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He executed a curt bow. “Forgive my rudeness. Indeed, you did not deserve my vulgarity, and there is no excuse for my behavior.” The intensity in his voice made her shiver. He stepped closer. “I am Lucan Wynwood.”
She waited for him to add his titles. He didn’t. Which vaguely surprised her. He did not act like the other men of her acquaintance, titled and privileged, all of whom would have emphasized their exalted rank.
She nodded in response to his apology, her heart pounding even harder. That had hardly been a formal introduction. By all rights, she should run from him, from this secluded place, and this entirely forbidden conversation. But her feet refused to move.
Her name sprang to the tip of her tongue, but she could not bring herself to reveal it. He may have heard the rumors. Right now, he was not looking at her with the same contempt in his eyes as did everyone else, and she did not wish to field such a look from him. Nor did she want the look of contempt to shift to not-so-subtly undressing her with his eyes, as some men had been bold enough to do, invariably followed by inappropriate suggestions. Despite his initial rudeness, Mondvale did seem genuinely contrite.
So she used one of her middle names and chose one of her brother’s lesser titles as her surname. She told him, “I am Miss Desiree Hastings,” and sent a swift prayer to the heavens to forgive her deceit.
At least now she should be able to have a normal conversation, not filled with innuendoes and veiled criticism. She desperately yearned for such normalcy, if only for a stolen moment.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hastings. Would you like me to escort you back to the ballroom?” As if he realized what he suggested, he laughed lightly, and she was charmed. “Or perhaps, just to the terrace steps?”
She backed away and turned to wander deeper into the conservatory, toward a table and chair that sat in a brick-paved alcove. “I thank you, but I am most happy to remain here.”
He prowled after her. “I would be remiss if I did not point out how precarious it is for your reputation, to be alone with me.”
She glanced back at him. “It is very sweet of you to be worried about me, but I assure you it is unnecessary.”
He seemed nonplussed as he stared after her, and she wondered what she had said.
“Sweet?” he queried.
She nodded. “Quite.”
He smiled faintly in the moonlight, drawing her gaze to the sensual slant of his lips. “You do not consider it reckless to be alone with me?”
Tension crackled in the air between them. “You could always leave,” she pointed out, while hoping he would stay.
Surprise flared in his gaze, and then wariness. He radiated such power he should have been intimidating, but she felt inexplicably safe with him.
“I was here first, but I will be a gentleman and depart.” He tilted his head and made to leave.
Loneliness washed over her. She didn’t want him to go. A waltz filtered on the air, and the words escaped before she could stop them, shocking even herself. “Or perhaps we could dance?”
He froze, then with infinite slowness spun back to her.
She held her breath, fearing and hoping he would say yes. A loud roaring sounded in her ears, but she did not break his gaze. She was being inexcusably reckless, but she wanted to feel something instead of hopelessness, however fleetingly.
A frown chased his features. “You would like to dance?”
“Yes.”
She moved closer to him, halted a few steps away, and cleared her throat of the ball of nerves that had lodged there.
He looked down on her, his face neutral, but she sensed he was struggling to decide whether or not to leave. That intrigued her. According to all the hushed whispers that circulated the ballroom, he should have been taking ruthless advantage of her virtue. But the Lord of Sin had not even tried to steal so much as a kiss.
It struck her suddenly…perhaps he did not find her appealing? Horror burned through her whole body at the notion. She could only blame her momentary idiocy on the three glasses of champagne she had consumed earlier to bolster her nerves.
She opened her mouth to apologize for being forward, poised to flee his presence.
He reached out and pulled her to him, melting her words in a soft gasp.
She shivered as a shattering sense of awareness surged though her. Of his height, his strength…his delicious scent.
“I would be delighted to dance with you, Miss Hastings.”
“Thank you,” she murmured as he swept her into the waltz. Pleasure suffused her. She had not danced in months, and she loved to dance.
She wanted to question why he had accepted her brazen offer. He must think her incredibly forward. But instead, she relaxed, feeling secure in her anonymity. She had already decided she would not venture out again after tonight’s farce. She would not abide society’s disdain any further, but would insist on returning to Dorset, or to Norfolk, to visit Sebastian and Jocelyn at Sherring Cross.
Therefore, she would make the most of this midnight fantasy, dancing with the Lord of Sin, and hold the memory close, until she felt brave enough to venture into society again.
He twirled her with authority and a surety of steps. He was a graceful dancer, a strong partner, and she felt free as she soared with him. She held his gaze, a smile bursting on her lips. The entire situation was dreamlike—dancing with the Duke of Mondvale as though everything were normal in her life, and he an interested gentleman suitor.
She suddenly wished she had not lied about who she was. Would he have reacted the same way if he knew her to be the infamous Lady Constance, the Beautiful Bastard? She couldn’t help wonder if he was aware of the rumors, and if he would have stayed in the conservatory with her had he known. Let alone dance with her…
She forcefully p
ushed such thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the joy of waltzing. As they twirled, they spun into a pocket of shadows, which coiled around them, cocooning them intimately. The moonlight glanced off the sharp angles of his face, and she could clearly see the dark glitter in his eyes as he gazed down at her. Above them, the night sky shimmered with thousands of stars, and the smell of roses and jasmine perfumed the air. The entire moment was magical, surreal.
When the last strains of the violin filtered through the air, regret curled inside her. She wished the waltz had not ended. But though she badly wanted to, she could not stay out here forever. Phillipa would be coming to look for her any moment.
“Thank you for dancing with me,” she said softly, hating to break the quiet intimacy by speaking.
He tilted his head. “Why does a beautiful lady need to seek dance partners in the conservatory?”
Her heart lurched in her chest. He thought her beautiful? It had not sounded like empty flattery.
She lifted her hands to encompass her surroundings with a laugh. “I only wanted a few moments away from the crush. I was told that Lady Lawrence’s gardens and conservatory are magnificent and wished to see them for myself.” She smiled at him. “Then we met, and I heard the strings of the orchestra…and I could not help being impertinent.”
“Ah, so the lady knows she is being bold,” he said teasingly, moving to walk beside her.
She was. And she was also very conscious of her gown intimately brushing the length of his trousers as they strolled past a vast flower arrangement displayed on the central table.
“The blossoms are breathtaking,” she murmured, caressing the petal of a flower she could not identify. She bent and inhaled its perfumed scent. “There are times when I am awed by nature’s beauty.”
She was startled when he dipped his head and inhaled deeply as well, his eyes closing in appreciation of the sublime scent. She glided along the table, and he stepped with her. He ran the tip of his fingers over a yellow flower, and she imagined what his touch on her would feel like.
