A Rake's Ruin (Devilish Lords #1)(13)

Out of nowhere, that ridiculous feeling of wicked rebellion rose up in her and she found herself repulsed at the idea of having to explain her whereabouts to this man.

To her friends and family, fine. But to this odious man who had no claim on her?

She snapped her mouth shut instead.

Swattle blinked at her. “Well?” he asked.

The little rebellion came and went so quickly it left her weak. What was she doing? The last thing she wanted was to arouse suspicion. There was a time for being stubborn and a time to acquiesce.

The time to rebel was not when marriage to Galwin was on the line.

“I felt rather ill,” she said weakly. “I went outside for some air.”

The old baron’s gaze flickered with doubt as he glanced from her to Galwin, who hovered behind her. He gave Galwin a short nod. “I can take it from here, Lord Nicholas.”

Her stomach sank. Don’t go, she wanted to plead. But instead she simpered for Swattle’s sake and waited for Galwin to walk away and leave her to her fate.

“Actually, Lord Swattle, Miss Cleveland has promised me the pleasure of a dance now that she is feeling better.”

Swattle stiffened, his eyes flashing dangerously in a way that made her insides tremble. She had always been afraid of this man, even when she was hoping he would court her. He hadn’t. Not officially, at least. Aside from that stolen kiss and the leering looks, he had made no effort to properly court her. He hadn’t shown much serious interest in her at all, really, not until recently.

Ever since Anne married the earl, she seemed to have risen in his estimation, and between her new titled connections and her improved dowry, it was not difficult to understand why.

But now she had no need of him and the stability a marriage to him would provide. Lord, but that realization felt amazing. A warm rush of relief that she did not need to simper for this man one moment longer.

His eyes narrowed as they met hers. “I do hope you will save me a dance later this evening, if you feel up to it, Miss Cleveland.”

She didn’t even try to match his ingratiating smile. “My apologies, my lord, but I am afraid my dance card is quite full.”

He gaped at her, his eyes flashing with rage. But he couldn’t hurt her…not anymore. With that thought she allowed herself a smile—but this one was triumphant. His nostrils flared and that original fear returned.

What was she doing? She plastered an ingratiating look on her face and dropped her eyes. She should not be taunting him. The man might be revolting, but he was dangerous.

She’d always known that about him.

Fear made her move slightly closer to Galwin and she was comforted slightly when he grasped her elbow and led her away from the older man, making their excuses.

They had done it. Her limbs felt weak with relief as the rush of adrenaline began to fade after her evening’s adventure. She felt a swell of gratitude for the man beside her leading her to the dance floor. Without him, who knew where this night might have ended?

“Thank you,” she sighed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “I may be a terrible dancer.”





Chapter Four





Galwin spun her into his arms as she laughed, as he’d hoped she would. Leading her into a waltz, he breathed out a sigh of relief and felt some of her tension ease as well.

They had done it. They’d made it back and no one had yet to call him out or demand an explanation.

And now he had Claire in his arms. Where she belonged.

Wait, what? He nearly stumbled at the thought but managed to keep his footing. Despite his jest, he was a delightful dancer—everyone said so.

But bloody hell, where had his mind just gone? He looked down at the blonde beauty in his arms and the sight of those plump, upturned lips sent a bolt of desire through him. He’d always found Claire attractive—of course he had, every male with a pulse found her attractive—but tonight… Tonight was something different altogether.

Tonight he’d seen another side of Claire.

Or perhaps he’d finally seen the real Claire. He’d thought it before but then watching her transform in front of his eyes as they reentered society, it had been like watching a chameleon change color for the second time in one night.

Gone was the vivid, passionate, emotional woman he’d spent time with this evening. Gone was the wild, heated, tempting vixen he’d kissed. He’d watched her fade into a simpering miss once more. He’d watched in horror as her lovely vivacity dimmed in plain sight. She’d grown muted and pale, like that pastel gown she wore—a pale imitation of the woman he’d seen earlier.

That, he realized, was the real Claire. What a pity that no one but he had seen her. But then again, knowing that he’d seen the dazzling jewel hiding in plain sight gave him a jolt of possessive pleasure, as if he were some great explorer and she the ultimate treasure.

She smiled up at him now, still simpering, but he caught a hint of the humor that glinted in her eyes. “Thank you for the dance,” she said. Her gaze flickered to the right where they’d left that odious old man. “Swattle can be quite…persistent.”

Her hesitation was slight but meaningful. He tightened his grip on her, vowing then and there to ensure she never left his sight again.

For the remainder of the ball, at least.

Of course he couldn’t keep her in his sights all the time. Though he could make a point of attending the same parties, ensuring that she never had to face society alone….