She lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. “She was kind to Georgiana.”
Understanding lit in his eyes. “And so Anna rewards her.”
She smiled. “There are times when it is useful to be two people.”
“I can see how that might be true,” he said.
“I don’t need a caretaker, you know,” she said, the words soft enough that only he could hear them.
“No, but apparently you needed someone to tell you when to stop drinking.”
She cut him a look. “If you hadn’t made me nervous, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Ah, so it was because of me.” He smiled, full of pride, and it occurred to her that to the rest of those assembled on the balcony, their conversation seemed perfectly ordinary.
“Of course it was. You and your ‘I am in control.’ It’s unsettling.”
He grew very serious. “It shouldn’t be.”
She took a deep breath. “Well, it is.”
“Are you unsettled now?”
“Yes.”
He smiled, looking down at her hands. “I am disappointed in you. I would have thought you’d have been utterly prepared for this situation.”
Because of Anna. He thought her a prostitute. Experienced in all matters of the flesh. Except she wasn’t. And as if their arrangement weren’t nerve-wracking enough, the idea that he would discover her lie—her truth—was thoroughly disquieting.
“I am usually the one in control,” she said. It was not a lie.
He looked over her shoulder to confirm that the others on the balcony were far enough away not to hear their conversation.
“And tell me, do you like it? Being in control?”
She’d made a life of it. “I do.”
“Does it pleasure you?” The question was low and dark.
“It does.”
His lips twitched into a smile, there, then gone. “I don’t think so.”
She didn’t like the way he seemed to know her. The way the words rang true—more true than anyone had ever noticed. Than she had ever admitted.
She didn’t like the way he took control for himself, smooth and nearly imperceptibly, until she was bound in his dark voice and his broad shoulders and his tempting gaze. She wanted him, and there was only one way she could have him now, here. “Dance with me,” she whispered.
He did not move. “I told you, dancing with me will not help your cause.”
She looked into his eyes. “I don’t care. I am unclaimed for this dance.”
He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how.”
The admission revealed more than she would have expected. He did not know how to dance. Which meant he was not born a gentleman. He was born something else. Something harder. Something baser. Something that had required work to conquer. To leave behind.
Something much more interesting.
“I could teach you,” she said.
He raised a brow. “I’d rather you teach me other things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as where you like to be kissed.”
She smiled. “Be careful, or I shall think you are trying to turn my head.”
“I’ve already turned your head.”
It was true, and she couldn’t stop herself from going serious at the words. At the hint of sadness that coursed through her at them. At the feeling that he was right, and she was ruined in more ways than she was willing to admit. She hid the thoughts with her best flirt. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and she wondered what he was thinking before he said, “Langley?”
She did not misunderstand. He asked how things proceeded with the viscount. “He likes me,” she said, wishing he hadn’t returned them to the present. To reality.
“That will make it easier for me. The columns will speed the courtship.”
If only she wanted that. She was silent.
He continued. “It’s a sound title. Clean. And he’s a sound man.”
“He is. Clever and charming. Poor, but there is no shame in it.”
“You would change that for him.”
“So I would.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “He’s infinitely better than me.”
“Why do you say that?” The question came like steel. Without quarter.
She took a breath. Let it out. “May I tell you the truth?” she asked, realizing that she must be in her cups to offer him the truth. She dealt too often in lies.
“I wish you would,” he said, and she thought perhaps he referred to more than this moment. This place.
Guilt flared, all too familiar that evening. “I only wish her to be happy.”
He knew she spoke of Caroline. “Ah. Something far more difficult than well married.”
“I’m not certain it is possible, honestly, but respectability will give her the widest opportunity for happiness . . . whatever that means.”
He was watching her. She could feel his dark gaze on her. Knew that he was going to ask her something more than what she was willing to share. Still, his question shocked her. “What happened? To bring you Caroline?”