"Of course." She slipped her hand into the crook of Lord Albery's arm.
Kiernan extended his arm to Phoebe. She accepted and he led her to the dance floor. He pulled her closer than was acceptable and she kept her gaze level with his chest as he stepped into the music in perfect time. Her heart stuttered when his muscled legs pressed against her thighs with each subtle direction to the music. A tremor in her stomach weakened her knees and she knew an instant of fear that she would stumble.
"You look lovely," he said.
"Thank you, my lord."
"No, that's not right," he said.
Phoebe snapped her head up to meet his gaze.
"Lovely is for your aunt." His blue eyes bore into her. "You are beautiful."
Damn him, he truly was the Devil—and knew it. "If you keep looking at me like that, your father will take you over his knee," she said.
He grimaced. "You're right. He's liable to hire a chaperone as I suggested."
"Chaperone?" Phoebe saw her efforts at spying going up in smoke. "By heavens, Ashlund, what have you done?"
He grinned. "I like it when you say my name like that."
She rolled her eyes. "Good Lord."
His arm tightened around her waist and he maneuvered into a turn. Her breasts pressed against his chest and she recalled the duchess' suggestion that she try out the goods. A picture flashed of her bare breasts pressed against his naked chest and her nipples hardened to stony points. The room spun. Phoebe buried her face his chest and held on for dear life. His hold tightened—if that was possible—and she detected the bulge pressing into her hip.
"Damnation, Phoebe, you've done me in."
"What?" she began, but found herself whirled away from the other dancers and being hurried through the open balcony doors. Cool air washed over her and snapped her mind to attention. "We're on the balcony," she said.
He halted at the railing that faced the gardens. Phoebe glanced back toward the ballroom. People standing near the door yanked their eyes away from her direct gaze.
"What have you done?" she demanded.
Elbows on the railing, Kiernan leaned forward, staring out into the gardens. "Unless you want that chaperone, I suggest you don't hug me like that again—in public."
"What?" She recalled his thick erection pressed against her. "Oh."
His head shifted in her direction. "Oh?"
"When you made the turn, it made me a bit dizzy."
He studied her. "Did it now?"
"You have a healthy ego, Ashlund."
"I still like the way you say my name."
She shot him a reproving look. Her head had cleared and she was feeling more herself, more the way she needed to feel in order to deal with this man. A man, she suddenly remembered, who was using every underhanded piece of weaponry in his arsenal.
"I assume you saw the article in the Satirist?" she asked.
He nodded. "I did, and I'm sorry. I know you'd hoped to avoid a scandal."
"I should have been able to avoid a scandal."
"That is seldom the way such matters work," he said.
"Especially when the prospective groom is involved."
His brow furrowed. "You think I informed the Satirist of our escapade?"
"I think it's a very convenient happenstance for you."
"Not especially."
"No?" she said. "A scandal practically ensures I must marry you."
"Practically?" he said.
"Ah ha!" she exclaimed. "You did do it."
"No. I didn't."
"Why should I believe you?"
He straightened. "Because I've never lied to you."
Was about Alan Hay and his band? Had Kiernan truly never lied to her?
"I didn't give the story to the paper," he said with finality.
"I didn't give you leave to read my mind, sir." He hadn't exactly, but he was closer than she liked. "Why should I believe you?"
A corner of his mouth twitched. "I don't need a scandal. You're going to marry me anyway."
She threw her hands in the air. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told. He straightened from the wall. "I suppose we should rejoin the party." He extended his elbow and she laid her hand in the crook of his arm. "I like that as well," he said.
And Phoebe was startled to realize that she liked it too.
The music ended and Phoebe thanked Lord Phillips for the dance as she noted that Kiernan and his father were stepping from the ballroom into a hallway. With the party in full swing and the men gone, now was her chance to look around. Lord Phillips offered his arm and she allowed him to escort her off the dance floor.
"It's intolerably hot," she said. "Don't you think?"
"Indeed, I do," he replied. "Would you like some refreshment?"