But he enjoyed sparring with her and glimpsing her fire. One lacking in every other miss in attendance tonight. He couldn’t help himself and drawled with amusement, “I hear you think I’m an Adonis.”
Her eyes widened in a beat of unguarded embarrassment. Then she effortlessly recovered and coolly took a sip of champagne, with only a faint pinking of her cheeks showing any trace of her self-consciousness. “Once again the gossips have the story completely wrong.”
He arched an amused brow. “So you think I’m Venus?”
That sent her into a seething pique. She exhaled a hard breath. “I think you’re the most arrogant, frustrating man who—”
“You look beautiful tonight,” he interrupted.
Her eyes flared. “Ha! You’re only saying that because—”
“Because I think you look beautiful,” he repeated quietly. He’d never uttered a more honest statement in his life.
She froze, for a moment speechless as she stared at him. Yet she refused to thank him, as if knowing he hadn’t meant it as a compliment. And he hadn’t. Tonight, her beauty was his curse.
“And so does every man in this room.” Every last one she’d been so torturously gracing all evening with her brilliant smiles and lilting laughs, with her elegant dancing and witty conversation—except him. Even now, the openly interested stares of the gentlemen standing nearby proved him right. They wanted her.
And God help him, so did he.
“Be careful, Mariah.” He felt a dark urge to warn her about the men circling her tonight, like wolves hunting prey. The same warning that applied to himself, as well. “Gentlemen of the ton are used to getting whatever they want simply because of who they are.”
She sighed impatiently. “Of course they—”
“And what they want,” he murmured, his voice far huskier than he intended in its certainty, “is you.”
Her lips parted delicately as she stared at him, as if she couldn’t believe his audacity to assert such a thing. But thankfully, she didn’t slap him for it. Nor did she did turn away, standing perfectly still except for the increased rhythm of her breathing as it grew shallow and fast, her eyes locked with his.
Then she slowly took a long sip of champagne, doing her best to appear as if his words hadn’t flustered her, but she couldn’t hide the pinking in her cheeks or the shaking of her hand as she raised the flute to her mouth. When she lowered the drink away, finally having collected herself enough to reply, she assured him, “Then they’ll be very disappointed to discover they can’t have what they want.”
He was certain she’d tried for haughty contempt, but her voice emerged as a throaty purr, one that made her impossibly more alluring despite the flicker of ire in her eyes.
“I don’t need any of your warnings, Robert. Tonight, I am behaving exactly as everyone wants me to behave.” Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute. “I’m pleasing your mother by dancing with dukes and engaging in the most boring conversations with matrons about afternoon teas and rose gardens. I’m pleasing my father by encouraging gentlemen to call on me, while simultaneously keeping my sister out of trouble with Burton Williams.”
Her words were calm, but she ticked off each point with a frustrated tap of her fingertip against her glass.
“And I’m doing it all with a smile on my face, because until five minutes ago I was also enjoying myself. I’m pleasing everyone tonight.” Her brow lifted with that look of practiced disdain that aggravated the daylights out of him. “Except you. But then, nothing short of my eloping to Scotland would please you.”
Unwittingly punctuating her words, the orchestra struck up the first notes for the next dance with a loud flourish that sent a ripple of excitement through the room. A waltz.
She turned to walk away, but he took her elbow and stopped her. He felt the tension flash through her like lightning, all of her stiffening with a sharp inhalation. She trembled beneath his hand, and that soft tremor shivered through his fingers, down his arm, and into him, like a ribbon twining heatedly through both of them.
“If you want to please me,” he told her quietly as the crowd began to shift and couples moved toward the dance floor, the music swirling around them like a swift current, “then dance with me.”
She gaped over her shoulder at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Pardon?”
“Give me the pleasure of your company tonight,” he ordered enticingly. He stole a caress down her arm and felt her pulse spike beneath his fingertips at her wrist as he repeated in a low drawl, “Dance with me, Mariah.”
She hesitated, with a look of uncertain longing clouding her face. His lips curved into the start of a pleased smile, knowing she was on the verge of capitulating.
But pride got the better of the obstinate hellcat, and she gave a tight shake of her head. “I don’t want to dance with you.”
He clenched his jaw against the mounting frustration. Oh no. The little minx wasn’t going to succeed in refusing him so easily. Not tonight. Not when he ached to have her close.
Knowing she couldn’t resist a challenge, he lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured, “What’s stopping you, Mariah?” The spicy scent of oranges and cinnamon intoxicated him, pulling straight through him until his gut tightened into a knot of desire. Until it was far more than dancing that he wanted to do with her. “Afraid you might enjoy being in my arms?”
Her eyes flashed with an angry intensity. “Are you still afraid of getting burned?” she threw back.
He snapped up straight at her unexpected accusation. “Burned?” he repeated, puzzled. “What do you—”
Christ.
The realization struck him as forcefully as if she’d slapped him. Her words echoed inside him, the same ones he’d used against her at the school when she’d gotten too close. When his attraction for her had gone beyond the merely physical and was becoming so great that he’d desperately needed a reminder of who she was and the threat she posed.
His chest sank with leaden remorse as he watched the hurt dance like green flames in her eyes, the defensive lift of her chin in an attempt to replace the pain with pride. She’d opened her heart to him, sharing with him her love for the children of St Katharine’s and her worry about her sister, only for him to callously shatter that tender trust. And the way she’d let him kiss her, trusting him enough to bare herself to his eyes and mouth—
No wonder she’d showered him with cold water. When she’d been at her most vulnerable, he was a thoughtless cad.
“I was wrong to think that and an arse to say it,” he admitted with chagrin. Shifting as close as propriety allowed, he felt her soften at his apology. “It’s the other men who can’t tolerate the heat of you, who aren’t up to the challenge. Who aren’t man enough to handle a woman like you.” He paused, then admitted hoarsely, “You know the effect you have on me. I can’t think straight when you’re near.”
She caught her breath in surprise, but he couldn’t deny it. She drove him out of his right mind, until he didn’t know what to think or say. For God’s sake, he wanted nothing more whenever he was alone with her than to fall into a verbal sparring match, then pull her into his arms and kiss over every inch of her. And to his utter bewilderment, she was the only woman he’d ever met who gave him hope that he, too, could eventually overcome the death of a parent.
Even now he was unable to keep from touching her and dared to caress his hand against the small of her back. “I crave your fire, Mariah.”
She swallowed. Sudden nervousness spread over her and mixed with the alluring vulnerability that drew him so strongly. Yet she managed to reply acerbically, “And risk a second dousing?”