Page 42 of Temptations of a Wallflower
She was alone again.
A sigh rose up from her chest. Even here, in this masked assembly, where no one knew her and she could do and be anything at all . . . even now, she’d consigned herself to the role of wallflower. As if she knew no other way of being. But she did! She knew the realm of her books. There, nothing was impossible, and all whims and desires were indulged. If that existed in her mind, in her imagination, then surely the potential was there in her. She’d freed herself before, when she’d decided to become a working writer. Now she could embody all elements of the Lady.
If only for tonight, she vowed, she would be the kind of audacious, intrepid woman from her novels. She would be a woman who made good earnings from her own ability. She would finally be someone who saw and desired and took, according to her own demands.
The dance ended. Many couples hurriedly left the ballroom floor, seeking shadowy corners, where they immediately fell into each other’s arms.
Sarah looked around for the man in bronze, hoping to catch sight of him. She would let him know that yes, she would like a dance. It didn’t have to lead to anything further, but she needed to know her capability, her strength.
With the dance floor emptied, the other side of the chamber was revealed. Guests she hadn’t seen before emerged from the darkness. Women in gowns that fastened up the front. Men in snug breeches. Everyone masked, anonymous and free in their disguises. A woman laughed riotously. A man had his arms wrapped around two women as they tried to dance to their own music. They seemed antic in their need for freedom, moving with the energy of billiard balls ricocheting across the baize.
Not everyone.
She became aware of him through his stillness. His self-contained vitality. Where others around him spun and staggered, he was leashed power.
He wore dark blue, with a matching blue and gold mask. His dark hair had been ruthlessly slicked back from the hard contours of his face. A faint haze of stubble lined his lean cheeks. He stood tall, sinewy and muscled, surveying his surroundings with a slightlymystified smile, as if surprised and amused. Was he a regular? Was this his first time? Difficult to say.
Whoever he was, he attracted attention. Women hovered around him like bright moths. He wasn’t doing much besides standing with a glass of wine. Watching everything with that removed smile. Yet the females floated close by, striving to catch his eye with fluttered fans, even dropped handkerchiefs.
He didn’t pay them much attention. Just continued to observe.
A thousand questions pirouetted through Sarah’s mind. Who was he? From whence did he come? Her writer’s mind flew in a dozen different directions. Was he a bandit? A prince? A sea captain covered in intricate tattoos beneath his clothing? Anything seemed possible. And she wanted to know everything. He gleamed like a black diamond in the depths of night.
She froze when their gazes met across the room. He stood too far away, and the light was too dim for her to make out the color of his eyes, but she felt the sudden heat and intensity of them—all through her body. Everything within her seized and stilled, drawn to one finite point. The room and all its occupants dissolved like sugar in tea. All that existed was her and the man in blue. He started, as if struck by the same bolt of electricity.
What should she do? Approach him? Remain where she was to see if he approached? Indecision pinned her in place.
But he knew what to do. Without breaking his gaze from hers, he set his wine on a passing servant’s tray. Then, with sure, deliberate steps, he crossed the room. Heading straight for her.
Chapter 12
“My ring,” I demanded. “I want it.”
He lifted one brow. “Is that all you came for?”
“You’re a clever man,” I said, trailing my fingers up his chest. “What do you think?”
“I think,” he said, grinning, “that I am growing exceedingly fond of you.”
“Then show me,” I insisted.
And he did, his mouth finding mine, his hand slipping beneath my bodice to caress my . . .
The Highwayman’s Seduction
The man in blue said nothing as he approached Sarah. His gaze remained on her as he cut across the room, sure and purposeful. Nothing stood in his way. Music for the next waltz started up, and couples began to collect on the dance floor.
Her heart lodged in her throat as he came to stand in front of her. Warmth and the scent of leather radiated from his body, invisible and alluring.
Without speaking, he held out his hand. He broke their shared gaze long enough to glance toward the dance floor. An invitation.
Everything seemed to fall into place. She had come to free herself, and this was her moment. This stranger was the man. And she was the woman. To take what she wanted, when she wanted.
She slid her hand into his. Neither wore gloves. It was skin to skin. Her breasts went tight and heavy, and heat pooled between her legs—all from a simple touch.
Wordlessly, he led her onto the dance floor.
He wasted no time on preliminaries. No polite bow at the onset of a dance. No discreet distance between them. He pulled her close against his taut body. Even through the fabric of her cloak and gown, she felt the hard strength of him, sinew and intention. As he held her, she couldn’t break from his gaze. She didn’t want to. Her breath came hot and quick, and her head spun—all before they had taken a single step.
