movement brought them closer, Antonia straightened to full height. Once, she’d been a pliant reed in a rake’s clutches. Never again. She was twenty-seven, not seventeen. She might imagine the air quivered with sensual awareness,
but in truth, Ranelaw set out to manipulate her. Unless she demonstrated some backbone, he’d succeed, damn him.
She forced disdain into her voice. Miss Smith’s voice, not Lady Antonia Hilliard’s. “Come, Lord Ranelaw! If the gossips catch you flirting with an ape leader like me, your reputation will never recover. Let’s take the lukewarm seduction as read and move on to discouraging your attentions to Miss Demarest.”
Another soft laugh. “Miss Smith, you misjudge yourself—and my powers of observation.”
Icy fear pierced the haze of attraction. She’d become so used to people taking her for granted, it hadn’t occurred that a particularly perceptive pair of eyes might penetrate her disguise.
Don’t be ridiculous, Antonia. Nobody’s questioned your identity in ten years. This louche scoundrel is trying to frighten you into giving him access to Cassandra.
“Does crass flattery often gain your way?” Her voice was sharp. “I’m disappointed. I’d expected better.”
He stroked her cheek. Inside he’d worn gloves. Somewhere since he’d taken them off. “Oh, I rarely disappoint.”
The shock of his bare skin on hers made her jerk away. She drew a shaky breath, then regretted it when Ranelaw’s scent flooded her senses.
Good God, the man was a walking honeypot. No wonder he was so confident of his appeal. Even an old spinster like her longed to explore that hard chest, measure those broad shoulders, test the heat radiating from his long body.
“Do you imagine some unconvincing interest will magically dissolve my objections to your courtship? You overestimate your charms and underestimate my good sense.”
“Never.” He tapped her cheek softly as if in reproof. “And why should you find my interest unconvincing? On my honor, it’s meant sincerely.”
Her breath hitched at the casual caress, although it was over in an instant. She struggled for her usual barbed response to importunate gentlemen. Not that she’d dealt with many in the last ten years.
“Such an oath confirms your falsehood. You must be desperate for Cassandra or you’d scarcely waste time on such a fright as her chaperone.”