She swallowed. “Yes indeed. Although there seems to be far more of hell here tonight than heaven.”
“A quirk of society, is it not? We adore the wicked and loathe the good. Our host is the perfect example. They say he’s blackened beyond redemption, yet those same hypocrites fall over themselves for an invitation to this very ball.”
“Your choice of mask is very apt,” she laughed. “The word ‘cynic’ derives from the Greek word‘kynikos,’meaning doglike.”
As soon as she’d said it, Heloise wished she’d held her tongue. Such bookish knowledge was sure to betray her. How many other women in the room had an interest in Ancient Greek, for heaven’s sake? She held her breath, expecting exposure, but Raven merely inclined his head.
“It’s not cynical if it’s true. Everyone reads Dante’sInfernoand skips hisParadiso.It’s because paradise is boring. Hell isfarmore interesting.”
A throaty laugh from nearby drew her attention.
“Ah, the divine Lady Brooke,” Raven murmured, following her gaze. “London’s favorite merry widow.”
And your most recent mistress,she added silently. Her heart sank as she studied the voluptuous woman, whose impossibly curvy body seemed to defy the laws of gravity. Heloise glanced down at her own sadly average chest and sighed wistfully. If she’d been born with a body like that in addition to her brains, the world would have been hers for the taking. “A marble statue with those proportions would fall flat on its face,” she muttered darkly.
“Maybe she has enormous feet to act as counterbalance?” Raven offered blandly.
Heloise bit her lip. No doubt he knew the precise dimensions of Lady Brooke’s feet. Along with every other part of her. She cleared her throat and attempted to inject just the right amount of casual speculation into her tone. “Perhaps our mysterious host is her companion. Rumor has it she’s Ravenwood’s latest paramour.”
Raven tilted his head. “Isthatwhat rumor says?”
Heloise shrugged. “She certainly has all the necessary attributes he seems to require in a mistress. Namely, an ample pair of breasts and an inability to speak coherent English.”
He chuckled. “You seem remarkably well informed of Lord Ravenwood’s taste in women.”
Heloise waved her hand in a vague, airy gesture. “Oh, you know how it is. There are no secrets in the ton. Especially when it concerns an eligible bachelor like Lord Ravenwood. His previous mistress was French. And the one before that an Italian opera singer. I suppose only taking up with foreigners saves him from having to exert himself to actuallytalkto them.”
He slanted her a wicked sideways glance. “I’m fairly sure he doesn’t engage them for conversation.”
Heat rushed into her face as her skin prickled with awareness. Raven invariably managed to veer every conversation off onto a distinctly racy tangent. She gave an unconcerned lift of the shoulder and ignored the ache in her chest at the idea of him with another woman. “Well, I expect she’ll be replaced soon enough. Ravenwood seems to be able to snap his fingers and have any woman he wants.”
“Not all of them,” he murmured. “A select few have remained frustratingly elusive.”
Her heart stuttered. He absolutely wasn’t talking about her.
“Still, it’s true Ravenwood’s never had a problem attractingmostwomen,” he continued, as if they were discussing nothing more innocuous than the weather. “Nothing elicits desire in a female more than the promise of a ducal title and an outrageously large”—he paused teasingly—“house.”
Heloise’s mood lightened at his self-deprecating humor.A face like a fallen angel and the body of a Greek god probably don’t hurt, either.She glanced up at the arched ceiling and pretended to admire the soaring architecture. “It’s certainly impressive,” she said, straight-faced. “Very…imposing.”
“Ravenwood would be delighted to hear it. A man never tires of women praising the size of his endowments.”
Heloise bit back an unladylike snort as the quartet in the corner struck up a waltz. Couples began to form on the dance floor and she stiffened in surprise when Raven slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto their midst before she could object.
“Dance with me.”
She shouldn’t. It would only make things worse. She should reveal who she was and tell him about the message. But the crowd pushed them together and her face pressed up against his chest and she made the tactical error of inhaling. Oh Lord, he smelled delicious, like a forest after rain. She placed her hands on his lapels and pushed backward. Raven’s hand slid down her back and came to rest at the very bottom of her spine, scandalously low. Heloise drew in an unsteady breath as his touch burned through the fabric of her dress. They fitted together perfectly.
“I don’t think—”
“Good,” he countered softly. He removed her hand from his chest and repositioned it on his shoulder. “In situations like this thinking is highly overrated.” He captured her other hand, brought it up to shoulder level, and whirled her away into the dance.
Heloise gasped. Such magic. Her body knew the secret, even if it hadn’t informed her brain. The confidence of his steps, the surety of his grip, transferred themselves to her and she was flying over the floor as if they’d done this a thousand times before. Which they had, of course, but only in her fanciful childhood dreams.
Raven splayed the fingers of his left hand and tugged her closer still. The muscles of his arm flexed beneath the fabric of his jacket. Her breasts pressed against the hard contours of his chest and the blood heated in her veins. He was almost a full head taller—her cheek only reached his shoulder—so his size should have been intimidating, but instead she felt oddly protected.
When the music ended they swirled to a giddy stop. Heloise pulled back, breathless as the couples around them began to disband, but instead of releasing her, Raven tightened his grip. She glanced up and his sudden intent stillness made her skin prickle with alarm. She watched, mesmerized, as he slowly tilted his head and lowered his mouth toward hers.
Good Lord, he was going to kiss her! Right here—in the middle of the crowded dance floor!