Page 9 of Dare to Love a Duke
She pushed out a laugh. “Mercy,” she said, “you ought to set up a booth at Bartholomew Fair and tell fortunes. People would pay good money to have their characters delineated so incisively.”
“Learning about other people doesn’t interest me.” His gaze held hers. “Learning aboutyoudoes.”
Her breath caught as they stared at each other.
He stepped closer, and warmth radiated from his body into hers. “Will you join me for a dance?”
There was no mistaking the intention in his low, seductive words, especially as almost no one on the dance floor was actually dancing.
Could I? More to the point,shouldI?
Guests propositioned her nearly every night the house was open, and that clearly hadn’t changed since she’d become proprietress. Her breathing had never quickened with those guests. When she’d fielded their offers, she hadn’t felt the heat of the room pressing against her sensitized flesh.
She had never been tempted, not enough to neglect her duties.
But this buccaneer—with his Irish accent and his wicked lips and his burning blue eyes—he enticed her. To hell with all her rules and caution. She could lose herself in heat and sensation. Without a doubt, he could give her an abundance of pleasure.
But the club, and her dream, came first. Entangling herself with a guest led to complications, and any complication—such as an importunate or jealous lover—would throw yet more obstacles in her path. He would demand her time, her attention, and neither could be spared. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a man. Andthisman would assuredly be a distraction.
She struggled to lock away her reaction to him, like a keeper of wild beasts trying to urge a tiger back into its cage.
“There are so many available partners,” she said.
“I want to dance withyou.”
Her heart took up a fast rhythm. “I cannot.” Regret tinged her words. She held out her hand. “I’m Amina, the manager.”
His brow above the mask creased with surprise, but like a gentleman, he took her hand and bent over it. Instead of kissing the air above her knuckles, his lips touched her skin.
Fire shot through her body. From the simplest, smallest contact.
He murmured, “I’d introduce myself—”
“But you can’t.” Her voice was breathless. She withdrew her hand, though her skin continued to radiate with his warmth. “For the safety of my guests, I know nothing about them, not even their names.”
“A good precaution.”
“Policy dictates that I don’t get involved with guests.”
His full lips shaped into a frown, and she braced herself for him to ask for an exception, or cajole her, the way other clients had done. Men did not like to hear a woman tell themno.
A moment later, he said, “Understood. I must respect your choice. Everything here is consensual, after all.”
She relaxed slightly. “So it is.” She offered him a smile. “This being your first time, I welcome you. My hope is that everything is to your liking.”
“Everything but the manager’s policy regarding her involvement with guests.” But he smiled as he said this. “This is a wondrous place. We can be our truest selves.”
Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t speculate on his background. Anonymity stood as one of the central tenets of the Orchid Club. Yet he was well dressed, even more finely than a banker or brewer. The artful way he’d bowed revealed a privileged background. She inhaled his scent of gunpowder and spice, taking it deeply into herself, tucking it away for later.
A thousand questions assailed her, wanting to be given a voice. What brought him here tonight? What was he seeking? What responsibilities weighed so heavily upon him that he took delight in the establishment’s offer of freedom?
She could never ask, and never know the answer. “You paid the entrance fee,” she said, “so I urge you to take advantage of what there is to offer.”
She waved toward the dance floor, which had evolved into a mass of sweat-slick flesh. Moans and grunts competed with the music.
Damn the distance she put between herself and the guests. If nothing else, he’d give her several hours of pleasure. Touching her deeper, realer self—that was an impossibility. Letting someone get truly close led straight to disaster and misery.
The buccaneer’s gaze never left her. “The most fascinating and intriguing thing here is you.”
