The marquis’s smile as he tapped the young man’s shoulder was both authoritative and gentle, and the young man bowed stiffly but retreated.
Lightly, easily he held her hand as he led her through the steps of the dance.
Percy, pushed to his limits by the warm smile Sophy awarded Lord Grey, was moved to make a tactical mistake. The machinations of the country dance were not designed with conversation in mind, but this did not stop Percy from pushing Grey away from her and taking his place. Sassy nearly giggled as she watched Percy and Sophy, for what must they do but attempt to speak to one another in bits and pieces whenever the dance bought them together. More than a few people noticed this foolishness, and she could see Sophy growing embarrassed at the glances her way.
The marquis and Sassy found, when their eyes met, a shared moment of mirth that made her stomach feel as though little wings were fluttering inside.
When the dance ended and he walked with her to see her comfortably seated, she made the mistake of looking up at his face. She felt mesmerized by his blue eyes; it was as though they were alone in the room. Their emotions were fully charged and demanded release in one another.
She couldn’t breathe. It felt as though the air in her lungs had been sucked out of her, and her knees were wobbly and unsteady. Why did he have this affect on her? Heat rushed through her body, and she suddenly discovered a glass of lemonade being placed into her gloved hands.
“Hopefully this offering is timely and will buy me some favor in your eyes,” he said softly.
She felt his gaze on her lips and had to work hard to find a way to answer him, as her mouth had pursed for a kiss. What was wrong with her?
“Th-thank you,” she managed and took a long gulp of the sweet liquid. “Very thoughtful of you, for I do feel … warm.” Sassy heard herself say the words in a tone that sounded downright submissive and was disgusted with herself. She was acting like a schoolgirl with her first major crush.
She saw that Sophy had stomped off to chat up a few young bucks and shook her head ruefully over it before putting a hand to her forehead.
He saw this at once and said with some concern, “It is stuffy in here. Let us retire to the card room. ’Tis less crowded there, and perhaps you might even enjoy observing the players at whist.”
His voice was solicitous, his touch was thrilling as he took her elbow, and all at once, without even touching her ring, she knew what she had always suspected—the Marquis of Dartmour was a warlock. He was infused with magic. It gave off an energy from his body, like an entity, pulsating with mana. Why had she never noted that before?
Because he has lifted the shield hiding his power, her inner magic whispered. Why was he allowing her to know him now—what was his motive?
“Because, Sassy, the time has come for us to know one another,” he answered her unspoken thought, shocking her.
He shouldn’t be able to read her mind like that. She put up her own shield to block him, and he laughed and said in her ear, “Very good. You are very strong, and I hope you have it up all the time when you are at Netherby.”
Her mouth dropped. What should she answer? “Why?” she settled for asking out loud, but even this admitted to having a shield. Didn’t it? “Why would anyone need a shield at Netherby? And by shield I take it that you mean caution?”
“You know better, though caution is always a good thing,” he answered.
“I am always cautious,” she said on a breathless note.
“Are you?” His voice was a caress near her ear, and her lashes fluttered.
“Ah … a place to sit,” she said to change the subject, allowing him to see her seated on the soft damask loveseat. When he sat beside her, she was aware and relieved that there were just enough people in the room to keep her from falling into his arms, for her inner magic was driving her to do just that.
She wanted to know the extent of his power. She had to know if he was a Dark Magic sorcerer. She fingered her ring, and her eyes began to close as she started the silent chant. He stopped her by taking her hand and causing a break in her concentration.
“You have only to ask,” he said softly.
“And would you tell me the truth?”
“Why bother asking such a thing? If you think I might lie, would I not start off with one?” he answered impatiently. “You are smarter than that.”
“Indeed, and I am smart enough to know you will not answer me tonight. You are not ready to go that far, are you?”
“No, not ready to go that far,” he answered, looking into her eyes and adding, “but soon, love, soon.”
“Why, my lord, do you speak in riddles? Why are you forever doing what you should not do just because you can?” Sassy snapped, caught up in a state of confusion and not knowing where to go.
He laughed. “You are quite charming when upset—your creamy cheeks spotted with color, your green eyes bright. Why do I do the things I do? I should dearly love to satisfy you with an answer, my love, but I need a specific.”
“Well, for one thing, telling Sophy you would not attend her rout unless she invited me. How dare you put me in such an awkward position? ’Twas the most insufferable thing to do.”
“How so? I wanted you here,” he said blandly.