Something was wrongwith that little temptress.
Rake Sloane, the Earl of Dare, tracked Lady Leonora’s movements from across the ballroom. The saucy flirt hadn’t danced once this evening. She had also barely conversed with anyone but her friend. Yet most unsettlingly—a realization which was unsettling in itself—she’d neither sought him out.
He narrowed his eyes on her and pursed his lips in thought.
Yes, something was very, very wrong.
It shouldn’t bother him.
And it didn’t.
Not a lot.
Though he could admit he adored her teasing. If brandy were made from her charm, every man in London would be drunk on her. A night without a daily dose of her laughter seemed a loss.
He couldn’t look away from her.
That bothered him, too.
But not a lot.
He knew better than to let it. Just like he knew, more than anyone else in the world, who he was and who he was not. Well, perhaps his father had known, too. Why else would he have named him something so fitting, something that bound them together in reputation and reality? The irony was not lost on him. But that didn’t mean he’d follow in the man’s exact footsteps.
Dare pulled a face.
His father had created difficulties Dare didnotintend to repeat.
Period.
Like naming his children.
The beguiling temptress, on the other hand, was a bright spark, though she was one that didn’t dare linger long with a jaded rake. Not that he allowed his own thoughts to linger in her direction, either, but even he, drunk on the brandy that was Lady Leonora, couldn’t help but be drawn to her light, evening by evening.
And she was keeping her distance from him. Or so it seemed.
His brow furrowed.
A throat cleared from beside him. Loudly. “You’ve got that look.”
Dare gritted his teeth and glanced at Knox, his longtime friend, as he approached. More formally known as Brent Madden, the Marquess of Knoxley, he was also arguably Dare’s only friend. “What look?” His view returned to Lady Leonora.
Knox followed his line of sight. “The look you get when you’re about to stir a pot full of trouble.”
Dare scoffed. “That’s just my face.”
“True. But there is something else in this look. Something worrying.”
Dare’s fingers twitched. Knox could read him like the latest issue of theLondon Times, flipping through each of the pages as though he had damn well written the content himself.
So yes, this look of his probably conveyed how his fingers wanted to grab hold of something—anything—like the sandy swirls of Lady Leonora’s curls outlining the soft profile of her heart-shaped face.
He clenched his hand.
Or justher.
But he could never reach that far. He could only dig his nails into the palms of his hands and draw sense from the sting.
“Don’t be absurd. It’s nothing.”
