Page 10 of The Lady Knows Best

“Lord Deveraux.”

The name passed between her lips on the faintest breath. Even beneath the dimmer light of stars and torches, he glowed with vitality, the sort of animal spirits that made her palms sweat.

He reached the balcony and bowed, the same lazy, insolent gesture he’d made upon entering the ballroom. “Miss Burke, yes?”

His recognition surprised her. She managed a curtsy of acknowledgment, one hand along the rail for balance.

“Are you well?” he asked, studying her.

“Perfectly.” She lifted her chin, determined not to squirm beneath his gaze. “I’ll wish you good evening, my lord,” she said, turning toward the house.

“Will you?” One hand shot out and she gasped, thinking he meant to catch her by the wrist.

Instead, Lord Deveraux curled his gloved hand around the iron railing, exactly where hers had been resting not a moment before. With his first finger, he rubbed absently at the metal’s sharp edge. She wondered whether he could still feel the trace of warmth left behind by her touch.

“I must say, those are kinder words than any I expected to meet with tonight.”

His tone was self-deprecating, the tilt of his head almost shy. There was something boyish about his charm—not at all what Daphne had been led to expect from a rake known far and wide as that devil, Deveraux.

“May I ask why you are out here,” he asked, “rather than inside, enjoying the entertainment?”

He didn’t care. Not really. But he had the ability to make it seem as if he did—another dangerous gift.

She took another step backward. “The ballroom is crowded, and I needed a breath of fresh air. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Do you dance this evening, Miss Burke?”

She started to shake her head. She certainly didn’t want to dance with him.

Not that he was asking.

Although . . . he followed his question by holding out his hand, palm upward. Then his eyebrows rose in a hopeful arc, and he smiled another winning, boyish smile. Despite the buzz of scandal in the ballroom, he clearly did not expect to be rebuffed—again. He probably imagined someone like Daphne ought to be grateful for his notice.

“I have already declined one invitation to dance this evening, my lord,” she lied. “The rules of the ballroom forbid me from accepting another.”

He nodded his head in understanding, but he did not lower his hand.

“And do you always play by the rules, Miss Burke?”

A shocking speech . . . and yet, somehow not shocking at all from a man like him.

A man who looks like that . . .

A man who kisses like that ...

She squeezed shut her eyes and called up the memory of Miss Grey’s tear-stained face. If only there were some way to make Lord Deveraux feel the sting he so callously inflicted on others.

When she opened her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder, toward the French doors. Light and music and laughter spilled through them. Ordinarily, she accepted, perhaps even preferred, being an unknown, the overlooked wares on the marriage mart.

But the balcony was far too private to humiliate him thoroughly.

With another curtsy, she laid her hand on his palm and tried to ignore the welcome warmth of his fingers curling about hers as he led her toward the ballroom.

CHAPTER 4

Miles had never been a strong student. He’d muddled his way through school on a combination of luck, Alistair’s patience, and his teachers’ reluctance to risk the ire of Miles’s grandmother.

But he’d always been good at reading people—especially women. The quickness of a breath, the lightness of a touch: they were a language, a poetry his mind unraveled with ease and delight.