Page 37 of A Remarkable Rogue

“No.” She dropped her hand to his shoulder and turned her face away. “But my late husband was a frequent guest. Rowland enjoyed trying to shock me with stories of what he did here.”

Good Lord…what kind of marriage had she had?

“Dance with me,” she cajoled and swayed her hips against his. “People are watching, and we need to blend in.”

Nate had no intention of blending into this crowd. For God’s sake, a man at the rear table was stroking his hand beneath a woman’s skirt as she perched on his lap.

But he did as Sydney instructed and once again pulled her close, once again leading her through the scandalous waltz. In truth, he was a terrible dancer, but he no longer cared if he bungled his steps, not with the way she pressed herself against him. One slender arm wrapped around his neck to hold her close, and the closeness gave him lovely views down her dress—views any other man would have shamelessly taken.

He fixed his eyes on her emerald-green ones to keep his gaze from straying lower. “I don’t think you’re blending in, Lady Flame.”

She could have worn a burlap sack and she still would have been the most beautiful woman in the room. But in that tight red satin, shimmering like the flames of a wildfire…

He grimaced. “You’re simply stunning.”

“Such a pained compliment.” She gave a soft laugh, which only grew his consternation. “You sound downright aggrieved about my appearance.”

He was. The fact that she was so damned alluring wasn’t helping him keep his focus on his mission or his thoughts on anything but ravishing her.

She gave him a flirtatious smile that only added to his frustration. “Next time, I’ll dress as a washerwoman in rags if that makes you more comfortable, my lord.”

“I am not your lord.” He wasn’t anyone’s lord and never would be. Bastard sons weren’t let into the club of the aristocracy.

“Tonight, you are.” In gentle correction, she outlined his frown with her fingertip, as if attempting to ease his irritation and help him to relax in this den of wolves. Despite being nothing more than pretense, her touch was electric. “As far as everyone here is concerned, you’re just another aristocrat attending a private party, one whom I find attractive enough to dance with.”

He dropped a slow glance down her front. “That’s why you wore this costume, then, because you wanted to blend in?”

She smiled at his sarcasm. “With all these people here, I had to make certain you noticed me.”

“Oh, I noticed,” he murmured. When he’d walked into the ballroom and saw her, a bolt of lightning had slammed through the back of his skull.

“Good, because it wouldn’t have done to have you mistakenly dance with another woman tonight.” She rested her hand on his chest. “Or me with another man.”

His arms tightened around her. Wild horses couldn’t have ripped her away to put her into the arms of another, not with the warmth of her body heating into him. Not with her fingers curling possessively into his chest as if she, too, didn’t want to let go tonight. Eventually, he would have to release her, but for now, he could enjoy having her close.

He asked, “Why am I here?”

“Because I need you.”

Obviously, she didn’t mean that as it sounded. Yet the temptation of her soft words spun inside his head and tormented him as much as her body as she swayed in his arms in half time to the music. He forced himself to concentrate on something other than the soft press of her breasts against his chest and the brush of her thighs against his. The curtained alcoves and the privacy they promised were too damned close.

He wanted her with a primal need he’d never felt for another woman. Not even Sarah. It wasn’t love; he held no delusions that what he felt for Sydney was anything more than lust. Yet the hot longing in his gut left him craving to taste her spicy sweetness, to sink into her softness, and to feel her shudder around him in release.

But to cast aside his vows to Sarah… How would he live with himself?

She rested her cheek against his to bring her lips close to his ear. Her ripe body electrified his flesh everywhere it touched along the front of his. “Tell me…did you really save all those women and children at Amiens?”

His heart skipped. How the hell did she know about that? Only a handful of men knew what happened that day, most of them lost in other battles, and only he knew the truth. He hadn’t found those women and children because he’d been searching for innocents in that farmhouse. He’d stumbled across them while racing toward the enemy artillery with the reckless disregard for his own life that he’d possessed since Sarah died.

“Nate?” She brushed her lips along his jaw. “Did you?”

“Yes.” But in truth, they’d saved him because that was the day he’d started living again, redeeming himself with every woman and child he rescued. He could never absolve himself completely for failing Sarah, he knew that. But each woman who kissed his cheeks and thanked him for saving her life eased the guilt a little more and made him realize that life went on even after horrible death and loss, even if the pain would always remain.

“Then I know you’ll save me, too,” she whispered. “I need your protection tonight. A great deal.”

When she pulled back from him, her lips fluttered lightly over his. His heart skipped, not at the fleeting kiss but at the fear in her eyes. “What’s happened?”

“The blackmailers have given me another chore.”