Diana flooded with mortification as the handsome stranger at her side stilled as if she’d commanded him to rip her clothes off right then and there. Maybe she’d played her hand too soon. How would she know? She’d never done any of this before. She’d only seen the man approaching her and decided that if she was going to go through with her plan, he seemed the ideal candidate.
The stranger was tall and well built. He was handsome; no mask could hide those striking features. His black hair was thick, falling dramatically over his forehead and ears like some outcast prince who’d ventured into polite society for one night. And while she was shallow enough to cede that she would rather be kissed by a dashing man, it was not his looks that made her choose him. It was the wicked gleam in his blue eyes. Eyes she had felt on her skin from across the room as he’d approached. Eyes that told her: Here is a man who knows how to kiss—and has probably done so at every opportunity.
Instead of the offence she had been expecting, the stranger looked down at her. His eyes, so dark and intense, did not hide anything. In them she saw untamed fire. ‘How is it, my lady, that you have reached eighteen years of age without ever having been kissed?’
A warning bell clanged in her mind, but Diana could hardly hear it when he was looking at her like that. ‘I am a lady,’ she replied quietly, somewhat confused by his question. ‘Any mark against my character would have implied a lacking in my morals that a potential husband would findabhorrent.’
‘I highly doubt that.’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘No man in his right mind would find anything in you abhorrent.’
Diana hesitated, thrown off-kilter by the compliment. But when she searched his face, she saw that he was not mocking her, but being sincere, and she laughed. ‘I’m afraid that’s not entirely true.’
‘Oh?’
‘I have many bad habits. For example, I snore. Rather loudly too.’
His grin flashed. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, luckily for me there is no feasible way you shall ever be able to corroborate it.’
He didn’t reply, merely made a rough noise deep in the back of his throat. He rolled his shoulders as if he were uncomfortable and returned his attention to the dance.
The couple in front of them began their turn at the minuet, and as their own dance loomed, Diana felt a new tension in her partner. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to beg your forgiveness in advance. For a man who is athletically self-assured in almost every other regard, I am a terrible dancer.’
‘Why would you ask me to dance if it makes you so anxious?’
He chuckled, and the deep sound of it elicited a shiver of pleasure from her. And even that did not compare to the long, slow pull low in her womb when, without looking at her, he replied, ‘My greed is far greater than my self-consciousness in this particular instance.’
Diana did not know how to respond to that. She had no reference point for the swarm of sensations consuming her. She was so very hot. Her heart was racing in her chest. Her stomach was tight—but not with nerves. Or, not only nerves. There was a new and uncomfortable heaviness between her thighs, one that she was glaringly aware of even as she tried to ignore it.
When their turn came, he extended his hand for hers, though the dance did not require it. Diana placed her gloved fingers in his, and even though he did not close his hand over hers, only cradled it gently, she was impossibly aware of everywhere they touched.
He too seemed very aware of the contact. He stared at where they were joined for a long moment, but he did not say anything, only moved to position her on the dance floor before assuming his place opposite her. He bowed. She curtsied. And as they turned to begin their dance, he whispered, ‘Eyes on me. If those eyes are on me, I won’t be able to think of anything else.’
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