Page 3 of An Unexpected Earl
She stiffened with wariness. “How?”
“Help me put a positive end to a very boring evening by dancing with me. That’s all.” When that didn’t seem to mollify her, he gestured toward the dance floor. “It’s for your own benefit.”
“That’s a novel approach for a lord to meet a woman,” she drawled, her voice so low and throaty that he suspected she was purposefully attempting to disguise it. But she couldn’t hide the sardonic laughter that colored it.
He crooked a grin. “I’m not an average lord.” When she began to give him the cut that bit of arrogance deserved, he interrupted. “Everyone will see us together, so you can tell every other unwanted man who comes too close that you belong to me for the evening.” His gaze fixed on hers. Sweet Jesus, a man could happily drown in those emerald pools…ones that seemed so oddly familiar. “They won’t dare touch you then.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
When it came to making men fear him… “I am.”
She hesitated at his offer—one dance for the opportunity to be left alone for the rest of the evening. He felt like the devil himself bargaining for her soul.
She must have realized it, too, because when she glanced toward the dance floor, she murmured in a voice that was little more than a purr, “I don’t think what they’re doing is dancing.”
He followed her gaze. Couples who hadn’t yet left to find more private spaces where they could be alone danced across the floor. But this wasn’t a London society ball. Instead of bouncing through quadrilles or reels, these couples completely ignored the music to move to their own wanton rhythms. They touched fully along their fronts from hips to shoulders, with the women clasping glasses of brandy and port in their hands and the men clasping breasts and buttocks in theirs.
“No, indeed,” he agreed. But for some reason he couldn’t name, he wanted a dance with her. He wanted the chance to have her in his arms if only for a few minutes, to find out who she was beneath that mask and why she was here…and why he felt increasingly certain he knew her. “But the musicians won’t mind playing for a couple who want an old-fashioned waltz.”
“Anold-fashionedwaltz?” she asked, her voice breathless with irony. “Is there even such a thing?”
He called out to the lead musician and tossed the man a coin. “There is now.” When the first flourishes of a waltz went up, he held out his hand with a formal bow. “Lady Scarlet, our dance.” He arched a brow. “I promise to keep my hands where you can see them at all times.”
An ironic smile tugged at her lips. “With a request like that, how could a lady refuse?”
Pearce took her into position and twirled her into the waltz, making certain to maintain a proper distance as he led her through the steps.
She followed lightly in his arms, just as he’d suspected she would. Refined and polished to the bone, she gracefully placed every step, including the perfectly positioned tilt of her head that showcased her elegant neck. Just another reason he knew she didn’t belong here tonight. She was far too good at waltzing to be someone who made her living on her back, and she lacked the hard-edged bitterness that marked the society ladies.
So who the devil was she? And why couldn’t he shake the suspicion that he knew her?
He led her into a half turn. “Now that I’ve rescued you from Derby, tell me… What’s your name?”
She stared at him in surprise, as if he should know her. And damnation, if he didn’t feel the same. “Apparently, it’s Lady Scarlet.”
He turned in the opposite direction, hoping to catch her off-balance. “Your real name.”
She hesitated, then dodged. “You first.”
“Pearce.”
She sized him up with a sliding glance in his direction. “Just Pearce?”
“Just Lady Scarlet?”
“Yes.” The determined sound of that told him she’d obstinately cling to her defenses even as she teased, “But my friends call me Red.”
He laughed, a warmth stirring inside him. He wasn’t making any headway in solving her mystery, but heavens, she was amusing.
“And what do your friends call you?”
“Brigadier.”
She missed a step and stumbled, but he caught her, solidly righting her again.
Her eyes darted to his. She repeated in an incredulous whisper, “Brigadier?”
Heknewher. He was certain of it now. But from where?
