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Perdita had done a magnificent job without a threat of a duel. He rushed to catch her as she moved through the crowd. Why was she asking Yardley and Vinson about the French? He needed to warn her off. But warning Perdita, if not done with the greatest of care, would only push her to do the opposite. The only problem: This wasn’t one of her escapades.
He gently took her elbow. She stopped and allowed him to place her hand on his arm. “Your skills are worthy of Lady Eldoret.”
“High praise, indeed. If you spent time with ladies, you would know that it is a practiced skill to be always polite even as you deliver a set-down.”
Dash led her outdoors away from the windows and crowded ballroom. He didn’t want to draw attention to Perdita’s reaction when he took her to task about her conversation with Yardley. He couldn’t take a risk of her not understanding the danger. He knew from experience that her response would be loud and unladylike. “What was your real purpose in speaking with Yardley and Vinson? Your need to speak to the old biddies I can understand. But those old roues are not men to involve in one of your schemes. They are unscrupulous and dangerous. They won’t like you sticking your pretty nose in their business.” He waited, knowing she was considering kneeing him in the groin or shutting him out with a lift of her chin and glacial hauteur.
She stopped midway across the extensive space filled with urns of overflowing scented flowers and lanterns reflecting silhouettes on the stones before he could get her away from the milling guests. With her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “How ridiculous and condescending. My pretty nose? How about my brain wanting answers about the impending war? Are all women to be denied any knowledge of England’s plans for war? And how it might affect our loved ones?”
Her loved ones. Roddy had traveled to France, but he was safely in England. Were her inquiries due to the beloved Frenchman? Was he the loved one she was worried about? Rage and pain, a familiar mélange of emotions, battled in Dash. He was comfortable with rage. Rage blocked out the hurt. He wanted all her worry, her affection, and love for him. And only him. Why was he always the one to be denied?
He grabbed her arm, not too gently leading her into a darkened corner, away from prying eyes. “I would never want you to be denied anything.” And he meant every word except…
“Let’s not argue.” He didn’t want to waste the private moments. They had to last a lifetime. “I’ve had my fill of polite discourse for one night. Unless of course, I’m to endure more unpleasant company as part of my punishment you’ve decided upon.”
“Punishment?” Perdita’s indignation sent a flash of heat and happiness blazing through him. The sparks flashing in her eyes and her complete focus on him were everything essential to his being.
“I think you have an exaggerated idea of your importance, my lord.” Concentrating on putting him in his place, she didn’t notice that he had orchestrated their position away from everyone. They were alone, sheltered against the house wall.
“Perdita, don’t play these games with me. We used to be friends.” He pressed closer, invading her space. He was unable to resist the pull to have her near.
“Used to be. As in past tense.” Perdita raised her chin and stared over his shoulder. Not meeting his eyes.
“But it doesn’t mean the memories are erased. The memories of you… of us have sustained me these past years.”
Her head jerked up as she examined his face and measured his words.
“You think I will believe the lies and promises that you are skilled at weaving? And you accuse me of playing games. I’m not that naïve and innocent woman any longer.”
His control was barely on a thread with her nearness, her scent filling his nose, and finally having her undivided attention. His control further slipped into dangerous territory when her words finally registered. Betrayal hit him like a fist to his gut. He was the man who introduced her to sensuality. And Perdita was always an eager and responsive pupil to any new challenge. The idea that she had cared enough about another man to share herself ripped apart his deep, scarred wounds.
“You allowed that pompous ass Beauvoir to… touch you?” His anger and pain came out brutish and loud. He couldn’t think about Perdita naked in that man’s arms. “Are you betrothed, then?”
Shock registered across her face before it was replaced with fury.
“You dare to ask me… you… with your reputation?” Her voice pitched high. Her blonde curls bounced, and by her vehement head shake, a tendril fell from the topknot down her delicate neck. Her unruly hair, like its owner, would never be contained. He wanted to feel the gossamer silk between his fingers, to bring it to his lips, and inhale the familiar vanilla scent.
“Is this another challenge? Shall we compare the numbers of our lovers?” She pushed at his chest. “I concede. Does that make your male vanity better? I can’t compete with a man whose reputation is infamous.”
Pain congealed into a ball of misery in his chest. He wanted to kiss and punish her for betraying their pristine love. The idea that Perdita no longer loved him opened a bottomless pit of emptiness. Fear of his bleak future overwhelmed him. The long, lonely nights spanned ahead with no relief.
He gripped her arms to shake her for destroying the one good thing in his existence. But touching her warm skin vanquished his despair. No other woman stirred him, made him forget everything but her. All the other men that had touched Perdita faded into the background. She was his center, his tether to the sun, and he would do anything and everything to regain his place. A few moments with her and the years of discipline vanished. He had to resist, but her warmth, her scent, her nearness was playing havoc with his self-restraint.
“No other man can stir your passion like me.” His desperate rough voice was barely recognizable. “We’re combustible together. Don’t lie to me or yourself right now. You feel the fire burning between us, don’t you? My body knows yours as yours knows mine.”
She didn’t struggle or resist his hold on her. Perdita never backed away from the truth or a challenge. It was one of the many reasons he loved her.
“This is some sort of joke between you and your dissolute chums? A bet on whether you can seduce the ‘catch of the Season’? Improve your standing amongst rakes? How much do you stand to win?” Her dispassionate tone shredded his hope. She no longer believed him worth redemption.
“My God, what kind of man do you think I am? I would never share one single moment of our love. You’ve always been and always will be the only woman for me.”
“Of all the ridiculous lies out of your mouth, this is the whopper. You were safe to explore first love… but I’m no longer that girl. And you were never the man… never mind. There is nothing good that can come of this conversation. As I said, you and I are in the past. And I plan to keep you there.”
She pulled away, but he couldn’t let her widen the distance. He couldn’t stop touching her now that he had her near. “I never lied to you, Perdita. I meant every word I said. I was stupid and full of shame and have regretted my choice every day since.”
“You were lying then, when you told me that men made promises in passion that they never planned to keep? It has been very instructional for my dealings with other gentlemen.”
This evening with Perdita wasn’t going like anything he had hoped or planned. Perdita speaking as if he was one of many gentlemen who released every primitive male need for his mate.
