Lady of Seduction (41 page)

“You should not call me that. I am not
that
small.”

One dark brow arched over his mask. “You know Gaelic?”

“Not a great deal. But enough to know when I am insulted.”

He laughed, a harsh, rusty sound, as if he did not use it very often. “It is hardly an insult. Merely the truth—little one.”

Before Anna could tell what he was doing, he grabbed her wrist, holding it between his strong, callused fingers. Though his
touch was light, she sensed she could not easily break away. That eerie fascination, that hypnosis he seemed to cast around
her, tightened like a glittering web.

Unable to breathe or to think, she watched as he unfastened the tiny black pearl buttons at her wrist, peeling back the silk.
A sliver of her pale skin was revealed, her pulse pounding just along the fragile bone.

“You see,” he said quietly. “You
are
small and delicate, trembling like a bird.”

He lifted her wrist to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to that thrumming pulse. Anna gasped at the heat of that kiss, at the
touch of his tongue to her skin, hot and damp. She tried to snatch her hand away, but his fingers tightened, holding her fast.

“You should not be here among the hawks,” he muttered, his gaze meeting hers in a steady burn.

There was something about those eyes….

Anna had a sudden flash of memory. A man on a windswept
hill, his long, black hair wild. A man who held her close in a dark, deserted stable, who kissed her in the midst of danger
and uncertain fates. A man all tangled up in her blood-soaked memories.

A man with dark green eyes.

“Is—is it you?” she whispered without thinking.

His eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “I told you,
beag peata
. You should not be here.”

“I go where I please,” she said, an attempt at defiance even as her head spun.

“Then you are a fool. Everyone should be most careful these days. You never know who is your friend and who your foe.”

“Insults again?” Angry and confused and, she feared, aroused by him, she tried again to twist away.

He would not let her go. Instead, he drew her closer, his other arm coming around her waist and pulling her up against him.
His body pressed against hers, warm and hard through the slippery satin of her gown.

“Since you insist on staying then,” he said, “you should have a dance.”

Before she could protest or even draw a breath, he lifted her up, carrying her into the whirling press of the dance floor.

She stared up into his eyes, mesmerized as he slowly slid her back down to her feet. He twirled her about, her hand held over
her head in an arch.

“I don’t know the steps,” she gasped.

“We’re not at a castle assembly,” he said roughly, dipping her back in his arms. “No one cares about the steps here.”

As he spun her around again, Anna stared into a dizzy haze. He was quite right—everyone seemed to use the
dance merely as an excuse to be close to each other.
Very
close. The couples around them were pressed together as they twirled in wild circles, bodies entwined.

She looked back into his eyes, those green eyes that saw so very much. He seemed to see everything she tried so hard to keep
hidden—all her fear and guilt. That mesmerizing light in his eyes reeled her closer and closer….

She suddenly laughed, feeling reckless and giddy with the champagne, the music, and being so close to him, to the heat and
light of him. Well, she had come here to forget, had she not? To leave herself behind and drown in the night. She might as
well throw all caution to the wind and go down spectacularly.

Anna looped her arms around his neck, leaning into the hard, lean strength of his muscled body. “Show me how
you
dance then,” she said.

His jaw tightened, and his eyes never wavered from hers. “You should go home now.”

“The night is young. And you said I should dance.”

In answer, he dragged her tight against him, his hands unclasping hers from around his neck as he led her deeper into the
shifting patterns of the dance. Even as the crowd closed around them, pressing in on her, she could see no one but him. The
rest of the vast room faded to a golden blur; only he was thrown into sharp relief. He held her safe in his arms, spinning
and spinning until she threw back her head, laughing as she closed her eyes.

It was like flying! Surely any danger was worth this. For one instant, she could forget and soar free.

But then he lifted her from her feet again, twirling her through an open door and into sudden silence and darkness. She opened
her eyes to see they were in a conservatory,
an exotic space of towering potted palms and arching windows that let in the cold, moonlit night. The air smelled of damp
earth, of rich flowers, and of the clean salt of his warm skin.

There were a few whispers from unseen trysts behind the palms and the ghostly echo of music. But mostly she heard his breath,
harsh in her ear. She felt the warm rush of it against the bare skin of her throat. Her heart pounded, an erratic drumbeat
that clouded all her thoughts and obscured any glimmer of sense.

For the first time since they started dancing, she felt truly afraid. She was afraid of herself, of the wild creature inside
that clamored to be free. Afraid of him, of his raw strength and strange magnetism that would not let her go, and of who she
suspected he was. Afraid he would vanish again.

He set her down on a wide windowsill. The stone was cold through her skirts, and his hands hard as he held her by the waist.
Anna braced herself against his shoulders, certain she would fall if he let go. Falling down and down into that darkness that
always waited, so she could never find her way out again.

“You should listen to me,
beag peata
,” he said, his accent heavy and rich like whiskey. “This is no place for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” she whispered. “And what do you know of me?”

“You are too young and innocent for the likes of these people.”

“
These
people? Are you not one of them?”

His lips curved in a humorless smile that was somehow more disquieting than all his scowls. “Assuredly so.”

“And so am I—tonight. I am not so innocent as all that.” Innocents did not do what she had done, seen what she had seen. They
did not commit murder.

“Oh, but you are,” he whispered. “I can see it in those blue eyes of yours. You are an innocent here.”

She laughed bitterly. “But I can be a fierce innocent when I need to be.”

“You’re very brave.” He took her hand in his, sliding his fingers over the silk of her glove.

She gasped. His hold wasn’t painful, but she was all too aware that she could not break free from him, could not escape. The
pulse at the base of her throat fluttered, and she couldn’t speak. She just shook her head—she was not brave at all.

“Brave, and very foolish,” he said hoarsely, as if he was in pain. “Don’t do this to me.”

“What…” She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Do what to you?”

“Look at me the way you do.” He leaned into the soft curve of her body, resting his forehead against hers. She closed her
eyes, feeling the essence of him wrap all around her. She felt safe, safer than she had in so very long, and yet more frightened
than ever. This had to be a dream. He could not be real.

He let go of her wrist, bracing his hands on the windowsill behind her. Slowly, she felt his head tilt and his lips lower
toward hers—the merest light brush, a tantalizing taste of wine and man. His tongue swept across her lower lip, making her
gasp at the hot sensations. The damp heat of it was like a drug, sweetly alluring like laudanum in wine, pulling her down
into a fantasy world. He bit lightly at her lip, soothing it again with his tongue.

She felt his hands slide over her shoulders, bared by the daring gown, trailing a ribbon of fire over her collarbone, the
hollow at the base of her throat, and the sensitive skin just at the top of her breasts….

But then he was gone, pulling back from her, and his arms dropping away. She cried out involuntarily, her eyes flying open.
He stood across from her with his back turned and his shoulders stiff.

She would wager that was not the only part of him that was
stiff
, either, but he would not turn to her again.

“Go home now,” he growled, his hands tightening into fists.

Anna was sure she might be foolish, but she certainly knew when to cut her losses and retreat. She leaped down from the ledge,
her legs trembling so that she could hardly walk. But she forced herself to turn toward the door, taking one careful step
after another.

“And don’t ever come here again!” he shouted after her.

She broke into a run, hardly stopping until she was safely bundled into a hackney carriage, racing toward home. She ripped
off her mask and buried her face in her gloved hands. But that did not help at all; she could smell him on the silk, on herself,
taste him on her lips.

Damn him! How could he do this to her again? Or rather, how could she do this to herself? He had drawn her into his strange
world once before—she couldn’t let him do it again. She
wouldn’t
let him.

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