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He held her gaze, let a heartbeat pass, then slowly raised one brow. “Oh?”

She looked away, inwardly berating herself. She knew better than to fling gauntlets his way.

Predictably, he picked hers up.

She’d thought she would be reasonably safe at the table—the numbers had reduced so they weren’t sitting overly close—but she quickly learned that he didn’t need to physically touch her to affect her.

All he needed to do was fix his gaze on her mouth as she supped her soup, or as she closed her lips about a delicate fish dumpling; how he could communicate lascivious thoughts with just a glance from his dark eyes she didn’t know, but he could.

She sat back, cleared her throat, reached for her wineglass. Took a sip, felt his gaze on her lips, then felt it lower as she swallowed…as if he were tracking the liquid as it slid down her throat, traveled down inside her chest…

Desperate, she turned to the gentleman—Gordon Varisey—sitting on her other side, but he was engrossed in a discussion with Susannah. Across the table, Caroline, Lady Courtney, was more interested in making eyes at Phillip Debraigh than in distracting her host.

“Is my ploy working yet?”

The soft, taunting words slipped past her ear like a caress; turning to face Royce as he sat back in his chair, wineglass in hand, she fought to quell a reactive shiver, and didn’t entirely succeed.

Her only consolation was that no one else seemed to have noticed the subtle battle being waged at the head of the table. That being so…she narrowed her eyes on his, succinctly stated, “Go to the devil.”

His lips curved in an entirely genuine—devastatingly attractive—smile. His gaze locked with hers, he raised his wineglass, sipped. “I expect I will.”

She looked away; she didn’t need to see the sheen of red wine on the mobile lips she’d spent a good portion of her girlhood dreaming about. She reached for her wineglass.

Just as he added, “If nothing else for what I’m imagining doing to you.”

Her fingers missed the glass bowl, bobbled the long stem; the wineglass tipped—He caught it, his left hand reaching over hers, then curling over it as he presse

d the stem into her all but nerveless fingers.

His hand rested, hard and strong, over hers, until she gripped the glass, then he withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers stroking over her hand and knuckles.

Her lungs had seized long ago.

He shifted, using the movement to lean closer and murmur, “Breathe, Minerva.”

She did, hauling in a huge breath—refusing to notice that as he sat back, his gaze lowered to her breasts, half exposed by her evening gown.

She was ready to do murder by the time the meal ended. Rising with the other ladies, she followed Margaret to the drawing room.

Royce wasn’t going to let her be. She’d been chased by gentlemen—even noblemen—before; any man but he and she would have simply stood her ground, confident of her ability to trump whatever move he made, but she knew her limits. She needed to escape while she could. He would lead the gentlemen back to rejoin the ladies all too soon.

Reaching the drawing room, the ladies filed in; she paused just inside the door, waiting until the others settled. She’d speak with Margaret, then—

“There you are.” Susannah slipped her arm through hers and drew her toward the side of the room. “I wanted to ask”—Susannah leaned close—“whether you have any idea which lady Royce is corresponding with?”

She frowned. “Corresponding?”

“He said he’d make an announcement once the lady he’d chosen agreed.” Halting, Susannah fixed her eyes—a lighter brown than her brother’s—on Minerva’s face. “So I presume he’s asking her, and as she’s not here, I assume he must have written to her.”

“Ah, I see. I haven’t seen him write any letter, but then he uses Handley for most of his correspondence, so I wouldn’t necessarily know.” Much to her relief, especially in this matter.

“Handley?” Susannah tapped her lips with one fingertip, then slanted a glance Minerva’s way. “I haven’t met him, but perhaps he might be persuaded to divulge what he knows?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t bother trying. Aside from all else, he’ll tell Royce.” She hesitated, then added, “In fact, all Royce’s personal staff are utterly devoted. You won’t find any who’ll discuss his private affairs.”

Including her.

Susannah sighed. “I suppose we’ll learn the truth soon enough.”


Tags: Stephanie Laurens Bastion Club Historical