face—at those long-lashed eyes, which had turned languid and sensual now, at the straight, patrician line of his well-formed nose, at the curve of his cuttingly high cheekbones. She simply could not breathe. He was devastating, and it had been so long since she had been in a man’s arms.
And her body knew it. It tightened, swelled. Her heart slammed again. Desire was a fist to her midsection, robbing her of all air.
And he was staring intensely back at her. His mouth was full, but chiseled into a hard line, and now, slightly, the corners shifted. But the expression was by no means a smile. “May I escort you to a chair?” he offered again.
His tone was so seductive that desire flooded her again. She wet her lips. As she no longer knew how to flirt, she decided she would not even try—assuming she could even find her voice. “You are very kind,” she managed at last.
His mouth eased a bit more. “Many things are said about me, but I do believe that no one has ever called me kind.”
His arm remained around her. Alexandra realized she was, for all intents and purposes, in his embrace. “Then you have detractors, sir.”
He seemed amused—but it was as if he refused to smile. “I have many,” he agreed. “But the truth of the matter is that kindness has nothing to do with rescuing a beautiful woman.”
And as if she were a young woman, Alexandra blushed.
His brow lifted. “Shall we?” But before she could even nod, he was moving her through the crowd, which parted for them as if on command. Suddenly a red velvet chair was before them. Alexandra was vaguely aware of the whispers in the room behind them, but she couldn’t make out a word and didn’t even try—her racing heartbeat was simply too loud.
“I am reluctant to let you go,” he said softly.
She knew she was blushing again. “I am afraid…there is no other choice.”
“There are many choices,” he said as softly, as he pressed her toward the chair.
He easily could have released her, but Alexandra was certain he held on to her as intimately as he did until the very last moment, when her bottom was securely on the plush seat of the chair. And even then, his large hand was on her waist, and his hard arm remained behind her back. She felt his fingers tighten.
“The pleasure has been mine.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Worse, she couldn’t look away from his warm, intent gaze. He was flirting . She was amazed.
He released her, straightened to his full height—he was over six feet tall, she thought almost inanely—bowed and walked away.
Alexandra just sat there, stunned.
And then, as her sisters rushed over and knelt beside her, she became aware of her hammering heart and throbbing body, and the fact that she was completely undone. Who was that man?
“Do you know who that was?” Corey asked excitedly, as if she’d heard Alexandra’s silent question.
Alexandra looked up and saw that almost everyone in the entry hall was staring at her and whispering behind gloved hands. “No, I do not.”
“That was the Duke of Clarewood,” Corey breathed.
Alexandra stiffened in her seat. She knew all about the duke. Everyone did. He was a paragon of manhood—rich, titled, a great philanthropist. In fact, it was undisputed that he was the wealthiest peer in the realm—and possibly the most powerful one. And he was the most eligible bachelor in Great Britain.
She trembled. Because the most important thing of all was that everyone knew his reputation. He was, it was said, cold and heartless. He’d rejected the best Britain had to offer, time and again, for over a decade, refusing to choose a bride. But he kept many beautiful mistresses. And it was also said that he’d left a trail of broken hearts all across the realm.
CHAPTER THREE
H E COULD NOT ATTEND any kind of function without fawning ladies and obsequious gentlemen hoping to attract his interest and attention. The men wanted friendship, not because he was so likable,
And her body knew it. It tightened, swelled. Her heart slammed again. Desire was a fist to her midsection, robbing her of all air.
And he was staring intensely back at her. His mouth was full, but chiseled into a hard line, and now, slightly, the corners shifted. But the expression was by no means a smile. “May I escort you to a chair?” he offered again.
His tone was so seductive that desire flooded her again. She wet her lips. As she no longer knew how to flirt, she decided she would not even try—assuming she could even find her voice. “You are very kind,” she managed at last.
His mouth eased a bit more. “Many things are said about me, but I do believe that no one has ever called me kind.”
His arm remained around her. Alexandra realized she was, for all intents and purposes, in his embrace. “Then you have detractors, sir.”
He seemed amused—but it was as if he refused to smile. “I have many,” he agreed. “But the truth of the matter is that kindness has nothing to do with rescuing a beautiful woman.”
And as if she were a young woman, Alexandra blushed.
His brow lifted. “Shall we?” But before she could even nod, he was moving her through the crowd, which parted for them as if on command. Suddenly a red velvet chair was before them. Alexandra was vaguely aware of the whispers in the room behind them, but she couldn’t make out a word and didn’t even try—her racing heartbeat was simply too loud.
“I am reluctant to let you go,” he said softly.
She knew she was blushing again. “I am afraid…there is no other choice.”
“There are many choices,” he said as softly, as he pressed her toward the chair.
He easily could have released her, but Alexandra was certain he held on to her as intimately as he did until the very last moment, when her bottom was securely on the plush seat of the chair. And even then, his large hand was on her waist, and his hard arm remained behind her back. She felt his fingers tighten.
“The pleasure has been mine.”
She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Worse, she couldn’t look away from his warm, intent gaze. He was flirting . She was amazed.
He released her, straightened to his full height—he was over six feet tall, she thought almost inanely—bowed and walked away.
Alexandra just sat there, stunned.
And then, as her sisters rushed over and knelt beside her, she became aware of her hammering heart and throbbing body, and the fact that she was completely undone. Who was that man?
“Do you know who that was?” Corey asked excitedly, as if she’d heard Alexandra’s silent question.
Alexandra looked up and saw that almost everyone in the entry hall was staring at her and whispering behind gloved hands. “No, I do not.”
“That was the Duke of Clarewood,” Corey breathed.
Alexandra stiffened in her seat. She knew all about the duke. Everyone did. He was a paragon of manhood—rich, titled, a great philanthropist. In fact, it was undisputed that he was the wealthiest peer in the realm—and possibly the most powerful one. And he was the most eligible bachelor in Great Britain.
She trembled. Because the most important thing of all was that everyone knew his reputation. He was, it was said, cold and heartless. He’d rejected the best Britain had to offer, time and again, for over a decade, refusing to choose a bride. But he kept many beautiful mistresses. And it was also said that he’d left a trail of broken hearts all across the realm.
CHAPTER THREE
H E COULD NOT ATTEND any kind of function without fawning ladies and obsequious gentlemen hoping to attract his interest and attention. The men wanted friendship, not because he was so likable,
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