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Her tone was light, but he could hear the undercurrent of annoyance in it. She had quite a musical voice—warm and melodious. He’d heard her sing, once or twice, and her soprano enraptured him. But he couldn’t afford to be swayed by her voice or her beauty. Keeping his eyes on the tree, he said, “Actually, I stole it from the duchess, then you stole it from me, then I stole it back.”
“And why, exactly, did you find it necessary to steal a necklace?”
He turned to her. “Why did you?”
Looking at her was a mistake. She stared at him, those cornflower-blue eyes, fringed with dark lashes, dominating her face. He tried to look away from them and settled on her mouth. But then his gaze was drawn to the small freckle by her upper lip. He stared at it as he used to, longing to kiss it, run his tongue over it…
“If you tell me,” she said, and he couldn’t drag his eyes from her lips, “I’ll tell you.”
With effort, he moved his gaze to her nose—a small, straight, uninteresting nose. He kept his gaze trained there. “I already surmised why you need money.”
“Did you?” She looked away, pretending to scan the room. Why was she talking with him? She was obviously wishing she was with someone else.
“I was friends with McCullough,” Ramsey said to the back of her head. “I know how much he gambled.”
She didn’t move, and he couldn’t see her expression, so he wasn’t certain if he’d hit the mark. When she turned back to him, she smiled. “George did love his cards and dice. As do many.”
Ramsey frowned. Not many enjoyed the games as much as McCullough. But he decided not to pursue the subject of her late husband. “If you need money, why not marry again? I can’t imagine it would be difficult to find willing suitors.”
“Is that a compliment? How unusual for you.”
She opened her blue and silver fan and fluttered it in front of her face several times. The small tendrils of hair at her temple fluttered delicately.
“Perhaps I don’t care for marriage. Perhaps I prefer my independence.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I hate to see you resort to theft.”
One of her brows winged upward. “I hate to seeyouresort to theft.”
He made no comment, and she turned to survey the room again.
“My lady, if you’d rather join another party—“
She turned back to him, grabbing his sleeve. “No. Will you dance with me, Lord Sedgwick? I hear the gavotte.”
He shook his head. What was she about? One moment she seemed to want to escape, and the next she clung to him. “It’s customary for the man to ask the woman,” he said.
She waved her hand as though she never followed custom. “I can’t wait all night.”
He laughed, wishing he didn’t like her so much. Stepping back so her hand fell from his sleeve, he said, “I never dance, Lady McCullough.”
“Oh. Yes.” She actually looked disappointed. “I remember.”
He saw Leasham making his way back to them with two glasses of champagne—undoubtedly the second was for himself, though Ramsey felt he could sorely use it. “Why don’t you ask Leasham to dance? He dances quite well when he’s not completely foxed.” Ramsey didn’t particularly want her to dance with Leasham, but he wanted to see the man’s face when she asked him.
“I don’t want to dance with him. I…” She paused as Leasham neared. He bowed and held the glass of champagne to her.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Your wish is my command, my lady.”
Ramsey plucked the other glass from Leasham’s hand. Over Leasham’s protest, he said, “Lady McCullough was just telling me how much she adores the gavotte.”
Her eyes shot daggers at him. Ramsey sipped Leasham’s champagne and waited for Leasham to step into the trap.
“My lady, I’d be honored to dance with you.” Leasham offered his arm.
For a moment, Gabrielle stood there. Ramsey could see her mind working, searching for an escape. Ramsey knew she was resourceful enough to find one, so he plucked her glass from her hand and said, “Go ahead, my lady. I’ll hold your champagne until you return.”
