Page 63 of This Marquess of Mine

“I do try.” He turned his head, his gaze flicking to the dance floor and then back to hers. “Will you dance with me?”

She hesitated, tempted to accept, even as the offer surprised her. She’d had no idea what to expect when she saw him again, no idea how he would behave with her after what they’d shared in Mrs. Lubbock’s folly.

Evidently he was still willing to help her catch her duke.

But dancing with him, touching him, did not seem wise, not after all that had happened between them, even if it was solely for the duke’s benefit.

“It is kind of you to offer, Griffin,” she said, “but unnecessary. The duchess has—”

“Hang the duchess,” he whispered, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Dance with me, Olivia.”

It was the look in his eyes that convinced her. There was no resisting it, the warmth, the daring there in those dark gray depths, urging her to say yes.

She nodded once and Griffin rose to his feet, holding out a gloved hand. She placed her fingers on his palm, ignoring the shiver of warmth working its way up her arm as she stood and followed him onto the dance floor.

The orchestra plucked the beginning strands of a waltz as Griffin shifted her hand to his shoulder and settled his long, powerful fingers around her waist. Her skin burned beneath his touch. Oh, she loved the feel of his hands on her body.

Thoughts of their last encounter invaded her mind as he guided her around the dance floor in slow, sweeping circles, and her throat went dry at the memory of his hands on her flesh, his mouth hungry for hers, his whispered words in the dark.

She’d thought of little else since then, but it was clear Griffin did not suffer from the same malady. He was behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But then, perhaps that was exactly what it had been for him. Perhaps it was something very ordinary to him, something that occurred as regularly as the sun rose.

It was silly of her to allow what had happened to go to her head. It had been an extraordinary occurrence, but it was over now, a fading memory, and it would do no good to dwell on it. Especially not here.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” Griffin murmured, his voice low and keen with interest. “What are you thinking about?”

She would rather swim naked in a leech-infested lake than answer that question truthfully, so she looked up at him and blurted out the first thought that popped into her head.

“How many lovers have you had?”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, mirroring her own bemusement, but she did not take the question back. It was not what she’d meant to say, but it was out there now and, right or wrong, she wanted to hear the answer.

“Five,” he said evenly.

She blinked. “Five?” Skepticism threaded her voice, and she nearly trod on his toes.

“Yes, five,” he repeated, arching a single dark brow. “Shall I name them for you?”

“Of course not!”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and she realized he was teasing her. Only their position on a public ballroom floor kept her from scowling at him.

“I told you before,” he said softly, “my reputation is greatly exaggerated.”

Olivia eyed him, searching his face for signs of deception but his expression was open, his gaze frank.

Even so…five? Surely that could not be right. His reputation as a rake and a rogue was well known amongst the ton, if not well documented. How could he have earned such a reputation without…earning it?

And was it five before her? Or five including her? Could she even count herself as one of his lovers? She had no idea if what they’d done in the folly qualified, but she would sooner die than ask.

Besides, it hardly mattered, did it?

“Are you disappointed?”

The amusement in his voice drew her gaze and she shook her head. “Surprised, that’s all. I always thought of you as a great lover of women.”

Like a handsome bird flitting from branch to branch, singing his songs of seduction. It was an odd feeling, reassessing an opinion she’d always thought to be an incontrovertible truth.

“You seemed happy enough two nights ago,” Griffin said, his voice low, his eyes alight with mischief.