She noticed the exact moment Craven spotted her in the crowd and knew the second he realized she was heading straight his way. His lips turned upward in a small, yet tight, smile. Icy blue eyes that held nothing but suspicion stared back at her.
“Lady Belle,” he murmured when she at last reached him. “You look exquisite this evening. The color compliments you.”
“Craven, I see your charm has not dwindled with your age.”
His lips spread into an amused smile. “You have a sassy mouth on you, my lady. I believe it gets you into trouble more often than not.”
“Naturally.”
She swept a glance over their audience, noting how the young giggling misses regarded her with avid interest. Probably waiting for the moment she burst into flames for daring to approach the likes of Craven.
He noticed her perusal, as well. “Please do not tell me you are dragging me to the dance floor. My feet could not bear it.”
Belle snorted a laugh. More like his reputation. He was such an incorrigible rogue. Dangerous, too. That was why mamas steered their young away from him and gentleman avoided him—he was the rake with an infamous reputation and dark wit. But to those few who were better acquainted with him, his company was, at times, rather enjoyable.
“Heavens no, what would people say? I only wished a reprieve from this stuffy ballroom when I spotted you. Your company is far more passable than that of another gentleman.”
He inclined his head, his eyes still watchful. “By all means Lady Belle, let us take a stroll in the gardens. It would hardly be gentlemanly of me to allow you to expire in such a beautiful gown.”
It was hardly gentlemanly of him to escort her for a stroll in the gardens, but Belle refrained from pointing it out. She did not desire for him to behave with honor.
Placing her hand on his offered arm, she allowed him to guide her through the doors, the wicked glint of mischief in his eyes infectious.
Belle waited for the shiver of awareness to ripple down her spine, as it always did with Westfield.
Nothing.
Yet.
“Dangerous men lurk in the shadows,” Belle murmured on a whisper, more to herself than to him, aware that once again she was venturing into the darkness where De Roux may yet lurk about. A whiff of doubt slivered into her mind, but she pushed it aside. Craven might be a rake, but he would not let any harm come to her. Of that she was certain.
“I take it there is a reason you sought me out, Lady Belle.”
Her gaze shot to his, but he was staring straight ahead. While his statement had been casual, Belle wasn’t fooled. Craven was no halfwit.
“I daresay you already have your suspicions.”
“The Earl of Westfield.”
Belle was impressed. She’d heard of his deduction capabilities, but never experienced it herself. Craven was as perceptive as he was handsome. “I am not attempting to make him seethe with jealousy if that had been your presumption.”
He nodded. “You are a beautiful lady, but you are independent. Now a gentleman has set his sights on you and you do not know what to do. Is that about correct?”
Too perceptive, Belle mused. “We should find you a wife, Craven. It is disturbing how much you know about everyone else.”
“I would not know what to do with one,” he confessed.
Belle chuckled. “I know a few things you could do.”
Craven joined in on her laughter. “You are a wicked woman, indeed.”
They continued to stroll further into the gardens in silence, each drawing on their own thoughts. It seemed rather pointless to have imagined this little test of hers would have worked. It was clear, just by being in Craven’s presence, that he would not ignitethe same passion as Westfield.
“I have a confession, my lord.”
He spared her a glance, one eyebrow raised. “I’m all ears.”
“I came to entice a kiss from you.”
