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Even after spending the last week in his home, Rafe still didn’t have a firm grasp of his host’s character. This was unusual, but then so was Wardale. Rafe was further ruminating on the man’s mercurial nature when the room’s air seemed to thicken. He turned around just in time to see Miss Sparrow make her entrance a step behind Mrs. Crawford and Lady Arlington. She was resplendent in a deep red gown that hugged her nimble waist, while the low-cut bodice shimmered in the soft light, drawing even more attention to the tops of her small but shapely breasts. It was hardly the most revealing gown in the room, but Rafe had yet to see her wear anything that didn’t button at her throat. Her light brown hair had been pulled back into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, while a few artfully placed curls perfectly framed her face. She wore her usual expression of watchful wariness, but without her typical somber attire as an accompaniment, one could mistake her for a naive innocent. A debutante at her first dance. A kind of predatory awareness streaked through him. No one would overlook her tonight.
The glass of the county’s finest single malt Rafe had taken in his room beforehand had not numbed him nearly enough, and he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. It was obscene how she drew his truest self to the surface with nothing more than a few words or a glance. And yet, even as the logical part of his mind demanded he retreat, the rest craved more. He weaved through the crowded room to meet the trio by the refreshments table, but Bert Leonard got there first. Rafe stopped in his tracks and glowered at the young man’s back. He was making grand overtures to Mrs. Crawford and Lady Arlington, but they were not his true target. Rafe caught the viscountess’s eye, and she gave him a helpless little shrug. According to the dictates of polite society, he should wait his turn and greet Miss Sparrow’s betters first. Luckily, no one expected him to bother with such civilities. If there was something the Honorable Rafe Davies wanted, he simply took it.
He moved to step around them and inadvertently came directly into the path of Lady Taylor-Smyth—though he guessed it had not been quite so accidental on her end.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said politely.
“You are looking well, Mr. Davies. I certainly hope your dance card isn’t full yet,” she teased as her eyes slid down his form in an appreciation so blatant, even Rafe felt a little uncomfortable. He darted a subtle glance at Miss Sparrow, who stood only a mere foot away, then looked back at Lady Taylor-Smyth, but her eyes narrowed. He was losing his touch. “Don’t let me keep you,” she scoffed. “I confess, I was given to understand your tastes were decidedly more sophisticated. But I won’t beanyman’s second choice. Especially one who lacks such discernment.”
Before Rafe could reply, she snapped open her fan and heaved off on a dismissive flutter. He glanced again at Miss Sparrow just as she turned away.
Damn. She must have heard everything.
Rafe’s face flushed. His reputation was hardly a secret, but having it alluded to so baldly, and in front of Miss Sparrow, was surprisingly embarrassing.
Turn around and make your apologies to Lady Taylor-Smyth. Show herexactlyhow discerning you can be.
But something that ran miles deeper than his embarrassment took hold, propelling him forward. To hell with Lady Taylor-Smyth and her snobbery. He came up behind Miss Sparrow’s shoulder, and though she had just been pretending not to eavesdrop, she turned her head slightly toward him.
“Good evening, Miss Sparrow.”
She nodded. “Mr. Davies.”
He cut a glance toward Bert. Luckily, the boy was still lavishing praise on Mrs. Crawford and hadn’t yet taken notice of him. “I want the waltz.” The rough command tumbled out before he had time to think, and regret immediately followed. Who was he to make such a demand of her? Rafe held his breath, waiting for the inevitable rejection.
But her full lips pursed, as if she were suppressing a smile. “All right.”
Rafe blinked. “Truly?”
She began to laugh and then caught herself. “Yes. If it’s so important to you.”
Rafe leaned in as close as he dared, until he could catch a whiff of lavender and fresh linen. “I’m afraid it is,” he murmured by her ear.
She shivered a little and swayed toward him, the movement so subtle she probably wasn’t conscious of it, but Rafe stepped away and allowed the crowd to swallow him. Only a moment later Bert addressed Miss Sparrow. Then he asked a question, and Miss Sparrow tilted her head, her body language the perfect picture of regret. Bert scanned the room, and when his eyes fell on Rafe, his face screwed up in a childish frown. Rafe raised his hands in a show of penitence they both knew he didn’t mean. The boy’s scowl deepened briefly, but then he turned back to Miss Sparrow and gave a gracious bow. He would take another dance instead.
As the musicians started up a lively polka, Rafe slowly made his way around the perimeter waiting for his turn, ignoring the not-so-subtle pouts Lady Taylor-Smyth kept casting in his direction. He had searched the rooms of nearly every male guest here and uncovered far more than he wanted and nothing that he needed. The older man leaning heavily on an elaborately carved cane was battling a laudanum addiction, an attractive widow on the hunt was flirting with a man who worked very hard to give the appearance of wealth while having barely a penny to his name, while the two middle-aged gentlemen standing near the refreshments table were not only friends of long-standing but lovers.
There were agents who relished having these little glimpses into the lives of others, but intruding on the privacy of innocent people unknowingly entangled in a mission had always repulsed Rafe. Let them have their secrets; Lord knew he had plenty of his own, and his conscience did not need the extra weight. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head, ridding his mind of those heavy thoughts. Wardale wanted to meet soon. But Rafe hadn’t found anything relevant to his purposes, and it was fair to assume that a man like him didn’t like being disappointed.
Rafe found an empty corner of the room and leaned against the wall with an apathy he did not feel. Miss Sparrow was now dancing with someone else and moved through the intricate steps with a graceful competence. She may harbor some more radical opinions, but it was clear she had received some education in the feminine arts. No doubt that would have been a trying experience. Rafe’s lips quirked at the thought of her not-so-subtly rolling her eyes through a deportment lesson. As the song ended, Miss Sparrow curtsied to her partner, then exchanged a smile with Lady Arlington. Perhaps they had met at some fancy finishing school for young ladies or had grown up together. Both were perfectly innocuous explanations, and yet they had taken great pains to conceal their history…
Rafe bit back a sigh and pushed away from the wall. He would ruminate on that later. Now it was time to claim his waltz. Miss Sparrow appeared to sense his approach even from across the room and turned toward him. Those large gray eyes flashed with a heat that sank into his bones, while a part of him raged in frustration. He didn’t havetimefor this. He should leave now. Wait for Wardale and discuss his next move. But Rafe did none of those things. He continued walking until he stood before Miss Sparrow. Until he could count the beats of the pulse thrumming at the base of her exposed throat. Until he could fill his lungs with her delicate scent, which was now so achingly familiar. Then he bowed and took her gloved hand in his. When the first notes of the waltz commenced, he pulled her close and gripped her waist with greedy fingers. Miss Sparrow inhaled sharply, as if a clap of thunder had cracked just above their heads, and Rafe felt an answering charge bolt down his arm, causing him to stumble through the first few steps.
“Terribly sorry.”
Miss Sparrow raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised that a gentleman of his standing couldn’t manage a simple box step. He renewed his focus and managed to successfully maneuver them through the first turn. After that inauspicious start, they found their rhythm.
Rafe considered himself to be a reasonably good dancer, and none of his partners had ever complained, but dancing with Miss Sparrow was an entirely new experience. Their bodies were so highly attuned that they could anticipate each other and react accordingly. Rafe was tempted to close his eyes just to see what would happen, but then he would not have the pleasure of staring at her face.
“Are you always this silent when you dance?” Miss Sparrow asked in a deceptively sweet voice. “And do you always glower at your partners?”
Rafe immediately relaxed his brow. “I am not glowering. I was simply looking at you.”
“Well, then, do you always look at your partners with such focus?” She kept her tone light, giving him a chance to save face.
“No,” he admitted as he held her gaze. “I most assuredly do not.”
A faint blush stained her cheeks, and she glanced away. Rafe’s fingers flexed against the small of her back. They had only a few more moments together. And if there was something their host wanted, Rafe would have no choice but to deal with it immediately.
