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Lance looked down on her intently and the...wantin his gaze froze the breath in her lungs. She could bathe in that look because it made her feel as if she were the only woman left in the world. She knew then that she was glimpsing the man the tabloids loved to hate.
And she finally understood what her dance teacher had talked about. Yearning and desire. The beating pulse of it, the ache deep at her core for things that couldn’t be. It almost undid her in front of a crowd of hundreds. Sara sensed a movement next to them, an intrusion, and that glorious spell cast over her by the sinuous sway of their bodies faltered.
‘Lady Sara, may I have the pleasure?’ A voice she didn’t know, the man she’d seen at the other table. She didn’t want to leave this dance, the breathless sensation of being in Lance’s arms. And Lance didn’t relinquish her. He looked down at the stranger, all authority and menace.
‘No.’ A tremor ran through her as he swept her away in a turn, leaving the man standing on the floor alone. ‘Unless you want to, of course. But I thought I might save you a trying time. He looked dull.’
‘Thank you.’ Sadly, the space had increased between them to something eminently more respectable. ‘My hero.’
‘That’s something I have never been accused of.’
The music changed again. More people joined the floor as he led her away, snatching two drinks from a passing waiter and handing one to her. She took a sip of the cold beverage with perfect bubbles.
‘So what do you do when not being rakish or heroic?’ she asked. She had to regain her equilibrium where Lance Astill was concerned or she’d dissolve here in front of him out of heat andneed.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m a duke. That’s usually enough for most people.’
She looked around the room. All eyes were on her, full of avarice and intrigue. A place she’d never really fitted in, she realised now. How could she ever have thought she did? They’d probably be chattering about her for days. She’d never liked the attention before, but now she relished the sly glances.
‘I’m a little over the aristocracy and their intrigues.’
‘A woman after my own heart.’
She shrugged. ‘I just think there’s more to Lance Astill than...’ she waved her hand up and down in front of him, signalling his clothes and general appearance of wicked perfection ‘...this.’
Lance’s face was inscrutable as he regarded her, then his head cocked the tiniest fraction.
‘I’m a second-hand dealer. Or at least that’s what my dear old dad used to call me.’
The champagne caught in Sara’s throat and she started coughing, her eyes watering. How mortifying, but she hadn’t expected him to saythat, even though she’d suspected there was more to the man than the image he portrayed.
‘And yours was hisexactreaction when I told my father my plans. He couldn’t abide any sort of trade. Thought being a duke should have been enough. Though I did enjoy meeting his exceptionally low expectations of me.’ Lance reached round and patted her firmly on the back to settle her coughing. ‘Are you all right or are you going to expire on me here in the corner from shock? I’d hate to add that to my scandalous résumé.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, her voice a little hoarse. She collected herself, wiped at her eyes, thankful for the waterproof mascara she’d worn today. ‘Ignore what your father called you. What do you call yourself?’
He reached into the front inside pocket of his suit and handed her a fine white card, elegantly embossed in gold:Astill’s Auctions.She cradled it in her palm.
‘He loathed me using the family name. If he could have disinherited me, he would have.’
‘That seems harsh.’
‘He claimed I was a stain on the title of Bedmore, conveniently forgetting our wicked ancestors. But I’m the heir, no matter how disappointing. In the end, the dukedom won, as it always does. Anyhow, I told him I was merely refilling the family coffers, what with all the gamblers in our history happily emptying them.’
‘What do you auction?’
‘The possessions of the rich and recently deceased. They seem to trust one of their own coming into their homes and poking about their secrets, especially if death duties start biting at the family heels. Luckily, most of them have no idea what treasures their attics and dusty corners are hiding, which is where I come in. It’s all rather grubby, but I’m the soul of discretion there at least.’
She couldn’t see it as grubby. She saw him as before, a swashbuckling figure swooping into their homes. A pirate, definitely a pirate with his good looks and swagger, looking for treasure. What had this man seen in all the times he’d searched grand manors?
Sara loved beautiful old things. The lure of finding some dusty object that turned out to be an item of value. On the rare occasion she shoved a hat on her head and sneaked away, she would haunt the Morenburg antique markets to see what she could discover. Her excuse was that she’d been encouraged by her tutor to hone her skills. For her, it was the excitement of the chase.
‘Have you ever found anything incredible?’
‘Perhaps.’ A fire lit in his eyes, and the cold containment of him was dispelled again. ‘However, it’s a secret.’
An expectant silence stretched between them.
‘I won’t tell. Don’t make me wait.’
