Treacherous Temptations(11)

“But I am not a lady,” she corrected. He swept her with a puzzled brow and Mary wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “I mean, I am a lady of course, just not the kind you think.”

His brow lifted further. His lips quirked.

Mary looked away, convinced that given one more minute in his company she would be a uniform shade of crimson. “What I am trying to say is that I am not titled. My father was a commoner.”

“Was?” he asked.

“Yes,” she finally breathed. “He passed away last year after an extended illness.”

“You have my condolences then, Miss….”

“I’m Mo-Mary,” she corrected her near-gaffe. “Mary Elizabeth Edwardes.”

“I am enchanted, Miss Edwardes.” His gaze, mingling with hers, unsettled her in the strangest way. “Close your eyes,” he commanded with a look and tone that said he was accustomed to being obeyed. Before she could gather her wits to protest, he had placed her hand upon his silk sleeve. “You must relax and follow my lead if you would learn to dance, signorina,” he said more gently. “When one is in perfect harmony with one’s partner, dancing is one of the two most rhapsodic human experiences.”

Her eyes flew open to inquire of the second rhapsodic experience, but the answering curve of his lips sent fire into her cheeks. “I see you are not without some understanding,” he chuckled.

She snapped her eyes shut again only to an even more profound awareness of him. She felt his hand at her waist, pulling her close to his side and her heartbeat accelerated. The warmth of his hands seemed to permeate the many layers of silk and linen that separated them as if the barriers didn’t exist. His voice, his touch, his subtle masculine scent combined to fill her senses, making her almost giddy. It was lovely. It was also terrifying.

“Step right,” he urged her. “Now together. Step left, right, left, and now together,” he spoke the movements as he gently guided her through the steps of the dance. “It is surprisingly simple, my dear. Twice forward. Twice backward. Sideways to the left, followed by sideways to the right. The pattern is always performed in a sequence of two.”

Without musical accompaniment they commenced a pas de menuet promenade of the music chamber. After a time, Mary lost herself in the smooth and wonderful cadence of his voice. Anchored to his side by his muscular arm, she no longer felt self-conscious and ungainly, but light and graceful as he guided her across the parquet floor.

“So easy, you see? You must think of the danse menuet as merely a slow and sensual perambulation, like a stroll stolen with a lover in a moonlit garden.”

Mary’s feet suddenly stalled. His sensual tone and provocative words conjured a scene in her mind’s eye that wasn’t an innocent stroll at all. She broke away with a breathless gush. “I-I thank you for your gracious instruction, but I think I am done with dancing for one day.”

“Indeed?” His brows pulled together. “But we were only just beginning.”

“But we have not even been properly introduced! The countess would never approve.”

He stepped toward her with a pained look. “Then pray permit me to make amends for my grievous lapse of manners, signorina. He swept another flourishing bow. I am your humble servant, Conte Vittorio Amedeo di Caserta.”

Mary muddled through the motions of a curtsey. Good heavens! A nobleman had condescended to give her a dancing lesson. She was stunned. She was also suddenly horribly and self-consciously aware of their vast social divide.

“Y-you must be her ladyship’s guest,” she stammered. “She will never forgive me for delaying you. I thank you again for showing me the dance. I’m sorry. I must go.”

He looked after her with a bemused smile as she backed clumsily toward the door and took flight.

…

Retreating to the sanctuary of her chamber, Mary yanked at her laces in a frantic and futile endeavor to catch her breath. With her heart still galloping, she threw herself onto the bed only to stare blindly at the pattern of flowers woven into the silk damask canopy.

It was only a dance lesson, she chastised herself. He had simply taken pity, but she couldn’t control the flutters in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that refused to abate. While her first impulse after the dance had been retreat, Mary’s mind now returned to the music room, retracing every step, and replaying every word and gesture they had exchanged.

She had always considered herself sensible, almost to a fault, yet the Conte di Caserta’s dark eyes and enigmatic smile set her pulse skittering, and the mere touch of his elegant hands stole the breath from her lungs. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never reacted so foolishly to anyone before, but everything about him unnerved her. It wasn’t just his exquisite dress and elegant manners; there was something mysterious about him, something fascinating that she couldn’t define.

She tried to convince herself it was only gratitude for her rescue from the Frenchman’s browbeating that she was feeling, but knew it was a lie. Conte di Caserta had smiled and treated her as if she were a fine lady, and during those precious moments she had danced on his arm, he had made her feel like the most beautiful and desirable woman in the world.





Chapter Seven


“You must meet the girl soon.” Barbara gave a languid stretch, arching her back to display her breasts to best advantage. He had already capitulated to her demands once, but Barbara was never satisfied for long. She had come to his rooms before he could even unpack his bag and had nearly torn his clothes off in a lust-inspired frenzy.