“And how would you know my face is flushed?” Jack pressed a hand to the small of her back. The delicious pressure reminded her of the danger behind having him so near, yet she didn’t have the heart to pull away, not yet at least.
With a sigh she turned and faced him. “It’s really quite simple. I was imagining all the ways I could strangle you with my bed sheets, and, unfortunately, I knew if I didn’t at least measure your neck with my hands I’d tie the knots all wrong, and then where would we be?”
“Alive.” His eyes widened in horror. “Dear God, was setting me on fire not enough for your sick amusement?”
She was barely able to hold her laughter in. “Oh, Jack.” She brushed off his right shoulder. “Still upset about getting soot on your favorite waistcoat? You do realize you could have jumped in the pond.”
His eyes narrowed. “It was frozen.”
“Was it?”
“Yes, as you damned well know since you pushed me into it shortly after you set me on fire.”
“You’ll forgive me if the memory’s fuzzy, I was quite traumatized. Gracious, I nearly swooned when you started screaming like a little girl.”
“I did not.” He raised his voice, then pinched his nose and seemed to count out loud to three. “I merely yelled.”
“Shocking, that you’re still able to speak after all that…” She paused adding with a menacing smile. “…yelling.”
“And to think.” Jack tilted his head, his icy blue eyes flashing. “I walked all this distance to offer up a truce.”
She peered around him. “My, my, you must be parched. What is it? Thirty paces from the second potted plant you were seducing with your drunken banter?”
“Yes.” Jack nodded, stealing the cider directly from her outstretched hand. “Parched.” He tossed it back and then placed the empty cup back into her fingers. “Be a dear and serve me another?”
She scowled into the cup. “I’m not a maid.”
“Pity.” He grinned wolfishly. “I imagine the best thing for you would be a little discipline…”
“Oh?” Warmth spread across her chest before she could stop it. He would not get the best of her, not this time. “And you think you’re just the man to carry out such a task?”
“Is that a challenge?” he whispered, nearly brushing his body against hers as she took a few steps backward only to note that a wall was keeping her from a safe escape. “I do so love those.”
“Yes, I’m sure all of London is aware of your little bets about raindrops and horses.”
“One time.” He rolled his eyes. “And I was foxed. You can hardly blame me for betting on such nonsensical things while in my cups.”
“You do many nonsensical things when you are in your cups. I’m shocked you’re able to function at all.”
“God, you make a man want to drink, Sara.”
She let out a little gasp. “Cease from using my name in public.”
“What about in private?” He smelled like cider and burnt wood, the good kind, the kind that made her feel warmer than necessary as he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “What may I call you then?”
“Your seduction is completely wasted on me, Jack.”
“Another challenge?”
“Truth.” She nodded, though her body begged her to arch into him. “I refuse to make the same mistake twice.”
He pulled back and frowned, as if confused.”I don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t.” She needed to escape. Fast. Without a second glance, she sidestepped him and disappeared into the crowd.
CHAPTER THREE
JACK’S FROWN STAYED FROZEN on his face throughout the waltz and even into the quadrille. Well over fifty guests were attending the Christmas Eve ball. Many, available young girls with their hearts set on a holiday romance.
Typically, he’d set about giving them their hearts’ desires. Never let it be said that Jack Mayford didn’t spread himself around in order to offer up holiday cheer.
But this Christmas felt different.
He was different.
Twisted up inside, as if with his merely exchanging a few words with Sara, she’d managed to find all the most important parts of him and twist them around until he was nothing but a confused knot of fury.
What the devil did she mean? Twice?
As if she’d given him a chance once?
Hah! The mere idea was laughable! He’d kissed her three years ago, proclaimed his undying love and affection, only to have the little chit march right out of his life for good.
It had been a Christmas ball in the country, not as extravagant as the one he was currently attending, but still.
Who needed extravagance when one looked the way Sara did?
He smiled at the memory then scowled as his muddled head reminded him that she was the enemy.
Foe, not friend. Never friend.
His chest ached.
Again.
And the memory, the one he’d tried so desperately to push back into the furthest recess of his mind, sprang forth, leaving him completely defenseless.
“Sara.” He whispered her name reverently as she twirled over and over again with one of his brothers. She had just turned seventeen.