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“I beg your pardon, sir,” Tremblay said, a scowl darkening his pretty face. “I am dancing with the lady.”
“This dance is spoken for, I’m afraid,” Thornbury said without taking his eyes from hers. The possession in them spoke volumes, and she felt the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her thighs pulse wickedly in response. “Lady Bronwyn, looks like I’ve found you just in time to claim what’s mine.”
Dear God, how could a man’s voice wreak such havoc? He meant the dance, of course, acting as though he’d written his name in the space next to it on her dance card. Every word of that last sentence bled with a sultry possessiveness that made her blood heat to sinful levels. She wanted to scream,Yes, you found me, now take me. Wanton fool that she was. Bronwyn lifted her chin, resentment at her own weakness for him filling her.
The blatantly ignored marquis glared and spluttered his outrage when Thornbury bowed and lifted a brow in expectation. The music was starting and the other couples were already in position. Heavens, the arrogance of him.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said firmly to the duke. “I’ve promised this dance to Monsieur de Tremblay. You’ll simply have to find me later.” She would take a handsy marquis over a man whom her body recognized as its erotic downfall. A waltz would be utterly detrimental.
Those eyes of his glowered…promisingsomething. “As you say, my lady. Don’t worry, I am not going anywhere.”
She couldn’t help it; she shivered. The corner of his lip kicked the tiniest bit and she jutted her jaw with a dismissive sniff. As she and the marquis took their positions, she could feel Thornbury’s stare on her though she could not see him. She wasn’t surprised that he had come. Her intention hadn’t been to hide, after all, but still the visceral reality of him had rattled her to her core. Her very warm, very needy core that was begging to be ruined.
Oh, enough!
“Who was that?” the curious marquis asked when they glided into the first turn. “I am not acquainted with him.”
Bronwyn looked up to see a pair of sharp green eyes on her. “No one of import. A gentleman from England who fancies himself a suitor, I suppose. He followed me here, hoping to declare his intentions.”
The marquis’s brows rose. “And you do not welcome those intentions?”
“Why would you say that?”
A grin displayed two dimples on either side of his cheeks. “I am French. I recognize desire when I see it, mademoiselle. It does not only go one way,non? He wants you. You want him. But he also frightens you, which was why you did not dance with him.”
“You are very perceptive, Monsieur de Tremblay,” she murmured. “Though ‘frighten’ isn’t the right word. He is…intimidating.”
Fingers flexed at her waist, but not enough to cause alarm, and to her surprise, they did not wander. “I could make you forget him, if you like.”
For a heartbeat, Bronwyn wondered whether the touch of a man could erase the one who had imprinted on her soul, but everything in her recoiled at the thought. She exhaled. With time, the attraction would lessen. It had to. Then if a man like Tremblay made her such an offer, she would not be so repelled.
She smiled coquettishly, knowing Thornbury was watching, wherever he was. “What makes you think I cannot forget him myself?”
Delight danced in that green stare. “That’s a rather intriguing stance. Tell me more.”
“A woman doesn’t need a man. They are simply implements to be used when the opportunity presents itself. Most women are capable of rescuing themselves, given the chance.”
The marquis laughed, low and deep, a sound that had attention flocking to them, including her aunt’s. Bronwyn thought she heard a low growl somewhere in the vicinity of her left shoulder. “I think I might have misjudged you, Lady Bronwyn.”
“Let me guess. You thought me demure and proper, the perfect English rose.”
“Quite so,” he said with a snort. “Though I do know your aunt quite well, so I should have guessed her niece would be as extraordinary.”
“Howdoyou know my aunt?” she asked, curious.
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Bronwyn nearly stumbled over her own feet.No, he could not mean what she thought he meant. But when he grinned and winked at her, she could help a horrified bark of laughter. The marquis was half her aunt’s age! Then again, who wassheto judge? She’d been taken up against a tree and then again in a ship’s aft hold by a powerful lover.
“I have a proposal for you,” the marquis said, dipping his mouth close to her ear. “Shall we fan the proverbial fires a bit?”
“What do you mean?”
But instead of replying, the marquis gave a wicked laugh, held her hand tight, and pulled her out the nearest balcony door onto the terrace.
Well,shit.
***
Valentine watched her like the hawk he was. Watched her in that maddening silver gown that left one creamy shoulder bare and clung to every luscious feminine curve. Watched her dance and flirt with that smarmy worm of a Frenchman whose hands were all over her. Heard her simper and laugh. Not the fake laughter she’d given the dandies aboard theValor. No, it was the one he relished, those deep, throaty, decadent sounds that made his skin tighten with lust.
