Unsettled and strangely breathless, she forced herself to hide her unusual attack of nerves. “Good evening, Captain Blake.”
Ever since her debut, men had thronged to her side in hopes of winning her dowry. She’d learned early to protect herself, to be cool and cutting and utterly unimpressed with the many insincere words her suitors lavished upon her. As a result, London’s young rakes thought her cold and haughty.
She took a certain amount of pleasure in that.
It wouldn’t do to let Dylan Blake know he’d melted all her defenses with one burning glance in her direction.
“Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” His smile dazzled her, even though it was practiced and didn’t quite reach those spectacular eyes.
But something in his tone, in the falseness of that wicked grin, gave her pause. She looked deep into those silver-gray eyes and found… nothing. No answering spark of attraction, no emotion whatsoever. For such a young man, his eyes were incredibly old. Dead.
In fact, she had the feeling he didn’t really see her at all.
Disappointment lanced through her. She’d thought him a hero, but he was no different than the rest. She was a dowry, a prize to be won, nothing more. Certainly not a real person, with hopes and dreams of her own.
When he looked at her, all he saw was a way of financing an estate of his own.
She hated him suddenly, hated him for making her want him when he felt nothing in return.
“I’m sorry, Captain Blake, but my dance card is full.” She gave him her most wintry stare, the one intended to put him in his place.
His look of astonishment was almost comical. Apparently—and not surprisingly—he’d had little experience with feminine rejection.
“Of course. My mistake.” Giving her another graceful bow, he pivoted and strode off through the crowd.
“What an insufferable boor.” Nigel tossed her a superior grin. “Well done, Nat. You certainly let him know the way of things.”
Natalia ignored her cousin’s inane chatter. As she watched Captain Blake walk away, she wished with all her heart that he’d stayed on the other side of the ballroom. Far better for him to have remained a beautiful fantasy than to have learned the truth.
Dylan Blake was not the answer to her prayers.
He was just another fortune hunter—one who hadn’t even pretended to like her for something other than her dowry.
Chapter Three
“I need two more weeks,” Dylan told Jonathan as they exited the ballroom. “You can’t expect me to win her over in two minutes.”
Jonathan laughed, the sour sound tinged with satisfaction. “It wouldn’t matter if I gave you a year. Lady Natalia will never want what little you have to offer.”
Dylan said nothing. Lady Natalia’s dismissal had left him reeling.
When Jonathan first pointed her out, Dylan thought the whole thing would be ridiculously easy. She’d seemed transfixed by him, breathless with yearning.
But when he’d asked her to dance, the light had gone out of her lovely green eyes. She’d become every bit as cold and condescending as he’d heard.
Needless to say, the challenge she presented made her infinitely more appealing. Besides, he couldn’t afford to lose this bet with Jonathan. He didn’t have one hundred pounds to give the bastard.
“Two more weeks,” he bargained. “And we’ll double the wager. Two hundred pounds if I lose.”
Jonathan thought it over for half a second and then nodded. “All right. Two hundred pounds. But you’d better be good for it.”
“I’m good for it,” Dylan lied.
“Excellent. Then it’s settled.” Jonathan’s wide smile seemed out of place on his pinched little face. “Shall we have another drink?”
Dylan shook his head and glanced toward the stairs that led to the family’s private rooms. He had no desire to return to the party. “No, you go ahead. I’m off to bed.”
Turning his back on Jonathan, Dylan made his way through the deserted upper floors of his father’s house to the suite of rooms he seldom used.
