Page 48 of A Daring Desire

“Very well. Good luck, my dear, and… guard your heart a little, will you? I really should not like to have to call the fellow out.”

Cat sent him a fond look of appreciation and waved him off.

“Lud, Perry. I need a drink,” she said, turning back to him.

Perry tsked and looked around. “If you’d said that a moment earlier, there was a footman with a tray. Where has he gone?”

“Oh, do hurry,” she said urgently. “I need to settle my nerves.”

She gave him a little push and Perry plunged back into the crowd. Cat waited, jittering with nerves and impatience, until a strange hush fell over the assembly. A dance had just ended, the last note still ringing in the air, but instead of the usual bustle as people moved away from the dance floor, everyone had frozen in place, and Cat sensed every eye turn in her direction. She swallowed, feeling her colour rise. Instinctively, she stiffened her spine, putting her chin up, her expression sliding behind the mask of polite indifference she always wore when the need arose. She forced herself to turn, as if she, too, were curious to discover what the commotion was about. As if by design, the crowded ballroom parted, everyone moving to create a path that arrowed directly to her. Cat’s heart thundered in her chest, knowing everyone was watching.

The master of ceremonies voice rang out, announcing, “Ciarán St Just, the most honourable Marquess of Kilbane.”

The shocked silence that settled upon the room was startling and so profound it pressed down upon Cat like a weight.

“I think I may have underestimated the amount of a stir he’d cause,” Perry said in an undertone, thrusting a champagne glass into her hand.

Cat couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. She tried to raise the glass to her lips, but her hand was shaking too badly. “Take it back before I drop it,” she said desperately.

Perry obliged, and Cat look up to see her husband walking down the grand staircase to the ballroom.

Her heart, already under considerable strain, seemed to leap into her throat. “Oh, my,” she murmured, taking him in as pride swelled in her chest.

He looked magnificent, as wicked as Lucifer himself, dressed all in black save for the pristine white at his throat and wrists. His black hair gleamed, his eyes hard and glittering under uncompromising dark brows. Oh, how he hated this, Cat thought, her heart going out to him. The scrutiny of people who had judged and found him wanting made him want to lash out. Those who had been all too ready to condemn him for his father and brother’s sins when he was no more than a boy riled him into wanting to shock and appal them in retribution for their censure. She had always known this, though she might not have been able to put it into words when he first crossed her path. Then, it had been instinctive. Now, she could read the discomfort in every line of his body. Defiance blazed from him as if he was lit from within as he stalked through the ballroom, the whole of polite society watching him with their mouths open, as though a panther had stolen into their midst, and they were all of them in danger of attack.

His dark gaze swept the room, seeking and finding Cat, and her breath caught. She saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes and knew he was wary, uncertain of her reaction, and so she smiled at him. She let drop her mask of indifference and allowed the joy of seeing him to shine in her eyes, moving to greet him and sinking into a low curtsey before him.

“My lord,” she said, eyes cast down as a frantic buzz of murmured voices replaced the ringing silence.

Kilbane reached for her hand, and she stood, lifting her gaze to his.

“Catherine,” he said, his deep voice sending shivers racing down her spine. “Did I do right? I did not wish to make a spectacle of you, but—”

“But we had to give them a show eventually,” she interrupted, very aware that he still held her hand.

He nodded, his gaze flickering towards Perry. “Mr Bancroft,” he said amiably, and Cat realised just why their audience was so charged with anticipation, for here was her erstwhile husband, in company with the man they believed to be her lover. Kilbane settled Cat’s hand on his arm and held out his hand to Perry. “Thank you kindly for looking after my wife in my absence, you have been a good friend to us both,” he said, loudly enough for those close to them to hear him.

“It was my pleasure, my lord,” Perry replied, grinning unabashedly and clearly enjoying himself. “But I am more than pleased to see you back home.”

Kilbane made a darkly amused sound and then looked around at everyone, his hard gaze cold and dangerous. “Do you think to make me a circus exhibit? Mind your own damned affairs,” he growled.

There were gasps and shocked murmurs, but everyone turned away, or at least made a show of doing so, and the orchestra struck up for the next dance.

“I beg your pardon,” Kilbane said, glancing at Cat, his expression one of regret. “I meant to behave myself tonight.”

Cat only laughed. “If you hadn’t said it, I would have.”

His expression eased, and he flashed a quick smile at her before glancing about him to see couples taking to the dance floor for the next waltz.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked.

Cat’s heart leaped in her chest, and she nodded. “Of course.”

He led her onto the dance floor and Cat had the strangest sense of unreality, for she had dreamed this moment so many times that it hardly seemed possible it could be true. She looked up as he took her in his arms and their eyes met. He did not smile, his expression still fierce but what she saw in his eyes reassured her that this was what he wanted, that he did it for her, because he wished to prove himself as she had asked him to do. Then the dance began, and Cat could not have sustained a thought for the future or the past, for there was nothing but the moment she existed in.

He danced divinely, though he held her shockingly close, and she was swept around the dance floor like a leaf caught in a riptide, unable to do anything but follow where he led and willingly. The heat of his body burned through her gown and the moments when the dance brought them closer still was a sweet torment that made her flush with desire. He led her into another sweeping turn, and she knew all eyes were upon them, knew what a picture they must make. Her gown was a delicate silvery white with a silk net overskirt, embroidered with metallic thread that glittered in the light. It was fairylike and ethereal, and upon her slender figure whilst she was held in the arms of the wickedest man in England, it was enough to set tongues wagging for months.

Cat looked up at him, and whilst she had promised herself to take care, she had never been able to think with any clarity when he was near. “I want you,” she said, unable to keep the longing from her voice, unable not to say it, for she did, so very badly. Her body ached with desire, with the loneliness of so many nights alone behind her.