“I am merely lost in thought.”
“I know the look you wear when you see a woman you want to bed,” his friend replied with a sly grin. “Have you found a new mistress at last?”
He took a long drink of his brandy before replying. “No.”
“By God, man, you have been looking for over a year.”
“No, I simply have not been tempted in over a year.”
“Never say you’ve…” the marquess leaned in as if he could not bear for anyone to overhear what he was about to say. “You’ve not had a woman in over a year?”
“A crime, is it?” Phin said drily.
Then he remembered the far too wicked dream he’d had that night, provoked by a chaste kiss and a pair of fine golden-brown eyes. The dream had been provocative with her sheathed on his cock and slowly riding him, those eyes dark with arousal and want. The front of his breeches tightened embarrassingly, and he shifted to hide his reaction. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest thing to hope she might agree to his proposal. Rather dangerous to have the first woman to tempt his baser urges in months to be so close to him, pretending with touches and kisses.
Would she agree to be his lover for the duration of their ruse? Phineas didn’t think so. There had been something sweet and artless about her and her outrage at the thought he might attempt to seduce her. How refreshing it had been that he had not seen that glint of calculation in her eyes. She had not sized him up, seeing his wealth and title or a potential husband to trap. He had seen some attraction and even concern for his grandmother.
And he had thought her lovely.
He would damn well be professional about the whole matter if she should agree.
It would be a business deal, nothing more and nothing less.
“She is rather plain, isn’t she?” Thomas said, after accurately sourcing the subject of Phin’s regard. “Though she is rather shapely in the way she is curved.”
“You’ve proven once more that unless a woman is draped in pretty dresses and diamonds, you are not able to see her true beauty. Miss Harrington is remarkably pretty.”
“Ah, Miss Harrington, is it?” Thomas drawled. “And who is she to you.”
“A friend,” he simply replied. “If you will excuse me, Thomas, I will catch up with you later at the club.”
“I thought we were to leave now.”
“I have a bit of dancing to do first,” he said with a measure of amusement, imagining how society would react to that.
Thomas gawped. “Good God, man, you’ve not taken to the dance floor in at least two, or it might be three seasons. You know what this will signal, don’t you?”
Lifting his glass to his friend in a silent toast, Phineas made his way from the upper bowers down the curving staircase to the overcrowded ballroom. Of course, he knew what it would signal. Somehow, dancing was perceived as a fundamental part of courtship or a man communicating his interest in pursuing marriage. Rubbish, of course. There had been a time he enjoyed dancing, simply for the fun of engaging with a pretty lady with light flirtations and conversation. It had grown tedious after he had been constantly pressured to send flowers to every lady the following day by his nanna and mother, or even the lady herself later seeing him and staring at him with grand expectations.
A dance had transformed into a courting ritual, and he had stayed away. What tugged him to her now had been that loneliness on her face and the wistful smile as she stared at the other dancers. Phineas first found Lord Arlington and begged him to introduce Miss Harrington. They went over to her, and he studied how her lips parted with her surprise and those eyes so much like whisky widened.
“Lord Wyndham, allow me to present to you Miss Harrington,” the marquess said, his eyes alive with inquisitiveness.
Her cheeks blushed a lovely pink, and she dropped into a curtsy. “My lord,” she murmured. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He saw a few ladies walking in her direction pause and exchange delighted glances. Ignoring all of those inane reactions, he said, “Would you give me the honor of dancing with me in the upcoming set, Miss Harrington?”
She stared at him as if she were simply at a loss for words. Phineas cleared his throat, and she lifted her chin.
“Yes, I would be honored to, my lord.”
Tonight, she was garbed in a simple high-waisted, pale-blue gown, trimmed with a few rows of lace at the hem and her decolletage. The gown was rather plain, but it flattered her figure and revealed her sensual curves. Her dark hair with its golden highlights had been caught up in a riot of curls, and a simple flower he suspected she plucked from outside was tucked artfully between the strands. Miss Harrington wouldn’t be considered a diamond, but she was remarkably pretty, and there was a decidedly odd hitch in his heart whenever their gazes collided.
Luckily the next set was announced, for it would not do for him to stare at her with such unabashed contemplation. He led her to the floor, and the orchestra’s bows leaped into life, playing the sensual waltz. An irresistible lovely smile burst on her lips, and she swung herself into the rousing dance with vigor and elegance.
“I do not dance often, my lord, thank you,” she said with a smile, as their elbows slid against each other, and then they twirled around and glided in a circle to come back around face to face.
The moves were intricate…a sensual tease he had always thought, but this was the first time dancing with a partner that had ever stirred his senses so.