They confronted each other for a moment in silence, and she nervously broke into chatter. “The lamps in the garden are pretty, are they not? I wonder if there is a way to explore there.”
Her gloved right hand rested on the iron railing, and he covered it with his left. A hand brown from years of sun and weather, strong with sinews and veins, long-fingered, marked by many minor scars. A hand that looked older than he was. A fine hand perhaps meant by nature for softer ways, for music, for art, for gentle love...
“I would know that I had little hope,” he said, curling his fingers around hers and lifting her hand from the railing, turning her toward him. “A penniless man with dilapidated estates, and eight years younger than you.”
“True . . .”
He brought her hand between them, chest high, and in the process angled his body so that he shielded her from the crowded room. “The only reason you would consider my suit is for my looks and charm. Poor Mrs. Celestin,” he added with a glint of edged humor, “you are going to have to succumb to looks and charm.”
“I would hardly be the first widow to do so. I’m sure I can play the part.” She returned exactly the same sort of edged look. “It’s not as if I am actually going to place my person and my fortune in your hands, after all.”
“Just the additional nine thousand pounds.”
“Ifyou behave yourself.” She looked him up and down. “You do, at least, have both looks and charm, and conduct yourself well in society. It would be even more galling to make a fool of myself over anunappealingwastrel.”
He stilled, his scar seeming to slash more darkly across his right cheek. She instantly recalled the man she had first met, the one who had disarmed her, and surely come close to hurting her.
He dropped her hand. “I can become unappealing anytime you want, Mrs. Celestin. I would advise you not to push me too far. A man ready to die is equally ready to consign nine thousand pounds to the devil.”
The small balcony was suddenly confining, and he blocked the way out. She desperately wanted to look away, or to try to push out of this confined space. As with an animal, however, to show fear was to lose control. She met his angry eyes. “What of the eleven thousand, my lord? You owe me service for that.”
His nostrils flared, and she suddenly saw in him a stallion. A young, magnificent, abused stallion on the edge of going bad. Dear heavens, who did she think she was, to try to keep together something so riven through with cracks?
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I spoke thoughtlessly. I chose you for this because you are a gentleman.”
“But why did you choose anyone, Mrs. Celestin? What is the purpose of this extravagant charade?”
She’d hoped to put this off until she’d thought of a better rationale, but clearly she had to say something now. With great effort, she spoke lightly. “One person’s extravagance is another’s whim, Lord Vandeimen. I have a mind to enjoy this season, and I am pestered by fortune hunters. You are my guard against them, that is all.”
She must have presented it correctly, for she saw his tension ease in scarcely perceptible, but significant, ways.
“You must be very, very rich.”
“I am.”
“Then of course, I am completely at your service. Command me, dear lady.”
Shockingly, the requests that came to mind were all indecent. She sank back on what she had said before. “Do as you would if you were intent on sweeping me out of sanity and into your marital bed.”
He looked at her for a moment, then raised his left hand and rested it on her naked shoulder. Warm. Roughened from the practice of war.
No, not practice. Real, deadly war. How many deaths had those intent blue eyes seen? How many had his elegant hands delivered? How much suffering, during battle and after? She had lost no one of importance to her except a baby brother, half remembered, and Maurice, who had died miles away on a hunting field, and by then not truly grieved.
They called this man Demon. A terrible label for a noble soldier and hero, but she could only think of how very familiar he must be with death. No wonder he’d seemed indifferent as to whether she shot him or not. He probably cared for nothing at all, and was wounded too deeply for that to change.
Was he going to kiss her, here in full view of everyone? She should prevent that, but for the moment, she was paralyzed.
With scarcely a pause, however, he brushed his hand across her bare shoulder, sending shivers down her spine, until his fingers moved into the loose curls at the edge of her hair. He could be tidying a curl or brushing away an insect. He played there for a moment, eyes holding hers, then lowered his hand to his side.
Fear still held her, but underneath surged something even worse. Lust.
Triumph glinted in his sudden smile.
Ah.
She sucked in a deep breath. He was going to do what she had paid for, but for pride’s sake he was going to try to seduce her at the same time. Not surprising, though yet again, something she had not anticipated.
She certainly had never anticipated that it might be so terribly possible.
