As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(65)
Hooking his arm past her shoulder, Robert silently held the glass in front of her.
Laughter lilted from her like music. “Whitby,” she chided playfully as she turned around, “liking French champagne does not make me a traitor—”
When she saw him, her laughter choked. The friendly smile turned into a look of surprise. Then into a scowl of irritation.
“Champagne. Your favorite,” he commented, dismissing the men with their punch.
“Yes, it is. Thank you.” As she icily took the glass, she asked tightly, “Is this bribery for my continued good behavior this evening?”
He nodded at the flute. “If that’s all it takes to keep you in line, Mariah, I’d purchase an entire vineyard.”
At his quip, a dark smile of amusement danced at her lips. She murmured dryly, “And here I thought my good behavior justified only a case.”
“Or ten,” he corrected, unable to keep from returning her smile.
Her eyes swept over him. For once beneath her gaze, he didn’t feel as if he were an opponent being sized up before a fight. But anger at him still lingered visibly within her. And still aggravated the hell out of him, that she could keep punishing him for what had been little more than a kiss. An encounter she’d seemed to enjoy, too, until the minx dumped mop water over his head.
“What did you wish to speak to me about?” she asked, ending their banter.
But he enjoyed sparring with her and glimpsing her fire. One lacking in every other miss in attendance tonight. He couldn’t help himself and drawled with amusement, “I hear you think I’m an Adonis.”
Her eyes widened in a beat of unguarded embarrassment. Then she effortlessly recovered and coolly took a sip of champagne, with only a faint pinking of her cheeks showing any trace of her self-consciousness. “Once again the gossips have the story completely wrong.”
He arched an amused brow. “So you think I’m Venus?”
That sent her into a seething pique. She exhaled a hard breath. “I think you’re the most arrogant, frustrating man who—”
“You look beautiful tonight,” he interrupted.
Her eyes flared. “Ha! You’re only saying that because—”
“Because I think you look beautiful,” he repeated quietly. He’d never uttered a more honest statement in his life.
She froze, for a moment speechless as she stared at him. Yet she refused to thank him, as if knowing he hadn’t meant it as a compliment. And he hadn’t. Tonight, her beauty was his curse.
“And so does every man in this room.” Every last one she’d been so torturously gracing all evening with her brilliant smiles and lilting laughs, with her elegant dancing and witty conversation—except him. Even now, the openly interested stares of the gentlemen standing nearby proved him right. They wanted her.
And God help him, so did he.
“Be careful, Mariah.” He felt a dark urge to warn her about the men circling her tonight, like wolves hunting prey. The same warning that applied to himself, as well. “Gentlemen of the ton are used to getting whatever they want simply because of who they are.”
She sighed impatiently. “Of course they—”
“And what they want,” he murmured, his voice far huskier than he intended in its certainty, “is you.”
Her lips parted delicately as she stared at him, as if she couldn’t believe his audacity to assert such a thing. But thankfully, she didn’t slap him for it. Nor did she did turn away, standing perfectly still except for the increased rhythm of her breathing as it grew shallow and fast, her eyes locked with his.
Then she slowly took a long sip of champagne, doing her best to appear as if his words hadn’t flustered her, but she couldn’t hide the pinking in her cheeks or the shaking of her hand as she raised the flute to her mouth. When she lowered the drink away, finally having collected herself enough to reply, she assured him, “Then they’ll be very disappointed to discover they can’t have what they want.”
He was certain she’d tried for haughty contempt, but her voice emerged as a throaty purr, one that made her impossibly more alluring despite the flicker of ire in her eyes.
“I don’t need any of your warnings, Robert. Tonight, I am behaving exactly as everyone wants me to behave.” Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute. “I’m pleasing your mother by dancing with dukes and engaging in the most boring conversations with matrons about afternoon teas and rose gardens. I’m pleasing my father by encouraging gentlemen to call on me, while simultaneously keeping my sister out of trouble with Burton Williams.”
Her words were calm, but she ticked off each point with a frustrated tap of her fingertip against her glass.
“And I’m doing it all with a smile on my face, because until five minutes ago I was also enjoying myself. I’m pleasing everyone tonight.” Her brow lifted with that look of practiced disdain that aggravated the daylights out of him. “Except you. But then, nothing short of my eloping to Scotland would please you.”
Unwittingly punctuating her words, the orchestra struck up the first notes for the next dance with a loud flourish that sent a ripple of excitement through the room. A waltz.
She turned to walk away, but he took her elbow and stopped her. He felt the tension flash through her like lightning, all of her stiffening with a sharp inhalation. She trembled beneath his hand, and that soft tremor shivered through his fingers, down his arm, and into him, like a ribbon twining heatedly through both of them.