Why else was she hiding behind a pillar, spying on the guests?
A blush touched her cheeks. “My brother is the bane of my existence. He will not be content until I have to drag his blood-soaked body off the duelling field.”
“And now that he no longer lives in your house, you must resort to traipsing around town to keep him from challenging another poor soul to a dawn appointment.”
The lady arched a brow. “One would hardly consider you a poor soul, my lord.”
“No? Then how would you describe me, Miss Kendall?”
Clearly, the question unnerved her. Her chin trembled, and he could almost hear the war raging in her mind as she fought the urge to lie. She would tell the truth, of course. He knew it the moment she straightened her shoulders.
“A man as rich as Croesus cannot be considered poor. I cannot pity a man possessed of a handsome countenance and an intelligent mind. And with your rigid sense of honour, I can find nothing deficient in your moral character.”
When assessing the worth of anyone’s good opinion, one must examine the motive behind the compliment. Was Miss Kendall merely expressing facts, or had he heard a hint of admiration? He could not tell. Would she think of him tonight during those moments before sleep?
Or was this strange obsession playing tricks with his mind?
The first strains of a waltz drifted through the room, giving him a perfect opportunity to test a theory, to gauge her body’s reaction to him.
“Then as you appear to hold me in such high esteem, Miss Kendall, perhaps you might like to join me on the floor.”
She drew her head back in shock. “You’re asking me to dance?” Biting down on her lip, she glanced back over her shoulder, towards the door. “Forgive me, but I fear I lack the skill necessary to keep up with you.”
Valentine chuckled. “Is this where I pander to your inexperience only to discover you dance with the poise of an angel?”
Miss Kendall stared into his eyes and gave a coy shrug. “My father taught me to dance when I was a girl, though I have never graced a ballroom floor.”
“Then I imagine you’re an expert.” Valentine offered his hand. “Allow me to apologise in advance for my careless footwork.”
“You, careless? You are toying with me again, my lord, just as you were this morning.”
Oh, he was most definitely toying with her, but not in the mocking sense. When in the company of Miss Kendall, he slipped into the role of an amorous flirt.
“I am asking you to dance,” he said, “not elope to Gretna Green. There is no need to look nervous.”
“Under present circumstances, the prospect of running away sounds rather appealing.” The lady placed her gloved hand into his, and he led her onto the floor.
Valentine’s fingers throbbed with the need to touch her, to run his hands over every soft curve. His mind ached to hear her stimulating conversation. Possessed of a ravaging hunger, he longed to devour every aspect of this woman until thoroughly sated.
The first twirl drew a breathless gasp from her lips. As they glided around the floor, it was clear neither had anything to fear. Their steps were smooth, in perfect unison. A wild, vibrant passion for the dance took them to another place, one where every musical note, where every sleek movement satisfied on a level deeper than anything he had experienced before.
He could not tear his gaze away from her parted lips, from the way her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, from the look of wonder swimming in her eyes. In his mind he was making love to her, thrusting deep, pouring everything of himself into her willing body.
For a moment he felt free. Free from the nightmares of the past. Free from the fear that a monster lurked within him, too. Free from the constraints of his position.
The dance ended all too soon, and he resisted the impulse to drop to his knees and beg for another. Instead of using the opportunity to study the workings of the lady’s mind, to determine the language of her body, he had only succeeded in understanding himself a little more.
This lady had a power over him even he could not comprehend. She might be a thief, and it didn’t seem to matter. She wanted nothing from him, and he liked that, too.
Valentine took a moment to glance around the ballroom. All eyes were upon them. Whispers breezed through the crowd, passing from one person to the next like crisp leaves in the wind. And while Portia Durrant and Jonathan Kendall glared at them with the devil’s own eyes, the wolves were gathering. Every rakish lord of the ton edged closer to the dance floor, ready to sink their bared fangs into Miss Kendall’s milky-white flesh.
Panic crushed the air from Valentine’s chest. A primal urge took hold. The urge to mark his territory, stake his claim. For a man usually so composed, so disengaged, such disturbing emotions were new to him.
“I shall return you to your chaperone,” Valentine said, hoping she had the sense to command the companionship of a matron or friend. Her brother lacked the ability to care for himself let alone a woman as alluring as Aveline Kendall.
“Chaperone? I came alone, my lord.”
“Alone!” Had she lost her mind? Clearly, intelligence and wisdom were not the same things. He supposed he should take comfort from the fact most people would assume she came with her brother. As he escorted her from the floor, Valentine leant closer and whispered, “Every rogue in here will be vying for your attention.”