CHAPTER 11

There was a scent of pine and citrus in the air, a smell of nostalgic of Christmases past that Clara paused for a moment and breathed in the heady scent, smiling. She was thinking of Christmas at Davencourt, when a door on her right opened abruptly and the Duke of Fleet stepped out directly in front of her.

“At last,” he said. “I have been waiting for you.”

SEB FLEET HAD BROKEN both his resolutions for the evening within two minutes of stepping inside Lady Cardace’s ballroom. His plan to tell Martin he had changed his mind about being godfather to the twins fell at the first hurdle when his friend greeted him with such delight that Fleet found himself unable to disappoint him. He might have despised himself for such sentimental weakness—it was an affliction that he had not suffered previously—but then he caught sight of Clara and all other thoughts fled his mind.

Clara had long ago ceased to wear the white muslin of the very young debutante and tonight she was in a gown of delicate pale green. It swathed her soft curves with the sort of cunning elegance that accentuated rather than hid the body beneath. Her fine, blond hair was swept up to reveal the tender line of her neck. She was smiling at something Juliana was saying. She looked radiant; Fleet felt it like a punch in the stomach. He vaguely remembered that he had resolved to avoid Clara that evening.

He had stopped, stared, and barely been able to conceal from Martin the fact that he was profoundly, outrageously, attracted to his sister. Then he had seen Elton and Tarver heading in the same direction with seemingly much the same thoughts as his own, and had ruthlessly stepped in to tell them that he was Miss Davencourt’s escort that night unless they wished to challenge his right. Neither of them had done so.

He felt an almost uncontrollable compulsion to kiss her, to claim her, before the assembled company. The impulse appalled and excited him more than any other emotion he had ever experienced. Only the thinnest shred of self-control prevented him. Public response to such behavior would be to hound him into marriage or be cast out. So his desire for Miss Clara Davencourt would remain unslaked. Except...

Except that he could not resist. Part of a successful rake’s strategy, of course, was cold calculation. He needed to be in control at all times. Seb Fleet had lost his control where Clara Davencourt was concerned. And now he had her where he wanted her.

Clara had stopped dead when she saw him. In the second it took for her to recover from her surprise, Fleet leaned one hand against the wall, pinning her between his body and the door.

This was dangerous and foolhardy, but he felt an exhilaration that brooked no refusal. A strand of honey-colored hair had loosened from its clasp and lay against her cheek, heavy and smooth. He raised one hand to touch it and felt her jump. Her eyes were huge and dark in the shadows of the hall. When she spoke her voice was shaky and he felt a powerful rush of conquest.

“What do you mean when you say that you were waiting for me? You were playing cards.”

Fleet shook his head. “I merely wanted you to think that.”

There was silence between them. He kept her trapped between him and the door, so close he could feel the warmth of her body through the thin muslin of her gown. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her ear. She jumped again and the response caused a jolt through his own body.

“Do not...” Her words were a whisper.

“I was intending to have you all to myself,” Fleet said softly. “I knew you would not stay alone in the ballroom when you were devoid of admirers—what lady would expose herself to such humiliation? So I merely waited for you here.”

He saw her expression change to anger.

“How conceited you are!” she exclaimed. “First you abandon me in the ballroom and then you presume you may pick up with me again whenever it suits you!”

Again she saw him smile. “I did not abandon you, Miss Davencourt. You rejected me.”

She bit her lip. “Most gentlemen can comprehend a simple refusal, your grace.”

“Alas, I have always been slower to understand than most.” His breath stirred a tendril of her hair. The curve of her cheek was achingly sweet and the pure line of her jaw so tempting that he wanted to bury his face in its curve and breathe in the warm, feminine scent of her skin. His body tightened unbearably.

She turned her head slightly toward him. Their lips were no more than an inch apart now.

She whispered, “I have something to tell you, your grace.”

Excitement kicked through his body. He could feel the caress of her breath against his cheek. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and he almost groaned aloud to see it.

”you told me this morning that a lady should always be aware of her surroundings in order to thwart the evil plans of a rake.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “I wanted to show you that I have taken you at your word. Good night.”

He thought he had her trapped, but now he realized she had one hand behind her back from the very beginning of their encounter. Indeed, he could read the triumph in her eyes. There was the softest of clicks as the doorknob turned in her palm. She gave him a smile that was pure provocation, stepped back into the ballroom and closed the door gently in his face.

SEB FLEET caught himself just before he slammed the palm of his hand against the panels of the closed door in sheer frustration. So, Clara Davencourt had out-played him for a second time that evening. He, on the other hand, had been taking his own game entirely too seriously. The construction in his breeches told him just how desperately he wanted her. The physical ache was only matched by the aching disappointment of denial.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***