At the Bride Hunt Ball Page 11

  “We’ll talk. No ravishing. I promise,” he said, grinning, with his hand over his heart.

  She took a good look at him. So darkly handsome, exotic in appearance, his steady eyes concentrating on her, tempting her for one second to imagine he would take her in his arms. Perhaps he’d rip this blanket from her grasp, toss it to the floor, and yank her hard against his sleek body, holding her in complete possession until she succumbed. She imagined his sculpted, warm mouth covering hers…

  She shook her head. “I must go.” Grasping at the blanket, she strode for the door without a backward glance.

  It felt like an age before she reached the doorway. And she could have sworn she felt his smoldering gaze follow her the entire way. She stepped into the corridor without bothering to shut the doors, her mind concentrating on stifling the urge to return.

  Halfway down the dark corridor, she swore under her breath. In her befuddlement she’d turned down a different hall. She spun in a circle, smothering a pang of panic. What if that wolf stalked her in the dark? Heaven forbid, they’d be found together. She’d be considered compromised. There would be no other course of action except a hasty marriage. Priscilla would be ecstatic. Charlotte would be shocked, but secretly thrilled. And she herself would kiss her heart good riddance and kick it in a ditch.

  She turned another corner and soft, pale light beckoned her farther. The hall opened on her right, presenting a series of alabaster columns. She turned, her jaw falling open. It was the most magnificent ballroom she’d ever seen.

  The eggshell-colored room was enormous, slightly longer than it was broad. She stepped through a pair of tall columns, her slippers sliding on the glassy parquet floor. Five shimmering glass chandeliers scattered reflected sunlight about the room. Every so often a shard of light sparkled a rainbow on the walls. Madelyn almost needed to squint from the glowing radiance. The entire back wall was a series of French doors, above them gleaming windows covered with sheer, cream-colored drapes.

  She moved deeper within the room, her attention drawn above. Her head dropped back to gaze in wonder at the soaring ceiling. Naked gods and goddesses frolicked, unabashed, across the wide expanse. Some with only a trail of hair or a strategically placed arm as their only badge of modesty.

  It was hard to smirk with the predictability of it all when one’s mouth was gaping open. Leave it to the Devines to hold a seemingly proper ball while amorous beauties passionately cavorted above everyone’s heads.

  Suddenly dizzy, Madelyn gave her head a shake in order to regain her balance. She returned her attention to the room at large and, lifting her arms, swung around in a graceful arc—or what she pretended looked like a graceful arc. She was never any good at dancing. Her timing was off, her rhythm jumbled, and she always managed to stomp on her partner’s toes. She shrugged. Perhaps it was because she always fretted that others were watching, comparing, judging—like her stepmother. But there was no one here. No one to tell her that her movements were as fluid as a polluted river. No one to laugh at her sincere attempt at elegance. No one but the gods and goddesses above, and they were too busy to care.

  Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself as she raised her arms in the position of the waltz. She counted off in threes, eyes still shut, and began gliding across the floor. The blanket the duke had wrapped around her slipped, swishing to the floor. She ignored it, so caught up in the steps of the dance. Even so, she opened her eyes a slit, just to make certain she didn’t go crashing through the French doors.

  And that’s when she saw him. He stood just inside the room, his face a mask of serious concentration. She stopped, her arms slowly falling to her sides, her skirts swooping back into place. Too embarrassed to even utter a gasp, she looked to the floor, summoning up the courage to either speak or run away. Neither happened. She continued to stand there, frozen.

  He sauntered forward, stopping when he reached the red blanket pooled on the floor. As she looked up, he bent to pick it up, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “Explain this to me,” he said softly, his cultured tones so befitting the atmosphere. “For someone who claims the Devines are nothing better than the lowliest of scoundrels, I must ask why you think nothing of coming to me, dressed to tempt the holiest of saints?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “I have done no such thing,” she muttered, hating the way her body thrummed with delight at the hint of the slightest compliment. “Tempt someone?” She shook her head disbelievingly. “The only tempting I might inspire is provoking someone into hiring me a reputable modiste.”

  He quirked a brow. “And the person who gave you this warped sense of yourself is…the baroness, I imagine?”

  “I guess…I don’t know. I never thought of it as ‘warped.’”

  “Have you a mirror in your possession?” he asked, stalking toward her with the red blanket thrown over his arm.

  “Of course,” she said, eyeing the blanket and anticipating being covered up with it once again.

  “Do you utilize it quite often?”

  Actually, no, Madelyn mused. She tried to avoid her reflection at every turn. Oh, she checked her hair and face from time to time, but just a passing glance, nothing more.

  “Just as I thought.” Without breaking his gaze from her, he tossed the blanket on an ornate chair positioned against the wall.

  Madelyn shivered, feeling incredibly exposed.

  He bowed deeply, then took her free hand in his. “May I have this dance?”

  A giggle bubbled forth. “You’re serious?”

  He straightened, a feigned look of offense in his features. “Indeed, I am.”

  “But…there’s no music,” she said hesitantly, a smile in her voice.

  His broad shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “I shall hum a waltz.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, backing away. “The last thing you need is to waltz with me. I’m quite dangerous, I’m afraid.”

  “Really?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard what happened last Season to Sir William?”

  He blinked in mock astonishment. “That was you?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “You’ve heard?”

  “No,” he said flatly. With a teasing light in his uncommonly blue eyes, he escorted her to the middle of the room.

  “Your Grace, I—”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel, I cannot waltz. I cannot keep time and I cannot keep from trampling upon my partner’s toes.”

  He took her right hand with his left while his other hand sat heavy and firm on her waist—just a notch lower from being entirely proper.

  “And who told you this?” He began to hum, the reverberation of his deep tenor vibrated through her bones.

  Madelyn hesitated, partly because the sound of his low voice was mesmerizing and partly because she thought he was asking a question he already knew the answer to in order to make a point. “My stepmother,” she said finally. “And I believe her.”

  He pulled her closer, their hips brushing as he moved her across the floor.

  “Nonsense,” he drawled between humming. “You were doing a perfectly fine job of it by yourself when I came upon you.”

  Her blush bloomed anew as she imagined what a sorry sight she must have been when he came upon her.

  “You danced like an angel,” he said softly.

  “It was different. I wasn’t worrying about making a mistake and I had an imaginary partner who, naturally, hadn’t any feet.”

  “A gentlemen is responsible for guiding his partner,” he said, pausing between humming to speak. “Did you ever consider it was your partner who caused your missteps? Or your stepmother’s critical eye, distracting you from keeping time?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, pausing in thought. “I suppose…”

  “You seem to be doing a smashing job presently.”

  And she was. They were. And she hadn’t even realized they were in the steps of the dance until now. He controlled her every mo
vement with ease and confidence. A bubble of laughter escaped from her chest and she smiled the widest, most uninhibited smile she had ever managed in her entire life.

  With each swirling step across the expanse of the ballroom all of her insecurities and misgivings scurried and hid from the light in her laughter, the joy in her heart. And with a dizzying sensation, she surrendered herself to the glory of her partner’s masterful control. The rhythmic rise and fall was mesmerizing, and with Gabriel, incredibly easy and natural.

  He spun her faster and she felt as if she were flying and he, her anchor, her guide, keeping her safe from falling flat on her posterior.

  His soft humming ceased, his gaze locking into her own. They continued to twirl about the room, in perfect time, in perfect silence. Constantly whirling. She felt elegant, graceful, and very much like laughing again.

  It bubbled forth and she closed her eyes, laughing without reservation. And he joined her, his deep chuckles heartening her further. Effortlessly, Gabriel repeated the turns, her feet never colliding with his, their rhythm never faltering. When her fits of giggles crumbled into a delighted sigh, she opened her eyes and realized that they’d stopped right where they had begun. Madelyn breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. It was hard to do while Gabriel’s azure gaze sparkled with such heat into her own.

  “Your smile is enchanting,” he whispered, a sense of wonder in his voice, “and when you laugh, you are utterly captivating.”

  Her wide grin wavered then fell, so stunned was she at his compliment. She gave her head a tiny shake, thinking to dispel the charm of his words.

  “Dizzy?” he asked, the exertion of the dance apparently not affecting his breathing as it did hers.

  “No, not at all,” she said on a sigh. “Oh, Gabriel. That was absolutely wonderful.”

  He retrieved the blanket from the chair and she felt it being swept around her shoulders again, his hand holding it tightly closed between her breasts. Blinking as if coming out of a trance, she sobered and met his steady gaze. Gone was the teasing light, the arrogant gleam, and in its place was a penetrating stare, making her desire nothing more in the world than for him to touch her.

  And then his voice washed over her, low and smooth. “I do not know how…” he said softly, his gaze centered on her mouth, “and you certainly have no idea…of the effect you have on me.” Swallowing, his expression changed to one of confusion, as if in the act of sorting out his thoughts, he’d come upon some new discovery.

  “Gabriel,” Madelyn whispered, trying to draw him out of his thoughts. Infernal man, why did he have to say such nice things, why did he have to go and make her dream of a life shared with him, of loving him? “We are alone again,” she said, staring at his mouth. A sensual pull grew between them. Her mouth parted slightly.

  “Indeed,” he agreed. With a sharp tug, he pulled her to him using the blanket still in his grasp. His mouth an inch above hers, he brushed his lips across hers in a maddening, achingly slow, featherlike sweep. Back and forth and once again.

  Instead of shock, tingles of shivers shimmered down her body, down her breasts, her stomach, her legs. Almost to the point of whimpering, she felt her muscles threaten to go limp, so willing was she for his touch.

  And then his mouth sunk into hers for a brief yet lingering taste. His lips felt smooth and hard and Madelyn struggled with the urge to stand on her tiptoes for more pressure, for more of him.

  But he pulled away too soon, releasing his grasp on the blanket. She nearly stumbled back, but he steadied her shoulders. Then he cupped her face in his hands as if she was fractured glass, gazing down at her in that peculiar fashion of his.

  “It isn’t right for you to look at me like that,” she murmured.

  “Like what?” he asked, his hands falling away.

  It had to be false, for he seemed stunned by her declaration and his arrogant mask slid back into place.

  She dipped in a curtsy, bowing her head. “Thank you for the dance. I enjoyed it.”

  He bowed. “It was a pleasure.”

  She bit her lip and looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. Whether the reason was because she doubted his sincerity or because she feared he could somehow tell how much she wanted him to kiss her again, she didn’t know. With that scandalous thought inside her head, she tightened the red blanket around herself and dashed out of the room.

  Chapter 8

  Perhaps if he banged his head hard enough on the mantelpiece, Gabriel thought, he could knock himself out cold, thereby relieving his ears the punishment of having to endure the sounds coming from the mouths of the Fairbourne twins.

  ’Twas a shame, really. Though they sang a piece from Rossini’s Semiramide, the pair could have been singing in Finnish for all the care they took to enunciate their Italian properly.

  Tonight marked the commencement of the bride-hopefuls’ talent performances. Not that Tristan gave a horse’s ass whether any of them could hold a note, play a tune, or read for that matter—his brother’s expectations began and ended with what abilities any one of them could offer him inside his bedroom, or in any room. But for one—torturous—evening it gave the musically talented a chance to show off their skills. Unfortunately, it also gave him a blasted headache.

  Pushing off from the wall next to the hearth, Gabriel let his gaze drift across the dimly lit room until it affixed to his target: Miss Haywood. Damn, but his body yearned for the taste of her lips, for the feel of her supple body so close to his own. The sight of her made his entire body as taut as a drawn bowstring. Dear God, and her freckles. He wanted to memorize where each one was located and kiss them all.

  Dressed in a dark blue silk gown, she smiled placidly as the cats continued to screech not five feet in front of her. A less observant person would have believed she was, in fact, enjoying their performance. But every so often, when the harmony of the Fairbournes wavered and clashed, her eyes crinkled at the corners and the apples of her cheeks would lift a touch.

  He shifted his stance. This one was remarkably good at feigning indifference. She was mischievous, all right. So discreet, such a good actress, he rather thought she’d do well in the theater.

  He had suspected she was trying to keep Charlotte away from Tristan, and tonight, not more than five minutes ago, his suspicions had been further solidified when he watched Madelyn choose her seat.

  Tristan had asked Miss Greene if he could take the seat next to her on the settee. Quick as a whip, Madelyn squirmed her way in between the pair, plopping herself in the middle before Tristan had time to bend at the waist. Smiling innocently up at his brother, she had gestured for him to take the empty seat to her left.

  Gabriel shook his head. How long did she think this was going to last? In all probability, she was making it worse. The longer she kept his brother from conversing, strolling, or sitting next to Miss Greene, the more determined Tristan would become. She was unknowingly baiting his brother’s appetite. However, in the end it didn’t matter. Gabriel had decided that he wouldn’t let her win this game of love.

  Oh, he would have his brother married at the end of the fortnight, and if Charlotte Greene managed to catch his brother’s interest, then he wouldn’t let anything stand in the way. And that included the cheeky miss with the penchant for getting under his skin and making him smile, tease, trip over his words, and chuckle like he was…well, like he never had before.

  Just before Gabriel reckoned the glass chandelier was indeed vibrating and on the verge of exploding, the Fairbournes completed the act and everyone clapped politely while the twins grinned in response to the praise. He managed a quick touch of his fingers to his palm, inwardly proud that he had the strength to resist the urge to jump forward and shout in triumph that they’d finished.

  A small refreshment intermission was announced, and here and there guests began to stand and circulate about the room. Gabriel hung back, waiting to see what Miss Haywood would do as she rose from her chair. For at the same time Tristan reached
behind her to tug playfully on the thick satin ribbon Miss Greene wore around her waist.

  But before Madelyn could intercept the play, her attention was immediately snagged by her stepmother, who pulled her forward with a not-so-gentle yank on her arm.

  The baroness’s mouth was pulled tight as she spoke sternly to her charge. With her fingers wrapped around the crook of Miss Haywood’s elbow, she urged her farther forward, inadvertently leaving Tristan and Miss Greene standing next to one another. Gabriel laughed to himself as Madelyn attempted to turn back to look over her shoulder but failed as the baroness demanded her full attention.

  Just as he suspected, Tristan initiated a conversation with the fair Miss Greene, using the trick of pretending he could not hear what she said in order to take a step closer and dip his head close. The ploy was hardly necessary. Bereft of her spectacles, Miss Greene was already standing closer than was safe.

  Poor Miss Haywood, Gabriel mused as his gaze swung back to her. Whatever shall she do now? Inadvertently knock Tristan to the floor? Swoon in a desperate attempt to gain Charlotte’s attention?

  He smiled to himself…then stopped cold. On Madelyn’s arm, red, fingerlike marks emerged where her stepmother had gripped her moments ago. Anger, hot and tangible, rose up within him. He angled toward them, his hands clasped behind his back to reduce the probability that he’d reach forward and toss the baroness out of the room by her scrawny neck.

  “…perhaps if you wore the gown I had laid out for you, he’d have sat next to you instead of standing—Oh! Your Grace!” Priscilla dipped into a fluid curtsy, then urged Madelyn to do the same with a nudge of her foot.

  As Madelyn sunk into the gesture, Gabriel halted her movement by taking her gloved hand into his own.

  “Miss Haywood.” He kissed the air above her knuckles, his lips aching to press onto her mouth instead.

  “Your Grace,” she murmured, her eyes flashing with a peculiar blend of mild annoyance and distress. He released her fingers.

  “You look…” Ravishing, adorable, voluptuous, tempting. “…good in blue.” Good in blue? What the bloody hell was wrong with him? “The shade…it is my favorite,” he said, feeling utterly silly for the first time in his entire life. “I’ve something in my possession the exact color.”