The Ugly Duckling Debutante (House of Renwick #1)(9)

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Nicholas was having a difficult time recalling exactly how he had gotten himself into such an unsavory situation while climbing the stairs to Lady Fenton’s door. His cousin had a way of pulling favors from anyone which made even the strongest of men bow to requests. In this case, however, she didn’t hold a favor over his head. It was her mere presence reminding him of the past, and her honest solemn plea for his help, making it impossible for him to deny her the favor. She needed a gentleman who would know the ton well enough to coach her young protégé, but who was also wise enough not to touch her.

Lady Fenton provoked him enough to accept, but now he also felt challenged. She had the audacity to warn him not to touch the girl, as if he would actually fall to woman’s feet just because she was attractive, or as his cousin put it earlier today: devastating—whatever that meant.

Lady Fenton’s old steward met him at the door and announced his arrival to the woman of the house, who sashayed briskly into the hall and offered her hand in greeting. Nicholas kissed it perfunctorily. “You look radiant as always, cousin,” he crooned.

“Thank you, my dear. I see your eyesight hasn’t improved. We will set up in the drawing room. I believe my niece is waiting there for us. Will you follow me?”

They made their way to the first floor drawing room. Lady Fenton spoke interminable of her plans for the girl’s debut. He shook his head as his cousin went on and on. Did women never tire of such sport?

She led him into the drawing room.

He froze and stopped breathing all at once; it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. He took one look at the girl and, for old times’ sake, swore under his breath. He immediately asked for forgiveness in his heart as his eyes caressed the girl sitting before him.

She seemed tense, almost as if bracing for some sort of impact. Well, I would probably behave the same way living in this mad woman’s house, he thought. Then he stole another look at her.

It couldn’t be.

No.

But it was.

Hell. He was in his own personal Hell. Only this time there was no escape, because sitting in front of him was the same girl he had mauled in the hallway the night before. And by the look in her eyes, she recognized him, too. A deep blush swept from her chest all the way up that neck his fingers had burned to touch. Yes, God was punishing him and doing a thorough job.

“Sit straight, my dear!” Lady Fenton scolded.

“And so it begins,” he grumbled under his breath. He strode over to the girl and kissed her hand quickly. His lips held the tingling sensation long afterward, and it was a good five minutes before he could think logically again.

His cousin droned on interminably about the coming days, and he couldn’t help but allow his eyes and thoughts to wander back to the poor creature seated before him. No doubt she would be eaten alive by the ton. She was too beautiful for her own good. She wore no face paint, not that she needed it at all. Her dark lashes naturally extended further than most women’s and were thick, almost dewy looking. Her lips were pale pink, the color of a fair rose. Her skin was dark, but it framed such a beautiful jawline that one hardly took notice. Her eyes, the same beautiful emeralds from the night before, were like a burning furnace of emotion. She would quite easily have her pick of any man she desired.

It had to be a test from God to be put in the same room as this girl. She is a debutante just like all the rest of them, he kept reminding himself over and over again until he thought he’d go mad.

“Shall we start with a waltz?” Lady Fenton asked, no, it was actually more of a statement. He paled as he looked down at the girl.

“Don’t just sit there,” his cousin bellowed. “Get up! Your looks are no reason to act unapproachable or mute!” The outburst jolted Nicholas, and he glanced quickly to the girl on the settee.

She looked like she had just been struck, yet a certain intelligence hung behind her eyes, making him feel as if he was in for a lot more than lessons. It was obvious she had a temper, even though she concealed it quite well. It would behoove him to remember that in case he accidently provoked the poor thing.

An image of her chasing after her aunt with her fan entered his mind; he cleared his throat to mask the chuckle trying to betray his amusement and held his hand out to her. She eyed him reluctantly before accepting it. Her touch sent familiar sensations shuddering all the way down to his toes; it was like stepping into Dante’s Inferno. How long had it been since he experienced this depth of attraction? Oh yes—around twelve hours. He had gone two whole years without any hint of scandal or misconduct, yet one simple touch from this maiden was enough to undo him.

Nicholas led her gently to the middle of the room. He bowed casually before asking, “Are we sure this dance is appropriate for Miss—” He looked down at her in question. Ironically, Lady Fenton failed to make the proper introductions, or he somehow missed the name of the beauty.

“Sai. You may call me Sai,” she informed him in a smooth sultry voice. He nearly moaned in agony. How could he have forgotten her voice was that of a temptress? Had he not already determined he was in Hell? Might as well add her voice to the list of completely spell-binding tortures she wielded.

She curtsied uncertainly before him, bowing her head slightly forward. A few tendrils of her velvety black hair fell onto her forehead, escaping the hairpins. Impulsively, he reached forward and brushed the wandering strands from her face, shocking himself and Sai, leaving both of them staring at each other as if the sun had suddenly stopped shining.