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“Only slightly. Foxed, that is. And shouldn’t it please you to know I’m not myself? As I recall, you dislike that other Granby.” A thick wave of ebony hair fell across one eye again but this time he neglected to push it back. A smile softened his lips. “You have the most amazing eyes, Romy,” he whispered. “Like the sky at night, twinkling with stars. I dream of them.”
“The stars?” It was intoxicating, having him speak to her in such a way. The heat of him was seeping slowly through the layers of her skirts. When he spun her, one muscular thigh notched briefly between her legs before retreating, leaving behind a pleasurable curling sensation.
“Or a seascape,” he murmured, eyes brushing over her mouth.
Granby argued. He insulted. He did notflirt. Not seductively or in full view of the guests filling the ballroom of The Barrow. Not when he was planning to offer for Beatrice.
“I can’t imagine the amount of scotch it must take to intoxicate you,” Romy said up at him, wanting to touch the length of dark stubble stretching across his jaw and chin. Granby was the sort of man who would always require another shave no matter how efficient his valet. “You’re very large.”
“I assure you. I am not foxed.” There was a sensual half-smile dragging at his lips.
Her stomach gave a delicious squeeze.
“And it does indeed require an enormous amount. Much more than I’ve already had.”
He was utterly charming like this. Playful. And far too appealing. All things he typically kept under a tight lid of control. She’d sensed this other side of him but had only caught brief glimpses until now.
“Too much scotch and you might lose control, Granby.” Her breasts teased against his coat as the hand at her waist dipped lower to the swell of her hips.
“There are things,Romy,” he said, his voice lowering a delicious octave, “which are far more intoxicating than scotch and much more likely to cause me to lose control.” The dark rasp of his voice lifted the hairs at the base of her neck. “You, for instance.”
“Me?” How seductive she sounded. Flirtatious. “You don’t even like me.”
“Silly shrub.” Granby spun her once more; he tugged her closer and discreetly nipped her earlobe. “I think we both know that is not the case.”
“I was a tree nymph, Your Grace.” She managed to keep her voice steady, shocked he’d nibbled on her skin. Lady Foxwood eyed them like a hawk.
“You told me,” her voice trembled as he led her off the dance floor, “this must cease, Your Grace.”
“David,” he whispered, not bothering to look at her again as he deposited her between Rosalind and Cousin Winnie.
“What?”
“This must cease,David,” he murmured, releasing her hand before politely thanking her for the dance. “Ladies.” Granby inclined his head to Cousin Winnie and Rosalind before strolling off in the direction of Lady Foxwood and Beatrice.
Romy stared at the expanse of his broad shoulders, wondering what the bloody hell had just happened besides the dance. It was the only part of their discussion she understood.
When Carstairs asked her for a dance, Romy readily agreed. Next was Blythe. Then Estwood. Several of Granby’s neighbors claimed her next, gentlemen whose names she forgot as soon as they were introduced. Finally, Haven requested a dance.
Once they were gliding across the ballroom floor, she said, “Thank you for your assistance yesterday.”
Haven was an excellent dancer, moving with athletic grace across the ballroom floor. Romy thought him quite handsome, in a rumpled, slightly disreputable way. He had the same appeal as a highwayman might. Or a pirate.
“Did I offer you assistance yesterday? Yes, I must have helped you into the carriage or perhaps fetched you an apple.”
A smile crossed her lips. “It must have been the apple.” How very gentlemanly of Haven to pretend he hadn’t noticed his friend taking liberties with her in the grass while the rest of the guests wandered about a grouping of stones. It spoke well of his character.
“You are most welcome,” he replied, eyes fixed on someone over Romy’s shoulder.
When Haven turned her, Romy saw Theo. Her sister was in the process of apologizing to a servant who was gingerly picking up a broken glass. She must have tripped over the poor man.
“I suppose we are lucky the duke hasn’t had us thrown out,” she joked. “My sister is single-handedly destroying his estate.”
“He is an ass,” Haven said quietly. “But he comes by it honestly. Don’t give up, Andromeda. I haven’t seen him drink this much since we lived in Rome. He rarely allows himself to be—”
“Foxed?” Romy finished for him.
“No. I was going to sayfree.” The dance came to an end, and Haven bowed, shaggy hair covering his face.
