“Well, yes—” The sudden twinkle of amusement in his eyes made her thoughts spin. “That is, your brogue, you see—” He arched his brows, making her forget the rest of her sentence. She stared at him, sensing that he was utterly enjoying her inability to rectify her blunder.
“Ye may make amends to me by dancing with me,” he drawled, his tone scandalous though his face did not display a bit of improper insinuation. Maybe she’d imagined it? Or maybe he was simply a well-practiced rogue. Either way, she most definitely could not dance with the man.
She barely resisted the urge to grasp her shorter leg. No one could tell, of course, not since her grandfather had commissioned a special shoe for her. She no longer limped, but she had, terribly so, for the longest time, and she’d never learned to dance because of it. “I do not care for dancing,” she lied, hearing the catch of emotion in her voice, blast it all. He did not look at all surprised by her announcement, as many men often did. Instead, well, it seemed to her that he looked as if he’d expected such a pronouncement.
“A stroll on the terrace, then?” he suggested, a most definite challenging look in his eyes. Oh, but he was most indeed a rogue and a clever one! Had he been watching her this night to know she had refused many requests to dance?
“I daresay no as it’s cold outside,” she replied, finding a sudden vast enjoyment in thwarting him at his own game, though if she were honest with herself, there was a sliver of disappointment as well. She was only human after all, and hewasLord Adonis. She bit her lip hard on the need to chuckle.
“My apologies,” he replied, his amusement evident in his tone, “I did not take ye for the sort of lass to shy away from the cold. Ye appear hale and hearty to me.”
With that casually thrown challenge, he’d struck at her innermost secret desire and what she had always striven for—to seem as capable as everyone with two perfectly matched good legs. Did he know? No, he could not possibly. Yet, she did sense he’d been testing her. She could not resist accepting, though she absolutely knew she should resist. He was dangerous in a most seductive sort of way.
“I’ll take a short stroll with you,” she said, his brief look of triumph confirming her assessment.
He had been challenging her, but why? To seduce her? For simply the sport of seeing if she might accede? Surely not because she had honestly piqued his interest. This man was a wolf, barely even disguised, and she was the morsel he wanted to gobble up. She wondered briefly how he had lost his fortune. Perhaps he had inherited an already penniless title? She wished she knew. Either way, she was going to show him that even wolves were not undefeatable.
Four
When Simon stepped onto the near empty terrace after Anne, cool air swept over him, evoking a grin. The scent of lilac trailed after her in an enticing swirl. He noted she gave a little shiver, and he had to restrain the urge to laugh. He was a Scot, and as such, this cold that the English likely burrowed under mounds of blankets and layers upon layers of clothing to escape was merely a bit of chill in the air to him. These English would die if hit by a Scottish winter wind. In Scotland, the air was so bitterly frigid at this time of year that it made one’s teeth and bones ache.
He could take a naked swim in this paltry frost and never even get a chill. Not so for Anne. Already, her shivering increased under his fingertips that rested against the small of her back. A perfectly curved spot, he could not help but note. Her fine silk dress could not be providing much warmth, and the stubborn lass had rejected his suggestion that she have the servant fetch her mantle. Her pride would be her downfall, except it happened to provide a well-needed reason, if he planned correctly, for her to come see him tomorrow.
He almost chuckled when he thought about her cheeky reply to his suggestion that she get her mantle. She’d said the cold did not bother a hale and hearty English lady, such as herself. He detected a strange accent in her speech that made him suspect she’d not been raised entirely in England and also made him curious about her. Too curious. This was a purposeful seduction for revenge, not a courtship.
She was, he had to admit, not exactly as he had assumed she’d be after watching her from across the ballroom. He’d thought she’d be haughty and acerbic, perhaps even coldly aloof—rare beauties who were aware of it so often were—yet she seemed almost vulnerable and bumbling, as if easily embarrassed and fearful that she had somehow hurt him with her words. Odd, indeed, given her self-professed campaign to destroy Rutledge.
He guided her toward the far end of the terrace to a corner lit only by one flickering torch. It was well away from the other couple so he could speak to Anne in private. He came to a stop, and she immediately stepped away and turned, leaving a respectable distance between them. He took one brief second to allow the wave of shock that her beauty, illuminated by the moonlight above, caused him. It would not serve to become entranced by a woman merely because she was stunning. Anne was almost certainly cut from the same cloth as her grandfather, and Simon would, therefore, be seducing her as intended.
He could see gooseflesh had risen on her chest, and her lips were pressed firmly together, likely to keep her teeth from chattering. He resisted the urge to offer her his topcoat. He suspected she would need to be unbearably cold before she would take it anyway, and he could not afford a misstep with his topcoat. It was key to seeing her again. “Tell me, Anne—”
“Miss Adair,” she corrected, though a conflicted look passed over her face.
“In private, I will call ye Anne,” he said, purposely holding her gaze.
She narrowed her eyes. “What makes you believe the occasion will ever arise again that we shall be in private together?”
“Instinct,” he replied.
“I daresay your instincts need some sharpening,” she replied archly.
The lady before him now, this feline with her claws out, was more akin to the woman he’d expected to encounter.
“Perhaps,” he said easily enough. He’d learned long ago when building his timber empire that one of the surest and quickest ways to best your competition was to set them off their guard.
Act in precisely the opposite way they would expect, given the situation.
She blinked, the only hint of his surprising her, but it was enough to bolster him. She set her hands to her hips and cocked her head. “I do not have the patience or time for games,Your Grace.”
“Simon,” he insisted, knowing full well she’d likely rebut him.
“Your Gracewill do,” she said, each word punctuated.
“Not for me,” he replied. “In private, I insist ye call me Simon. However, I will abide by foolish English rules at all other times, as I’d never wish to do anything to draw yer reputation into question.”
She surprised him by chuckling. “Come,” she said, “let us dispense with your weaving of deceits, shall we?”
He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he was utterly intrigued, though not enough to admit the full truth to her. Yet it struck him now that admitting part of it might help him glean much-needed information about her character so he’d know how to proceed.
