Page 89 of Ruthless with a Rogue
And then his gaze landed on a pair of gentlemen—one of whom was the lobcock with the russet curls and the other…was glaring at Derek like he hoped the ground would swallow Derek whole.Mr.Warren Thorton.Derek’s lips tilted up in his cocksurefuck yougrin.Then he winked at the arsehat.Was that steam coming from the man’s ears?Derek chuckled.A slight calm stole over him; there was so much comfort in being an arse.
“What’s so amusing?”Livy eyed him…suspiciously.
The orchestra struck up the first notes of the waltz, and he stepped up to her, crowding her form.“Nothing of consequence,” he murmured.Not when his body was alive with anticipation of having her in his arms again, even for something as tame as a dance.She inhaled an unsteady breath, as if his presence had caused her to forget to breathe.A man could hope.
Then he was sliding his hand over her trim waist, his fingers flexing on the feel of her, and he swept them into the waltz.
The gazes of the ton burned into him.He’d known this would be the case.A marquess dancing at a ballfor the very first timegarnered attention.He glared at them over her shoulder, daring them to gossip, daring them to challenge him.
Livy’s cheeky whisper floated up to him.“Why, Lord Dunmore, have you been partaking in whisky without me?”
He glanced sharply at her, and she cocked an eyebrow.Minx.
He grunted in response.Of course he’d tucked away a flask of whisky; he neededsomethingbefore doing this.
Her eyebrows flew up as she stared up at him, owl eyed.“Did you just grunt at me?”Her stare turned chastising.“Your glares and grunts and…and…Goliath shoulders may intimidate the rest of the ton.But I am well aware you are all bark, good sir.”She leaned close to his ear—improperly close—as he led them around the dance floor.“And nobite.”Her low murmur coasted over his ear.
His gaze flew to hers, finding her eyes twinkling up at him as her lips curled up in a teasing half-smile.He growled, and by God, the bloody minx had the gall to break out into a full grin.
Dropping his arm from her waist, he lifted their joined hands above her head and flung her into a spin.And no bite.She played the role of a blue-eyed angel well.The minx was anything but angelic.
Catching her by the waist as she came around from the spin, he pulled her to his person.Her wide blue eyes stared up at him, those lush lips parted slightly.He slid his hand to her back, pressing her closer to him as he twirled them around the dance floor.She clung to him for dear life…as if shewantedto stay with him for this dizzying ride.Their gazes held, unbreakable.
In that moment, dare he believe it, she clung to him like she never wanted to let go.And if he weren’t the most pitiful fool in history, he dared to hope she never would.
He relaxed into the dance, into her, the tension in his frame gradually easing as his body fell into rhythm with hers.Feet flying, he couldn’t look away from those too-blue irises as he spun them, wildly so, matching every twirl of the other couples with two of their own.Not once did they falter.
It dawned on him then that this was how it would be when they finally came together.Their connection magnetic, her eyes pulling him toward her, her very essence drawing him in.Memories of her the other night, sitting proudly atop him, head thrown back as she lost herself to the throes of passion, morphed into a vision of her naked limbs running over his frame, sliding over his skin.Perfect partners, two halves of a whole.
Dear Lord.
She made him whole.That was the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.It was the emptiness being filled—with Livy.
And now she’d achieved her goal and didn’t need him anymore.He knew what happened when he no longer served a purpose.
“Congratulations on your victory, Wellington,” he said softly.
Her smile faltered, her gaze searching his.“I couldn’t have done it without such a valiant second in command.”
He nodded, the stiffness returning to his shoulders.As the music faded, he slowly brought them to a halt, her skirts swirling around them.Their gazes remained locked, his chest rising and falling roughly, their panting breaths mingling together.Despite the efforts of his lungs, he couldn’t draw enough air.What if this were the end?
“Despite the battle being over,” she whispered tentatively, her gaze boring into his, “you know where I reside if you ever desire to call…” She trailed off.
That…sounded promising, didn’t it?He was having trouble making sense of anything at the moment.Perhaps if you took a fucking breath, your vision would stop dotting over, and you’d be able to think.He dragged in a breath.
“My offer of assistance with the foundling home still stands,” she hurried to add.
All right, she had to be alluding to wanting to see him again.Probably.He just needed to respond.
“Come visit?”he blurted, then winced.Excellent, Derek.That was exceedingly smooth.How did this woman always turn him into a tongue-tied buffoon?
She tilted her head, staring up at him with an adorably befuddled expression.
He cleared his throat.“The foundling home.I had mentioned we were getting a litter soon.Come visit the children and puppies?”
A soft light bloomed behind those large blue eyes.“And if I were to visit, what is the likelihood a certain marquess would happen to be there?”
He fisted his hands.Grow a set of ballocks, Derek.“If you were to visit, Miss Forester, his presence would be an absolute certainty.”
