Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(35)

“Or you.”

He paused, momentarily struck mute by the thought of holding her in his arms, close and tight, while the entire ton looked on. “Or me.”

“Can we try?” She looked to the pianoforte.

“But of course.”

He sat down to the instrument once again. This time, he allowed his fingers to linger, skimming over the tops of the ivory keys as he deliberated just what to play. Finally, he positioned his hands, closed his eyes, and simply let his fingertips decide. They coaxed from the instrument a slow, melodic waltz. He couldn’t even remember where he’d heard it. Perhaps in one of those Austrian snuffboxes, with clockwork that produced tinkling tunes? The melody did have a Viennese lilt. As the progression built, he allowed the music to take over and surrendered to the beauty and haunting romance of the tune.

When he finally looked up, some moments after the final chord, he found Lily draped over the instrument, staring rapt at his hands. “I’ve always loved watching you play,” she said. “So much passion.”

He couldn’t respond to that. So, wordlessly, he stood and offered her his hand.

They moved to the center of the room, and she tentatively placed her hand on his shoulder. His palm fit perfectly into the notch between her shoulder blades. She smelled of fresh dusting powder, and her eyes were a rich, deep brown. If it wouldn’t sound so puppyish to say it, he might have compared them to burnt sugar. Dark, and all the sweeter for it.

In lieu of compliments, he gave her an appreciative smile. Then, without warning, he spun her into the waltz. Her little gasp of surprise thrilled him more than it ought. He loved the feel of her body, lithe and warm. The way they fit together, moved as one. She trusted his lead, and he swept her in confident turns about the floor.

“You waltz beautifully,” he told her, after they’d completed a few circuits of the room. “You have nothing to fear. At the assembly, you’ll be the object of admiration from every quarter.” He would make certain of it.

She pressed against his lead. “That’s enough, I think.”

He twirled her to a halt, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she pulled their clasped hands closer, into the space between their chests.

Good. He needed that extra barrier. She was too close, and he was tempted to pull her closer still. His heart pounded a rhythm three times faster than the one their feet had so recently obeyed.

“Do you remember the night we first met?” she asked.

He bit back a laugh. Did he remember the night they met? Of course he remembered. He could have cited the date, the occasion, the warmth of the evening, the ruby-red shade of his waistcoat that night. The double twist of her pinned-up hair, the fourteen silk-covered buttons down the back of her gown. The precise moment he’d first seen Lily Chatwick smile. He remembered everything.

He said, “Remind me.”

“It was here, of course, at the house. Leo’s birthday dinner.”

“Your birthday dinner, too.”

“Yes, but the guests were his. It was the night he started that ridiculous club with the stud horse, Osiris. Do you recall it now?”

He nodded.

“You watched me all that night. Through our conversations, at the dinner table, then over drinks afterward … You never took your eyes from me.”

“I was attracted to you. Haven’t I confessed as much? You’re a beautiful woman, Lily. I’ve always been attracted to you.”

“It seemed more than that.” She tilted her head, looking at him from a new angle. “There was something almost predatory in your gaze that first night. I think you were forming designs on me.”

“Wh—?” His breath left him, and with it went any hope of denying the truth.

“Oh yes,” she said, her mouth curving in a subtle smile. “I knew it. You followed me from the room, remember? Before we went into dinner, I excused myself to check on the place settings, and you followed me. Most brazenly.” Her cheeks colored with a blush, and her gaze flirted with his lapel. “You’ve forgotten it, I’m sure. To you, it was just another idle flirtation. But it wasn’t an everyday occurrence for me.”

“It should have been.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s precisely what you said. I asked you if there was something you needed, and you said no.” She smiled. “I was flustered by that arrogant smirk you wore, however well I know the expression now. I asked you directly, ‘Why are you following me?’ And you said …”

He gave in. “I said, ‘Why are you surprised? When a beautiful woman leaves a room, she hopes a man like me will follow her.’”

She gave his shoulder a playful smack. “Exactly! And I was so angry with you.”

“No, you weren’t. You were pleased.”

“I was not.” She gave him a coy glance through lowered lashes. “Perhaps a little. I thought you would try to kiss me, but you didn’t.”

“No.”

Julian never kissed a lady upon first flirtation. He preferred to let her simmer with the possibilities a little bit longer, imagine what might have occurred. He found it made her all the more receptive on second approach.

“I shouldn’t admit this,” she said, “but I felt certain you meant to seduce me.”

“Perhaps I did.” He said carefully, “I’ve set out to seduce a great many women.”