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He had forgotten. She’d wanted to come to this ball to observe. She would have come without him but for their wager—though that had been less a wager than a war of wills.
“How could I forget?” he said. “I could scarcely believe my eyes when my friends showed me the business cards you handed out as though they were party favors.”
“Has your exotic pet embarrassed you, monsieur le duc? Does the odor of the shop offend your nostrils? How curious. As I recall, you were the one who insisted on bringing me. You taunted me with cowardice. Yet you—”
“It would be vulgar to strangle you on the dance floor,” he said. “Yet I am sorely tempted.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You haven’t had this much fun in an age. You told me, did you not, of the machinations the high and mighty employ to be invited to this exceedingly dull ball. You’ve done what scores of Parisians would give a vital organ to accomplish. You’ve achieved the social coup of the decade. In escorting me, you’ve broken a host of ancient, unbreakable rules. You’re thumbing your nose at Society, French and English. And you’re dancing with the most exciting woman in the room.”
His heart was thudding. It was the dance, the furious dance, and talking, and trying to keep up with her, matching wits. Yet he was aware of an uneasiness inside, the same he’d felt with her before—because it was true, all true, and he hadn’t known the truth himself until she uttered it.
“You have a mighty high opinion of yourself,” he said.
“My dear duke, only look at the competition.”
“I would,” he said, “but you’re so aggravating, I can’t tear my gaze away.”
They were turning, turning, both breathless from dancing and talking at the same time. She was looking up at him, her dark eyes brilliant, her mouth—the mouth that had knocked him on his pins—hinting at laughter.
“Fascinating,” she said. “You mean fascinating.”
“You’ve certainly fascinated my friend Aronduille. He wonders where you learned to curtsey and dance and speak so well.”
There was the barest pause before she answered. “Like a lady, you mean? But I’m only aping my betters.”
“And where did you learn to ape them, I wonder?” he said. “Do you not work from dawn till dusk? Are dressmakers not apprenticed at an early age?”
“Nine years old,” she said. “How knowledgeable you are, suddenly, of my trade.”
“I asked my valet,” he said.
She laughed. “Your valet,” she said. “Oh, that’s rich. Literally.”
“But you have a maid,” he said. “A slight girl with fair hair.”
Instantly the laughter in her eyes vanished. “You noticed my maid?”
“At the promenade, yes.”
“You’re above-average observant.”
“Madame, I notice everything about you, purely in the interests of self-preservation.”
“Call me cynical, but I suspect there’s nothing pure about it,” she said.
The dance was drawing to a close. He was distantly aware of the music subsiding, but more immediately aware of her: the heat between them, physical and mental, and the turbulence she made.
“And yet you court me,” he said.
“Solely in the interests of commerce,” she said.
“Interesting,” he said. “I wonder at your methods for attracting business. You say you wish to dress my duchess—and you start by making off with my stickpin.”
“I won it fair and square,” she said.
The dance ended, but still he held her. “You tease and provoke and dare and infuriate me,” he said.
“Oh, that I do for fun,” she said.
“For fun,” he said. “You like to play with fire, madame.”
“As do you,” she said.
Tense seconds ticked by before he noticed that the music had fully stopped, and people were watching them while pretending not to. He let go of her, making a show of smoothing her lace—tidying her up, as one might a child. He smiled a patronizing little smile he knew would infuriate her, then bowed politely.
She made him an equally polite curtsey, then opened her fan and lifted it to her face, hiding all but her mocking dark eyes. “If you’d wanted a tame pet, your grace, you should have picked another woman.”
She slipped away into the crowd, the black lace and red bows fluttering about the shimmering pink-tinged gold of her gown.
