Ethan didn’t doubt it, but he was curious that she had thought to say so. She reached for a strawberry from the plate next, and he stared as her lips closed around the plump red fruit. And quite suddenly, Ethan no longer wanted to discuss her former betrothed.
“You said something earlier about civility?” he whispered, setting the plate down. “If you want to see civil”—he reached out to wipe a trickle of pink strawberry juice from the corner of her lips—“come outside with me. I’ll show you civil.” He licked the strawberry juice from his finger.
She froze, the large fruit still wedged between her lips. Just looking at her aroused him. What he wouldn’t give to have her alone for ten minutes.
She lowered the strawberry and glanced about the room at the other guests, most of whom, though they were doing their best to appear indifferent, were observing the interplay intently.
“You are very bad,” she said quietly, her expression adorably serious. “Everyone is watching us, and most of them can probably hear us as well.”
He winked. “I love it when you call me bad.”
She sighed, apparently giving up her efforts at reform. “I don’t know why. It’s not a compliment.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
“Miss Dashing! There you are!”
Francesca turned reluctantly away from him as Peter, red hair flaming under the bright chandeliers, rushed into the room.
“What is it, Peter? Is something wrong?”
“No, miss, but your mother needs to see you right away.Right away!” he stressed, eyes bulging. “Mr. Pitt has arrived, and you must be introduced at once. She saidat once, miss.” He nodded vigorously for emphasis.
Ethan sighed. Back to work. Francesca gave him a sympathetic glance, and he motioned for her to follow Peter. On their way through the door, Ethan spotted Alex. His brother leaned against a wall, a lady on either side of him. But though he appeared to be amusing the women, Alex’s attention was elsewhere. His brother’s eyes scanned the room, no doubt searching for anything or anyone unusual—something Ethan realized he should have been doing himself. Alex was turning out to have a talent for spying. Maybe itwastime to cut the apron strings and allow him to go to France on his own.
Francesca and Peter turned toward the library and Ethan turned as well. As soon as the meeting with Pitt was over, he intended to follow his brother’s example. He’d already started a mental inventory of the attendees. He gave Alex a last glance, considering when he’d have a moment to speak with his brother, and saw Alex stiffen.
Ethan’s eyes followed Alex’s to rest on Roxbury. Roxbury was smiling and bowing to a petite, dark-haired woman Ethan didn’t know.
Keep watching him, Alex, Ethan thought. His brother could definitely spot the refuse.
Twenty-five
Ethan spun her around, and Francesca laughed—a genuine sound of pleasure and the first time she’d felt any in hours. He was an excellent dancer, a skill, which despite the efforts of some of London’s best caper merchants, she had never quite mastered. But then when she was with Ethan, she forgot all her inadequacies. He, unlike Roxbury, never seemed to notice them. Each time she looked into Ethan’s eyes, she was greeted with the warm amber glow of approval.
He was giving her one of those warm looks at that very moment. Smiling at her, he seemed to enjoy seeing her laugh. She laughed again, a real laugh, not the tinny, false laughs she’d forced all night. His eyes darkened, searing her, and Francesca’s breath caught.
