little tighter as he guided her around the floor without a misstep.
His breath was warm against her ear, ‘be careful, little one.’
Careful… but taking care around Lord Carlton was proving to be very difficult, especially when caught up in the waltz. With his arms around her, his voice a husky drawl in her ear, Eliza had no trouble understanding how some unfortunate could forget everything, just to taste what that voice and those hands, were promising…
The dance finished and a part of her regretted it. She had felt dazed; lightheaded, almost , and vaguely knew that she had just experienced a master of seduction at work.
It was not until she’d returned home and was in the privacy of her bedchamber that anger had taken over, burning away her uncomfortable feelings of shameful arousal. Eliza lay fuming in her bed and cursed herself for her foolishness. She had no idea what Carlton had thought he was doing, but it was clear that he was wicked through and through, for what kind of man flirted so outrageously with his ward?
No, she thought, turning over in the bed and pummeling the pillows for the third time in as many minutes. If Carlton thought she was the kind of girl he could play those kinds of games with, he could think again.
She loved Grayson and they were going to be married.
And they were going to be very happy together.
One dance, no matter how disturbing, was just that; a dance.
And Lord Julius Carlton was the very devil himself!
What had possessed him?
Carlton sat before the fire in his library, nursing a glass of Madeira while he tried very hard not to remember how a pair of velvety, pansy eyes had stared up at him, startled and uneasy. Her full, pink lips had been slightly parted, an invitation that most men would have been hard pressed to ignore, while her body, so close to his own, had been even harder to resist. There was no doubt that little Eliza was enchanting and, gazing down at her face, he had been unexpectedly stirred by all that... innocence.
Which was odd because Carlton’s taste did not run to ingenuous young misses, no matter how alluring they were.
He had not really set out to flirt with Eliza, but when he had seen her irksome suitor heading towards her, devilment had prompted him to intervene and claim the last dance for himself. His interview with Mr. Henry had been unexceptional – clearly, the young man had been keen to impress Carlton with what an excellent husband he would make - but Carlton had managed to remain unimpressed. There was something about Mr. Grayson Henry that his lordship did not care for.
By the time Henry had left, Carlton had already decided to have his secretary investigate the young man’s financial affairs. Eliza was old enough to marry – of that there was no doubt – but she came with a tidy little fortune and he would be remiss in his duties if he did not take a closer look at the pretty milksop she had decided to marry.
Holding his glass up to the firelight, he swirled the golden liquid inside it absently. It seemed that everything he had done since arriving in Bath was uncharacteristic, from offering to put up his two wards for what was left of the Season, to going to that dreary soiree of Lady Bellingham’s. His usual entertainments were more along the lines of card parties, hunting parties and adult parties, to which girls like Eliza Percival were never invited. Yet in the past forty-eight hours he had behaved with singular respectability.
Carlton sighed as the clock chimed two. He was notorious for seeing the dawn in, but retiring seemed like an excellent idea, especially if he was to collect his two wards and a very reluctant Flora Fitzwilliams on the morrow, to begin their journey up to London.
He smiled, a twisted quirk of the lips. ‘Much more of this and I’ll be taking warm milk up to my bed instead of a warm woman.’
But the thought of a warm woman only brought on images of Eliza Percival again and he pushed them