in silence for several moments. She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry, and wished she’d drunk the champagne.
Drawing nearer, the marquis murmured, “Would you like me to say what I must in public? I assure you, it makes no odds to me where we have this discussion, but I thought you’d prefer not to create a scene.”
A footman passed close enough to hear their conversation. The footman departed again with a tray, and it took all Lizzie’s discipline not to fly at him with accusations of her own. His abandonment of her was something she would not easily forgive.
“I don’t understand you,” she said with the best semblance of calm she could manage. “You are insulting, my lord. Please leave me alone.”
Before she could retreat, he gripped her hand in a gentle but implacable hold. “If you won’t grant me a waltz, meet me in the garden at midnight, when everyone moves in to supper.”
Again, a flash flood of emotion crashed through her. That night, he’d held her hand as he joined her in bed. A hot, unwilling sensual awareness flowed through her body.
As if he sensed the reason for her disquiet, his eyes darkened with intent. He drew her back toward him, seeming to forget their surroundings altogether.
“Unhand me, sir,” she said through her teeth. “Or I will be the one to make the scene.”
“Midnight in the garden.” He raised her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Don’t forget.”
Before she had time to recover from the horrifyingly melting sensation this gesture caused, he released her. Perhaps three seconds passed, in which she stared up at him, bemused, the skin of her knuckles tingling beneath her gloves.
“Go now, or you’ll miss the set,” he said in a low, husky tone.
Lizzie came to herself with a start. What a silly chit she was, to be so befuddled by a simple kiss on the hand.
He doesn’t want you. He might want her breeding equipment or her fortune or her cooperation in some devious scheme, but he didn’t want her . No matter what loverlike gestures he might make, no matter how her blood heated when he was near, she must remember that.
She made herself turn and walk away from him with calm, regal grace while her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest.
Chapter Four
Later that evening, Mr. Huntley’s deep voice rumbled behind her. “Our dance, I believe, Miss Allbright.”
That was all she needed! Lizzie took a moment to compose her features into an expression of happy acceptance before turning to Mr. Huntley.
The clock hands edged their way toward midnight. After this set, everyone would move into the dining room for supper. She was tempted to ask Mr. Huntley if they might sit out the dance, but the prospect of enduring one of Mr. Huntley’s endless monologues was worse than the prospect of waltzing with him.
Preoccupied by her conversation with Lord Steyne and debating with herself about whether to admit to her identity, Lizzie scarcely heard a word Mr. Huntley addressed to her.
“Miss Allbright? Lizzie?”
Her attention commanded, she noticed he seemed to be puffing slightly, as if he’d run a fast mile. Or was he annoyed about something? Lizzie tilted her head in mild inquiry.
“I say, Miss Allbright, I did not think you, of all people, would entertain the attentions of a man with Lord Steyne’s reputation,” said Huntley.
Had he observed their exchange in the refreshment parlor? “The attentions?” said Lizzie. “Why, whatever can you mean, sir?”
“The fellow cannot take his eyes from you,” Mr. Huntley fumed, his hand flicking in the direction of Lord Steyne. “He’s been propping up the wall staring at you for the past fifteen minutes.”
“Has he?” Lizzie fought a stern battle with herself to avoid looking in the direction Huntley indicated. “I cannot think why.”
“Perhaps I shall go over there and remind him of his manners,” said Huntley with a pugnacious set to his jaw.
Lizzie clutched his shoulder harder.
Drawing nearer, the marquis murmured, “Would you like me to say what I must in public? I assure you, it makes no odds to me where we have this discussion, but I thought you’d prefer not to create a scene.”
A footman passed close enough to hear their conversation. The footman departed again with a tray, and it took all Lizzie’s discipline not to fly at him with accusations of her own. His abandonment of her was something she would not easily forgive.
“I don’t understand you,” she said with the best semblance of calm she could manage. “You are insulting, my lord. Please leave me alone.”
Before she could retreat, he gripped her hand in a gentle but implacable hold. “If you won’t grant me a waltz, meet me in the garden at midnight, when everyone moves in to supper.”
Again, a flash flood of emotion crashed through her. That night, he’d held her hand as he joined her in bed. A hot, unwilling sensual awareness flowed through her body.
As if he sensed the reason for her disquiet, his eyes darkened with intent. He drew her back toward him, seeming to forget their surroundings altogether.
“Unhand me, sir,” she said through her teeth. “Or I will be the one to make the scene.”
“Midnight in the garden.” He raised her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Don’t forget.”
Before she had time to recover from the horrifyingly melting sensation this gesture caused, he released her. Perhaps three seconds passed, in which she stared up at him, bemused, the skin of her knuckles tingling beneath her gloves.
“Go now, or you’ll miss the set,” he said in a low, husky tone.
Lizzie came to herself with a start. What a silly chit she was, to be so befuddled by a simple kiss on the hand.
He doesn’t want you. He might want her breeding equipment or her fortune or her cooperation in some devious scheme, but he didn’t want her . No matter what loverlike gestures he might make, no matter how her blood heated when he was near, she must remember that.
She made herself turn and walk away from him with calm, regal grace while her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest.
Chapter Four
Later that evening, Mr. Huntley’s deep voice rumbled behind her. “Our dance, I believe, Miss Allbright.”
That was all she needed! Lizzie took a moment to compose her features into an expression of happy acceptance before turning to Mr. Huntley.
The clock hands edged their way toward midnight. After this set, everyone would move into the dining room for supper. She was tempted to ask Mr. Huntley if they might sit out the dance, but the prospect of enduring one of Mr. Huntley’s endless monologues was worse than the prospect of waltzing with him.
Preoccupied by her conversation with Lord Steyne and debating with herself about whether to admit to her identity, Lizzie scarcely heard a word Mr. Huntley addressed to her.
“Miss Allbright? Lizzie?”
Her attention commanded, she noticed he seemed to be puffing slightly, as if he’d run a fast mile. Or was he annoyed about something? Lizzie tilted her head in mild inquiry.
“I say, Miss Allbright, I did not think you, of all people, would entertain the attentions of a man with Lord Steyne’s reputation,” said Huntley.
Had he observed their exchange in the refreshment parlor? “The attentions?” said Lizzie. “Why, whatever can you mean, sir?”
“The fellow cannot take his eyes from you,” Mr. Huntley fumed, his hand flicking in the direction of Lord Steyne. “He’s been propping up the wall staring at you for the past fifteen minutes.”
“Has he?” Lizzie fought a stern battle with herself to avoid looking in the direction Huntley indicated. “I cannot think why.”
“Perhaps I shall go over there and remind him of his manners,” said Huntley with a pugnacious set to his jaw.
Lizzie clutched his shoulder harder.
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