Rake's Honour by Beverley Oakley Read Free Book Online Page B

relief, sir,” she responded warily as they watched the other dancers go through the motions, “though I believe that in carrying me off forcibly yours was the greater crime. I had become separated from my friends and Lord Alverley was about to help me find them before you took advantage of the situation.”
    Though she said it with hauteur, the memory of the burning kisses this man had trailed over her throat and across her collarbone made her desperate for more. The other liberties she’d allowed made her want to crawl into a dark hole.
    “You’re flushed, Miss Brightwell. Perhaps you need air. Shall we step outside?”
    “How dare you—?” she began in an angry undertone, but was cut short by the realisation that indeed he was only teasing her.
    His deep brown eyes held laughter. “My dear Miss Brightwell, you surely do not imagine I would be so bold as to whisk you away from tonight’s company as I did two nights ago?” He grazed the sensitive skin of her forearm with his hand and she shivered as he added, “Much as I would like it. Nevertheless…”
    She glanced at the nearest couple, afraid their conversation might be overheard, relieved when he murmured with surprising intensity, “Let me assure you, that was between you and me…alone.”
    Holding Lord Fenton’s gaze, Fanny executed her dance steps like an automaton. They’d been drilled into her as thoroughly as her need to perform in the marriage mart. Was he no longer mocking her?
    The brittle pride that had armoured her against the damage he could do her—in so many ways—was replaced by a tiny kernel of hope. Lord Fenton was studying Fanny with the greatest interest and, despite all that had passed between them, she’d venture, respect.
    She thought of her impending marriage to Lord Slyther and whispered, “In your arms, my Lord, something came over me… I don’t know how to explain it, but I’d never felt it before and”—she kept her eyes trained on his as they linked elbows to dos-à-dos down the centre of the room—“I felt I was in heaven.”
    Clearly he was not used to such plain talking and clearly he liked it. Looking decidedly pleased, he put his head close to hers before they separated briefly once more. “Then we shall have to do it again, Miss Brightwell—only this time I promise to proceed in a far more gentlemanly manner.”
    Was there any clearer way for him to indicate his interest? She was about to respond, to indicate her pleasure and hopefully prolong the boyish charm that had replaced for the moment his rakish self-confidence, but her words were truncated by a gasp. Right before her very eyes she was bearing witness to what threatened to be her sister’s greatest impropriety yet.
    “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, clutching the hated ring on its chain, which she had all but forgotten.
    “Miss Brightwell?”
    When he touched her arm, bare above her gloves, she jerked into sensual awareness, her heart rate speeding up now on more than just her sister’s account. Wilting against him, she pointed. “My sister has this moment disappeared through a door behind that tapestry.” Her head swam as she contemplated her mother’s fury at the possible repercussions. A fury that would, in this case, be warranted. “Not five seconds after Mr Bramley,” she added, faintly.
    “George Bramley knows this is your sister’s first ball.” She heard concern in Lord Fenton’s tone. His dark eyes gentled. “I’m sure he wouldn’t—”
    “You don’t know Bramley if you believe that, sir.” She knew she spoke too hotly but her mind was running circles around Antoinette’s potential for ruining the entire Brightwell family’s prospects.
    The squeeze of his hand upon her wrist brought her close to tears. Again he lowered his head to speak softly, his warm breath against her ear spearing tingles of almost unbearable need throughout her entire body.
    “The moment this set ends I’ll follow them. We need to be discreet.