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“Tell me his name,” he repeated.
“Why?”
“So I may call him out and put a bullet through his black soul.”
“Do not be foolish! Dueling is illegal!”
“Verity—”
She stepped away from him and he felt bereft at the loss of her touch. “No, and if you shall say such madness, I’ll never reveal who he is to you!”
“I’ll not get caught,” he said on an irritated grunt.
“I’ll not risk you,” she cried, thumping his chest.
Something at once primal and tender shifted inside of him. “Why, Verity?”
The air tightened with an unexpected tension. Her lashes swept down across her cheekbones, hiding her expression from him.
“Look at me,” he said gruffly.
“I do not know. Just know that I’ll not risk your life or reputation over that snake.”
“And are you not doing the same now, wanting to fight, to learn about the uglier side of life?”
Her face was pale but proud. “I need to do this…at any cost, but I am not selfish enough to risk another’s life because of my pains,” she said hoarsely.
She looked so young and vulnerable, he wanted to drag her into the cage of his arms and promise he would slay her fears. Lady Verity pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head when he would have moved to touch her.
He lowered his hand and was about to move away when she stepped closer. There was both delicacy and strength in the face that peered up at him. Meet me halfway, her eyes seemed to beseech him, and sensing he would regret giving into the temptation, James reached out and took her hands within his.
Chapter 7
Verity froze. A man was touching her. And not just any man—James, the earl of Maschelly. For so long she had avoided having any gentleman too close to her, even dancing had become uncomfortable but she had tolerated it to the best of her abilities. She waited for that awful feeling to cramp her stomach, and for the sweat to coat her skin, even though it was such a simple touch, palm to palm, and they both wore evening gloves. None of the usual reaction came, and unaccountably Verity wished they had been skin to skin. Even with the gloves separating a more intimate touch she felt the heat of him, and something even more bewildering, simply because she had not felt so in years—comfort, warmth, protected.
“I can see that I’ve shocked you,” he murmured.
No, my yearning to feel your skin upon mine did. She licked her lips and the eyes which had followed the moment darkened with undefinable emotions.
The earl guided her away from the entrance of the club, and toward the line of parked carriages. Instead of heading for his coach, he tugged her to the side of the building, encasing them in partial shadows. The glow of the gas lamp and the hovering fog shed only a small amount of light, but it was as if his glittering eyes were a beacon onto themselves. Truly, Verity had never seen eyes so wickedly splendid.
“Did you not realize we would be required to touch? When we fight…when you teach me to dance?” he murmured gently.
No…she hadn’t thought that far ahead and she felt ridiculous. “I…”
“Do you fear me touching you?”
Yes…no…. Everything about him was large, and she was all too aware of the breadth of his shoulders, his height, and his large hands. This man could crush her so easily. Even more so than the marquess, because Lord Maschelly was unquestionably more virile, powerful, and dangerous.
“I would never hurt you,” he said gruffly. “Never, my lady. I swear it on my honor.”
Verity closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She was suddenly acutely conscious of scents and noises drifting to her through the night—the murkiness of the Thames, rotting fruits, but something fresh and clean beneath it all, the warm male fragrance of the man himself. A few carriages rumbled by, yet neither moved. His hand fell away from hers, and upon opening her eyes, she watched in dazed bemusement as he tugged off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets.
Her heart raced uncontrollably like a runaway carriage. Then he placed two of his warm fingers beneath her chin and nudged. Clearly, he wanted her to meet his eyes once more, and she was afraid to, for Verity felt as if she was falling into something she did not understand. Nothing felt familiar, nothing felt safe. No…the earl felt safe.
A fierce, painful longing surged through her, and oddly the need was to step into his arms. A quiver of uncertainty went through Verity. Why did she feel so with him? A man like the earl was not for her. Even before her attack, she’d had it all planned—the type of fair gentleman she would marry, where they would honeymoon, the kind of wondrous fun they would have. The earl did not fit that old musing, but she felt helpless to stop the curious hunger awakening in her heart.
The tip of her chin tingled. Her skin seemed to burn beneath his fingers, yet she didn’t want to move.
