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Gabriel’s hand rested on the small of her back as he guided her to the floor, and when the violin came alive, his hold tightened on her waist as the first strains of the waltz played.
“Gladhame told me about your conversation with him, but it seemed overly long to me for you to say thank you for intervening and saving us from scandal,” Gabriel replied, his brows furrowing. “Was there more I am not privy to?”
As he spoke, he let go of her waist to spin her about and then pulled her close again.
She blinked. “I see a man before me.” Her eyes searched his face. “One who currently looks angry.”
“I’m not.” They glided across the floor.
“Jealous perhaps?” Her brows rose as she stared at him. “Why is that?”
He spun her again, but this time when he pulled her close, he began dancing them toward the terrace doors. “I am not a jealous person, Anastasia; it’s not in my makeup to be so.”
A shiver rent though her body at the sound of her name on his lips, uttered in such a husky, possessive, hungry way. Anastasia’s waist was slender beneath his hand, and as he pulled her closer, she gasped at the tiny jerk of her body as her lungs expanded.
Anastasia tensed; he seemed put out by the fact that his potential bride had talked to his friend—another known rake. It wouldn’t do to have a jealous hothead for a husband—not that he had anything to be jealous about.
He is not your husband, nor will he be; stop being a ninny.
“If it is not jealously, whatever you are feeling is not a good color on you,” she replied. “It’s like rust on a beautiful silver vase; it dulls your shine.”
The music was drawing to a close, and Gabriel dropped his voice tosotto, “After this set breaks, go upstairs, take the left corridor, and go down to the last door—it is a solarium. Wait for me.”
He bowed this time, but his tone, his gaze, and his heat lingered with Anastasia as she went off to find her aunt.
Aunt Elizabeth gazed at her. “What has gotten you all bewildered?”
Seated, Anastasia pulled out her fan. “It seems to me, His Grace does not like me speaking to his fellow lords.”
Her aunt’s brows lifted high. “He is jealous?”
“I don’t know what he is,” Anastasia replied.
When the set finally broke, Anastasia looked around the room before she slipped away, followed Gabriel’s instructions—how does he know this house so well though?— and went to the solarium.
The room was dark, but the thick smell of plants was heavy, and she stepped onto a tiny ledge. The lands beyond were dark, yet the sky was bejeweled with bright stars, and the full moon lingered above, its benign rays washing over the treetops.
She heard silent footsteps but did not turn, “I assume the reason you know this house so well is that you have seduced someone in it?”
His hand rested on her arm, and Gabriel gently turned her to him, his expression wry. “Yes, I have had a time or two here.”
“My aunt said you would explain your actions tonight,” Anastasia replied. “I am listening.”
Instead of giving his reason, Gabriel notched her chin up with two knuckles and gazed at her… and gazed some more. The trail of his eyes over her felt like a heated touch, especially when he fixated on her mouth.
“You’re stunningly beautiful, brilliant, and more sophisticated than I had first imagined which makes you increasingly dangerous to me,” he murmured. “When I saw you with Gladhame…”
“So, you were jealous?”
“And fit to be tied,” he replied. “But now…I want to kiss you.”
“What happened to me finding someone better?” she whispered, while imaging an activity involving their tongues stroking and hands roaming in the dark. A kiss here, alone, couldn’t damage her good standing, could it? No one would know unless Gabriel or she told them.
“I lied; no one is better than me.”
Gabriel gently cupped the nape of her neck, angling her head so that their mouths would fit together perfectly. He cradled her head, brushed his lips over hers, nipped at her bottom lip, ran the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips, then nipped again.
“Tell me you want this.”
