Page 60 of No One's Bride
“Forgive my lack of clarity. Yes, to the gaming hell where you stayed when you left me in Haslemere and chased after Nicholas.”
Nicholas pursed his lips. He seemed to find the situation amusing. “You’re sure you can handle the lady’s fanatical suitors?”
Lord Denton arched a brow. “I can deal with the likes of Frampton and his cronies.” He bowed his head and met Ailsa’s gaze. “I hear the strains of a waltz. Will you dance with me?”
Ailsa swallowed. A stubborn Scot would refuse and berate him for being absent today. “It’s been some time since I’ve taken to the floor.”
“Yet I have every reason to think you will be exceptional.”
With a firm grip on her hand, he drew her away.
She followed, gliding across the polished parquet, entranced.
Her sex clenched the moment he slid his arm around her waist. Her breathing quickened, her mouth falling open on a pant. “People are staring.”
“It’s the spell.” His gaze lingered on her hair as they moved in time to the music. “You look so beautiful tonight I can barely breathe.”
Desire unfurled in her belly. “Delphine agreed a softer style suits me. Apparently, blue provides the perfect contrast when one’s hair is a halo of fire.”
“Yet it’s the suggestive glint in your eyes that robs me of decent thoughts.” A low growl rumbled in his throat. “I’ve missed you.”
“We saw each other yesterday.” And she hadn’t stopped thinking about him for a second. “Though ye’ve made yerself scarce ever since.”
He winced, the torment in his eyes softening her resolve. “Don’t mistake my absence for indifference. I spent the time searching for Michael’s last known associates.” Then he made a shocking confession. “I need to solve this case on my own. I cannot protect you when my mind is consumed with thoughts of my brother.”
Like a bud in spring he was slowly opening up to her, revealing thoughts he usually kept hidden. But the viscount took command of every situation and she had to make him see she would not surrender her position so easily.
“This is my case,” she stated. Despite his earlier declaration, he was not her husband. As partners, he could not make decisions on her behalf. “The grimoire was delivered to Pall Mall. The intruder entered my home.”
“And you wanted done with the matter days ago. Daventry had to force you to attend the meeting with Mangold.”
He was not wrong. “Regardless, ye should have spoken to me about yer plans, nae spent the evening getting drunk with Mr Chance.”
He bent his head to whisper, “Getting drunk with Aaron was the only way to stop myself from entering your bedchamber. The need to pleasure you flows like opium in my veins. I want you. And my resolve hangs by a flimsy thread.”
I want you!
Had they been alone, she would have claimed his mouth in fierce possession. “Why did ye nae tell me that?”
“Because you would have looked at me like you are now, doe-eyed and dying for my touch. Because I can barely form a word without imagining driving deep into your body. Because I can’t help but think Mangold is dangerous. He knows something about Michael’s death, and I cannot cope with the thought of losing you, too.”
Ailsa blinked rapidly against this sudden wealth of information. She wasn’t sure which to address first, but she couldn’t think about him wanting her, needing her, not right now. “I was at the meeting with Mangold. He said nothing to give you cause for concern.”
“It’s based on a feeling, a hunch.” He looked almost embarrassed to admit it. “That, and Mangold’s eagerness to study Michael’s grimoire without the need of payment.”
“He studies unexplained phenomena.”
“Yet something about him screams charlatan. Christian Chance knows more about rune symbols than the professor.”
They fell silent as they twirled around the dance floor. Doubtless his mind whirled as fast as hers. If they meant to catch a murderer, there was much to do. Still, thoughts of kissing him and lying naked in his arms took precedence.
Oh, Lord!
Guests gathered around the dance floor like they would the ring of the travelling circus. Ladies gawped at her and exchanged wicked whispers, perhaps debating if Lord Denton had lost his wits. Why else would a confirmed bachelor propose marriage? And to a Scotswoman, no less.
Lord Denton noticed a dozen men watching her and muttered his disdain. “I shall find myself at a dawn appointment if we don’t break that damn spell. I cannot bear to watch you dance with Brockton tonight. If he puts his hands on you, I’m liable to snap his fingers.”
Suspicion flared.
