Page 96 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

Chloe smothered a giggle of amusement. “You have a body that a goddess would envy.”

“Envy, Chloe. Not luridly expose.”

“I would not miss the look on Grayson’s face when he sees you for anything.”

“He’ll be beside himself,” Jane muttered.

“Isn’t that the point?”

It took Jane a minute or so to pick out the tall golden-haired figure in the throng of guests that encircled him. Stylishly dressed ladies who hoped to renew his acquaintance, aristocrats from old families who moved in the same exclusive social circles. Grayson looked so at ease, so comfortable in this world of wealth and elegance, that Jane wondered if it was even possible to unsettle him. Her cheeks burned as she moved toward him, the young men around her falling completely silent in deference to this new star in their glittering galaxy.

One of them gave a low appreciative whistle. A second slipped a bank note to the master of ceremonies to learn her identity. Another clapped his hand over his heart and professed his undying love. Grayson half turned, in the middle of conversation, his expression amused until he recognized who had caused this consternation. His gaze met hers, then traveled in frosty disbelief down her alluringly revealed body before returning to her face. The furious shock in his eyes, controlled but eloquent, almost undid her.

In the dampened peach gauze, she felt . . . like a naked peach, flesh-colored with only the sheerest layer of cloth to shield her uncorseted body from prurient eyes. Her breasts pressed upward against the flimsy bodice so precariously it seemed a risk to breathe.

“Jane.” His smile did not reveal his displeasure, but the crushing grip of his fingers around hers did. “That was not one of the gowns I selected. Where did it come from?”

“I borrowed it from a friend, Grayson. Do you like it?”

“Every male in the room does,” he said in a clipped undertone. “Do not do this again in public.”

“Do what?” she asked in a cool voice.

“Share what is mine alone.”

“I really thought this dress was appropriate for my debut as a courtesan-in-training.”

He glowered at her. “Did you indeed?”

“Well, darling, a mistress can’t afford to look like . . . a mouse.”

He pulled her away from the circle of guests, throwing his host an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Perhaps we ought to dance,” he said curtly.

“As you desire, darling.”

“I wish you would stop talking like that,” he snapped.

She pretended to look hurt. “I can stop talking altogether if you prefer. Except for the matter of my allowance. I do think we should discuss that before we proceed.”

“With our dance?” he said darkly.

“Shall we publish our negotiations in the paper?” she asked at the edge of the dance floor.

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”

She bit her lip, wondering just how far she could tease him before his temper broke. Now that she had started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “But if I’m to carve a name in Society . . .” She hesitated as he took his position on the floor. “I don’t suppose you brought a pen and paper?”

“Pen and paper?” He looked incredulous. “To use during a dance?”

“No, silly. For my memoirs. It is highly unlikely that you will be my only protector, Grayson. I shall need another source of income in the future. A woman must be practical.”

“Excuse me,” a hesitant male voice said behind them. “Might I interrupt this conversation to ask the lovely lady for a dance?”

“Might I interrupt your face with my fist if you do?” Grayson retorted, his expression fierce.

“My face . . .” The young man blinked, then backed up in horror several steps before disappearing into the crowd.

Grayson and Jane assumed their positions on the dance floor. The orchestra struck up a quadrille. He bowed; she curtsied. But neither of them had their minds on the movements of the dance. Grayson was preoccupied with glaring into oblivion all the male guests who dared to ogle her. Jane attempted to appear graceful while covering her body with her arms until Chloe, moving past her whispered, “I have never seen a woman who looked more like a windmill than you. Hold out your skirts, for heaven’s sake.”