Page 62 of To Steal a Kiss

“How the hell did you ever trounce me at cards, man?” Bedwin said, shaking his head with a pitying expression. “Your every emotion is writ large on your face and, before you break my nose, please remember my wife is your beloved’s best friend.”

“Oh,” Nate said, the tension leaving him in a rush.

“Quite,” the duke replied, lifting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and handing it to him. “For heaven’s sake, do try looking a little less intense. I half expect you to start writing bad poetry or some such nonsense.”

Nate opened his mouth to reject such a ridiculous assertion and realised he could do nothing of the sort. Rubbing a weary hand over his face, he gave a groan. “I’m losing my damn mind.”

“I know,” Bedwin replied cheerfully. “Happens to the best of us, I’m afraid. Speaking of the best of things, I’m your best man. Hope you don’t mind?”

The duke snorted as Nate blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“The ladies have organised us,” he said, grinning at Nate’s confusion. “To be fair, knowing a little of Mr and Mrs Dowding, Prue has the right of it. Having us as witnesses to the happy event should ease the shock just a little.”

Nate let out a breath. “That’s very decent of you, Bedwin, truly. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing to say, and call me Robert.” He gave Nate a wry look. “I owe you for all the nights you poured me into a carriage instead of letting me stay and make a bloody fool of myself at Hunter’s. You could have fleeced me for a deal more than you did.”

Nate shook his head and gave a short bark of laughter. “You make me sound almost charitable. I’ll have you know I bought a house in the country on your losses alone.”

The duke grinned at him, looking thoroughly unrepentant. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, clapping him on the back. “Now, if I am correctly informed, the next dance is a waltz and a certain young lady is waiting impatiently for you to claim it.”

Nate did not need asking twice, and hurried along in the duke’s wake as they strode across the ballroom.

***

“Alice, look at me,” Prue commanded. “Alice!”

Alice did try. She honestly did, but her gaze was riveted to the man crossing the ballroom towards her. Every feminine part of her quivered as he grew nearer, and she clutched at Prue’s sleeve, aware she was blushing.

“Alice,” Prue said, not disguising the laughter in her voice now.

“Is my mother watching?” Alice said, helpless to look away.

“No,” Prue said with a sigh. “Helena is distracting her, which is just as well. Heavens, the two of you can’t get married soon enough. You’re making me blush, and I’m a married woman.”

“I know,” Alice said with a heartfelt sigh, “but just look at him.”

She had no idea if Prue did look—actually, Alice rather hoped she’d keep her eyes on her own husband—because Nate filled her senses.

Tall and blond and elegant, resplendent in his evening black with a snowy white cravat at his throat, he looked every inch the perfect gentleman. Yet, there was something rather wilder about him, something that set him apart as being… not quite a gentleman. Far from dismaying Alice, it was this slightly raw edge that made her heart pound and the blood fizz in her veins. She knew he was a good man, a kind one, yet there was just a tiny bit of wickedness in his eyes, enough to have stolen her away from a ballroom and all but ruined her with his recklessness. Not that she regretted it.

Not for a moment.

“Miss Dowding,” he said, his expression stern and unsmiling, though that challenging glint of wickedness danced in his eyes. “I believe this is my dance.”

“So it is, Mr Hunt,” she said, rather impressed that her voice was steady when her insides were a trembling puddle of mush.

She allowed him to move her onto the dance floor and even kept breathing as his hand rested at her waist. Then the terrible man lowered his head and whispered in her ear.

“This time tomorrow night, I’ll have you in my bed, Miss Dowding.”

She stumbled the first step, treading on his toes as he gave an unrepentant chuckle of laughter that rumbled through her.

“Wretch,” she said with a huff, feeling the blaze of her cheeks like she stood too close to a fire. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did,” he admitted, glancing down at her. “And you started it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, perplexed as he moved her into a complicated turn that she had to concentrate on before she could press him again. “Well?”