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He wanted to discover whether she would be equally bold without an audience. He also wanted to hear what she might say if he confessed how effectively she had diverted his thoughts. The words sat on his tongue begging to be said. Neither admission seemed likely to improve her opinion of him. He didn't like that she might find him unfavorable, because he found her enchanting.

“The floor is this way,” she murmured.

Dominic glanced down at her, and found the curve of her cheek far too near. “Is it?” He grinned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“There is no need to be snide.” She narrowed her gaze. “Do you intentionally make everyone uncomfortable?”

He shook his head. “I would never be derisive on purpose.” What was he doing? He had to stop being so idiotic with this woman. “I was merely considering how best to answer your question.”

She looked up at him, her mouth curving beneath the black silk of her mask. “How industrious of you. Most gentlemen would have hoped I had forgotten it.”

“I have already discovered the danger of assuming anything about you.” More than he would like to admit if he were being honest…

“That is a promising beginning,” she told him. “We shall see if you can continue to impress me.”

He smiled and guided her toward a space among the dancers, his palm light at her back. He took only as much as the dance required. The waltz began, giving him just enough time to bow before he took his place opposite her. Lady Covington moved with an ease that drew his attention as surely as a touch would.

She danced beautifully. He had expected that, though he could not have said why. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, with no apology. Her skirts swept across the polished floor, gold embroidery catching the candlelight in quick, glittering flashes. He caught the faint fragrance of her hair. It was something soft and floral with a trace of warmth beneath.

He ought to have been thinking of his answer. Instead, he wondered how many pins held those pale curls in place, and how long it might take for him to find them all. The thought sent heat climbing his neck. He twirled her around the floor with ease, wishing they were alone. So he could pull her closer than the dance's strictures allowed. The waltz was scandalous, but not as scandalous as he would have liked. Dominic wanted her closer.

“Well?” she asked.

Dominic looked at her face. Her expression suggested she knew precisely how little progress he had made, and was delighted by it. “I believe a sensible woman knows her own wishes.”

“And a sensible gentleman?” she asked.

“Should discover them before offering an opinion.” He was being evasive, but it seemed to work. Her laugh warmed him, low and genuine, and he felt it settle somewhere beneath his breastbone.

She appeared more at ease than she had in the card room. Her shoulders had loosened, and a faint flush touched her cheekbones. The sharpness remained in her gaze, but pleasure now sat beside it. He liked that he had managed to put it there. He liked it far more than was wise.

“That was a pretty reply,” she said. “But it was not truly an answer, was it?” She arched a brow. “Why do you think a widow is a sensible choice?”

He sighed; it was best he answer truthfully. It was too late to charm her into forgetting. She would not let him keep evading the question. “Because they are unattached and have experience.” He held her gaze. “I do not need to worry about a jealous husband or an innocent that expects more than I can offer her.” He was not looking for a wife. “There are other options, of course, but a widow…” He drew in a breath. “A widow usually doesn’t want more than I have to give. They just want pleasure. That I am more than willing to play with.”

“Pleasure is...” She sucked in a breath, and it did something to him. He wanted to kiss her desperately. “A worthy goal.”

“I do aim to please.” He winked.

She gave him an approving little nod as they turned, and her skirts brushed his leg. “Then perhaps we can find something in common.”

“Which is?” he asked.

“Pleasure, of course.”

He nearly laughed. Her hand lay in his, warm even through their gloves, and her gaze held his with a directness he found increasingly difficult to resist. It was like standing too near a fire, he thought. One did not move away. One simply grew warmer.

“You may be correct, my lady.”

“There is no may. I am always right. It’s best you accept that about me now.”

The music came to an end. He bowed over her hand, letting his lips brush her palm. When he straightened, her eyes remained upon him, bright and unreadable, and his heart gave an unsteady knock. “Have I been disappointing?” he asked.

“Only in one respect.”

That brought him still. The ballroom's noise seemed to recede. “Which?”

“You have deprived me of the pleasure of abandoning you in the middle of the floor.”