Page 5 of Cocky August Rake

The realization should have made her wary. Instead, it drew her in.

The dance had already begun by the time they reached the floor. He placed one hand at her waist and, with a single easy turn, brought her into the movement.

For a man who had claimed not to have waltzed recently, he was remarkably good at it. Not with the polished show of a gentleman who had spent half his life at assemblies. He was simply steady. Strong without holding too tightly.

“You seemed intent upon escape,” he said, staring into her eyes. “When you ran into me.” And then, “Surely, you aren’t here alone?”

The question was not inappropriate. Not quite.

Rose let her gaze drift toward the chandeliers as though considering whether he deserved an answer.

“Would it trouble you if I was?”

His hand went still at her waist.

“No,” he said. Then, after the smallest pause, “Though I suppose I ought to be concerned for any young woman gallivanting around Mayfair without protection.”

Rose looked back at him.

She had not felt like a young woman in a very long time. She’d deduced herself to be six and twenty, or thereabouts, and none of those years had been easy ones. Perhaps that was why.

And although she was, in fact, without a chaperone, she was well protected. Even now, a very large man waited in one of The Domus’s carriages outside.

Still, Rose was struck by the sweetness of his answer.

The ballroom seemed to fall away for a moment.

This man, no doubt, wanted her alone. But he also seemed to want to know that she was safe.

Something tightened in her throat.

The music swept them into another turn. And even though they weren’t quite touching, she felt the warmth from his body through the layers of silk, linen, and wool between them. He smelled clean, with something almost exotic beneath it. Some spice she didn’t recognize. Or perhaps it was just the night air. His hand remained firm at her waist, but careful too.

Rose knew desire. She knew how to kindle it in a man. She knew how to recognize it and also how to answer it.

But this was different.

This was not about what he wanted from her.

It was a sudden, startling wish…

A wish she had—to know him.

To see the face beneath his mask. To touch the scarred palm she had noticed with her bare hand. To discover what that grave, beautiful mouth might taste like.

The thought left her almost breathless.

When the music came to an end, the other couples stepped apart.

He did not release her.

Neither did Rose move away.

His silver eyes held hers. And there was something in them now that made her think he had felt it too.

She ought to have remembered why she had come.

Instead, she said, “Would you like to walk in the garden?”