arms, feeling his kilt brush against a place that would make a fresh-faced debutante blush. Knowing that between her and his . . . sporran was naught but one delicate layer of paper-thin silk and one of threadbare cotton. Heat suffused her cheeks, and elsewhere as well, at the decadent thought. "But I have not danced the waltz before." "Och, dinna fash. Ye are doin' quite wee l . Just hold on to me and let me lead ye where I might." Jenny nodded dumbly and tightened her hold on his muscled upper arm. Cri m iny. Even through his coat, it fe l t as hard and thick as a fire log.
44 As he whirled her around the floor, she lifted her chin and peered upward, surprised when she met his heated gaze. But she did not look away. Instead, she plunged into those warm eyes, as deep and brown as the mouth of a river in spring. And there she swam, as the music played on, barely aware of the crowd ringing the dance floor, blurring and fading until there was nothing but him, and her. And sensation. Her body was highly aware of every place that his body touched. "Ye' r e beautiful," he told her in the honeyed tones of the Highlands. "You're a rake." "Aye, I am. But I dinna lie." His eyes were smoldering. "Ever." Blood raised into her cheeks, heating them. " ''Tis our last dance. Another would declare more than I inten d — r ight now." Jenny pinned him with her gaze. Righ t now? Just what did he mean by that? But since he seemed to be waiting for her to respond, she nodded. She must look like an idiot to him. Always bobbin' her head up and down. How she wished she knew what else to d o — what to say! She was so clearly out of her element here. "So when might I cal l ?" "C-ca ll ?" she stammered. "Aye. If ye'll be remainin' in Bath a wee bit longer." "Oh." Jenny frantically searched the ballroom for the Featherton ladies. This was only to be for one night. One. She could never maintain this ruse for more than a few hour s — c ould she? But Jupiter he was handsome. Why just the sight of him made her belly swoop and her legs quiver like
45 quince jelly. Still, he was a rake. A rake who, for some reason, fancied her. To what end though? She had to concede that it was entirely possible that he saw through her guis e — s aw her for the servant girl she truly was. Worry plummeted into the pit of her stomach and sat there as heavily as a wedge of Cook's foul Candlemas cake. He likely thought her a light skirt, one with whom he could take his bodily pleasure, then walk away without thinking nary a thought. Like her father had done with her mother. Bah! What was she thinking? This was too ridiculous. Besides, she reasoned, after this eve the ladies would have had their fun, and the novelty of dressing her up like a princess and sending her off to the ball to meet the handsome princ e — e rr . . . viscoun t — w ould surely have lost its sheen. Oh, perdition. She didn't want this dream of being a proper lady to end! This is what she was born to. A grand lady was who she was meant to be. Then, quite suddenly, Lord Argyll's expression changed. The cocky roguish grin was gone. "Fergive me, my lady. I've fergotten me place." What? What is he going on about now? He's done nothing wrong. Or am I too coarse to realize it? Best feign displeasure. Yes, that's it. Jenny screwed up her features until she felt she had attained a fair approximation of being appalled. But the corner of the viscount's mouth twitched, leaving Jenny to wonder if he'd figured her out. "I should have asked yer duennas fer permission to call on ye."
46 Yes. Yes! If he asked the ladie s — s howed a bit of interest in he r — t hen perhaps they might consider allowing the game to continue ... for a short time anyway. She smiled brightly up at him. "I should very much like an interview. But of course, the decision is entirely up to the Featherton ladies. My future is in their capable hands." Criminy, if he only knew how true that statement