Page 61 of No One's Bride
Was the spell responsible for drawing men like moths to a flame?
If so, why did she feel nothing but annoyance? Why did her heart beat fast for one man? The wrong man. The only man determined not to marry.
“Then we should break the spell tonight.” Sickness swirled in her stomach at the thought. She liked feeling giddy. Liked feeling a little bit in love. “We need to accept the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Unless we temper these feelings, we’ve nae hope of catching the killer.”
ChapterTwelve
What the devil was wrong with him?
Should he not drag Miss MacTavish from the dance floor, send word to his coachman and make haste? Should he not race to Lady Winfield’s study and write the notes they needed to burn? Breaking the spell had always been the priority, the impetus for meeting Mangold.
Yet the thought left Sebastian sick to the pit of his stomach.
If they broke the enchantment, Miss MacTavish wouldn’t want him. There would be no more passionate kisses. No tearing at each other’s clothes. No forbidden touches. No frantic need to make love.
Hellfire!
The loss was like a cavernous hole in his chest. He enjoyed being held captive by her charms. He wanted her with a desperation that defied logic.
“Break it tonight?” he said, despite the frog in his throat.
“Is it nae for the best?” Her gaze flitted briefly to the group of women watching them dance. Miss De Luca stood amongst them, staring as if she might singe their souls with her irate glare. “Ye must have feelings for Miss De Luca, else there wouldnae be bets in the book at White’s. She’s the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“No, she’s not,” he snapped, unable to tear his gaze away from his Scottish temptress. It wouldn’t matter if Cleopatra appeared wearing a golden kalasiris. No other woman could turn his head. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.” Plump lips and the soft swell of her breasts roused a hunger he’d never known.
A blush touched her cheeks. “’Tis the spell talking.”
“It’s not the damn spell.” Why could she not accept a compliment? He took a calming breath. “Forgive me. Tensions run high tonight. But just so we’re clear. I feel nothing for Miss De Luca.”
She raised a brow. “That’s easy to say when ye’re bewitched. Tomorrow, ye may think differently.”
Tomorrow, he might be grieving.
Longing to feel this all-consuming lust.
Finding nothing but the dreaded emptiness.
“Have it your way,” he said, suppressing his reluctance to sever the ties. “We’ll break the bond tonight. You’ll return with me to Grosvenor Street. We’ll light a fire in the garden and dance beneath a waning moon.”
The music stopped.
Coldness invaded the space the moment he released her.
“Then let us leave now, my lord. But we must do so discreetly.” Eager to cast him aside, she drew him from the dance floor. “I’m convinced I saw the devil from the auction house lurking in the street when I arrived.”
“You saw Murden?” He brought them to an abrupt halt.
“Nae Murden. The man who stormed out after losing the grimoire.”
“The fellow in black? Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because we’ve been busy avoiding our admirers.”
To prove the point, Miss De Luca approached them. The lady forced a smile, but like a wolf on the hunt, her eyes were savage.
