Chapter 12 #3
Lily gave a careless shrug, drawing her peignoir more closely about her shoulders as she moved toward the door. With a final, displeased glance, she quit the room, the door closing behind her with a soft, decisive click.
Silence returned. Darcy remained where she was for a moment, her thoughts disjointed and her senses heightened, before slowly lifting her gaze to find the earl already watching her. Something intent and searching in his expression held her there, making it impossible to look away.
“Why did you refuse?” Darcy asked softly, the question slipping free before she could reconsider it. “Did watching her not stir you?”
“No.”
Darcy stilled. Her gaze, almost of its own accord, dropped.
Rebecca’s words returned unbidden: a man’s body would betray desire and could not remain unchanged when he was aroused.
Darcy hesitated only a fraction before allowing her eyes to lower further.
His trousers remained smooth, betraying no sign of arousal.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze and found his unwavering gaze.
A slow smile curved his mouth. “I did not want her. Pleasure offered by a woman I do not desire holds no allure for me.”
Darcy drew in a quiet breath. His reply told her that desire, for him, had become particular rather than indiscriminate. Who do you want? The question hovered upon her tongue, but she forced it back, knowing that to ask would bring her perilously close to an edge she had no business approaching.
“I think I shall take my leave,” she said softly, rising from her seat.
He neither moved nor obstructed her, but regarded her with an intent focus that seemed to see more than she wished to reveal.
“Where do you go when you leave here?” he asked.
Darcy paused, then allowed a faint smile to touch her lips as she gathered her gloves. “How unexpectedly inquisitive of you.”
“Most inconveniently so,” he returned without apology.
She tilted her head slightly. “I go home to my family.”
A subtle yet unmistakable shift crossed his expression. “Are you married?”
The question was simply spoken, yet there was an undercurrent that brushed against her instincts with quiet warning.
She ought to lie. The thought came swiftly, sharply.
It would be safer to appear uninteresting and beyond the reach of his sensual provocation.
For she knew it now, with unsettling clarity, that this man was capable of seducing her, and she was no longer certain she would refuse him.
Aphrodite had already revealed its dangers: it loosened the mind, stirred restless curiosity, and tempted one to forget what ought to matter above all. Darcy met his gaze. “Would you believe me,” she asked lightly, “if I told you I was?”
He stilled. “Yes,” he said after only a breath.
Darcy laughed then, soft and unguarded. “How surprising. I had thought you considered me a hopelessly na?ve creature. What married woman could possibly be so innocent?”
One dark brow arched. “Many married women remain wholly unacquainted with their husbands. Some have never seen them unclothed or known more than a perfunctory visit to the marital bed once each week, conducted in near darkness and under the strictest propriety.”
Darcy stared at him. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
“I am not yet married,” she said at last.
His gaze sharpened slightly. “Not yet? Does that mean a gentleman has claimed your attentions?”
“No,” she replied with a faint lift of her chin.
His smile returned, though it carried a hint of danger, of intent held just beneath the surface. It robbed her of sense for several heartbeats, yet she did not look away.
“Dance with me.”
Darcy blinked. “Dance?”
“There is a ballroom below,” he said, as though the notion were entirely ordinary. “Tonight, Aphrodite indulges the illusion of propriety and arranges itself to resemble a society assembly.”
Darcy laughed, the sound bright with disbelief. “How astonishing that people come to such a place, abandon every pretense of decorum, and then recreate it for their amusement. They must be desperately bored.”
His gaze held hers. “What they enjoy is the knowledge that wickedness lies only a step beyond it.”
Darcy considered that, her amusement softening into something more thoughtful. “I have never learned to dance,” she admitted, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.
“Then I shall teach you.”
She studied him. “Why?”
“Because I find I want to dance with you, and the discovery surprises me as much as it does you.”
A slow breath left her. “Am I so easily read, even behind a mask?” she asked dryly.
“Yes.”
She laughed again. “Part of me is tempted to accept,” Darcy murmured, almost to herself, “but that same part warns it would be exceedingly unwise to say yes to a man of your particular charm.”
His blue gaze darkened slightly, amusement flickering beneath it. “Flattery will win you everything with me, Miss Red.”
Darcy’s lips curved despite herself as her pulse quickened and that dangerous awareness stirred low within her.
How delightfully rakish you are.
She ought to refuse him and retreat from the madness of the temptation holding her fast. Instead, she extended her hand. “Then teach me.”