Page 38 of If the Duke Demands

“You don’t have to do this, Sebastian,” she said in a low voice only he could hear over the music and noise of the ball around them. “I’m not your charity.”

“No, you’re not.” He bowed as she curtsied stiffly, then pulled her into position. “But we have an agreement. We promised to help each other this season.” He looked down into her bright green eyes, finding a startling mix of misery and gratitude in their stormy depths that stole his breath away. A prickle of admiration coursed through him that she was able to handle his brother’s thoughtlessness with such grace and aplomb. “And I always keep my promises.”

Before she could retort, he stepped her into the waltz. They whirled together across the floor, the skirts of her dress flowing about his legs with each smooth glide and turn, and he was careful to hold her at the proper distance as they worked through the turns. She was more graceful than he’d anticipated, each of her steps matching his to perfection.

“Robert’s in the garden, isn’t he?” She lowered her face as they danced toward the opposite end of the floor. “With Miss Morgan.”

He stiffened, knowing exactly what she meant. The two had probably sneaked away, to be alone and out of sight of the party, not giving the waltz with Miranda a second thought. Robert liked Miranda, of that he was certain, and would never intentionally hurt her. But Sebastian was also quickly coming to believe that his brother would never see Miranda as anything more than the girl in braids he’d grown up with. “Most likely,” he answered gently.

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted, her gaze fixed to his cravat pin. But her voice lacked conviction, as if she hadn’t yet convinced herself and needed to say it aloud to believe it. “Someone else would have come along to ask me to waltz, I think.”

As he saw the interested looks sent her way from the men in the crowd as they glided past, he knew so. She’d caused quite a stir this evening, and for the next fortnight, the drawing room gossip among the ladies and the St James’s Street gossip among the men would be nothing but talk of her. All of them wondering about her. The woman who was introduced by a duke, a woman of no fortune whom none of them had ever heard of before. And one with a figure and face that most men would find tantalizing enough to risk taking a closer look.

“Be careful with whom you dance tonight,” he warned, turning his gaze back to her just in time to see her roll her eyes in aggravation at yet another one of his warnings. “I’m serious, Miranda. And don’t flirt with any of them.”

She laughed at that, the soft sound tingling through him like a fresh summer breeze. “You have nothing to worry about in that regard, since I don’t know how.”

“Oh yes, you do.” His fingers squeezed hers as he held them lightly in his hand. “When you were Lady Rose, you flirted with me.”

“But you don’t—”

“Signify,” he finished for her with a grimace, eliciting another soft laugh from her that almost took away the sting of the unintentional insult. “Yes, I know.” He pulled her into a tight circle. “You thought I was Robert, and you flirted just fine with me—with him—then.”

“Because I wasn’t being me. I was being Lady Rose and all…seductive.”

Oh yes, she had certainly been that, and his body heated at the memory of just how much. “You’re the same person.”

Her full mouth pulled down into a slight frown even as she continued to move light as a feather in his arms, her feet gracefully sweeping across the floor in synchronicity with his. “Lady Rose wore a mask, and you had no idea who I was. It’s easy to flirt when a man doesn’t know who you are.”

He gazed down into her green eyes, noticing the flecks of gold that caught the light from the chandelier. How had he never noticed before how beautiful her eyes were, how large and expressive? “But that defeats the purpose of flirting,” he murmured, “if the man doesn’t know the woman’s identity.”

Her brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “What’s the purpose, then?”

“Seduction,” he answered, his voice a throaty hum he hadn’t intended.

But then, it seemed he was always doing or saying things around Miranda that he never intended.Seduction?Good Lord…but he couldn’t help himself. Especially when her lips parted in delicate surprise at the boldness of his answer. He stared at her sensuous mouth, remembering how sweet she tasted the night of the masquerade. How smooth her skin. How the scent of roses wafted up from her body and perfumed his bed with the floral scent of her for the rest of his sleepless night. And not just her physical allure but the pure energy of her. The sense of excitement that radiated from her. The wit and laughter that lightened his chest the way nothing else in his life had been able to do recently. That it was Miranda Hodgkins of all women—astonishing.

“Practice with me now,” he cajoled, knowingly drifting toward dangerous waters but unable to resist the unexpected siren song of her.

She hesitated with a lingering look over her shoulder at the terrace doors. That glance clawed at his gut because he knew she was still searching for Robert. But Robert would not be coming for her. And Sebastian was selfishly glad that he wasn’t.

“Come on, Rose,” he teased. “Pretend I’m not some stuffy, old duke.” He grinned at her despite the self-deprecating jab. “Pretend I matter.”

“You do,” she assured him, “just not like that.”

His lips tightened, feeling a sting at her words. “Thatis not the way to start a flirtation.”

She laughed easily, and her hesitancy melted into a bright smile. Which was the exact right way to start.

“That’s better,” he murmured appreciatively. “You have a pretty smile. You should use it to your advantage.”

She scoffed. “You make flirtation sound like war tactics!”

“It is.” He crooked up an experienced brow. “And just as deadly for the man caught unawares in a female’s trap.”

Another laugh, and another comfortable warmth blossomed in his chest at the sound. This time when he stepped her through the circle in the corner and started back across the floor, she moved deeper into his arms, and he let her. Not enough that anyone watching would have noticed. Buthedid.

“So,” he continued shamelessly in his instruction, “you’ve also got the flirtatious laughter down.” When she swatted him playfully on the shoulder with her fan in mock ire, she drew a grin from him. “And the fan work.”