“Is that supposed to frighten me?” she countered with a mocking grin. “Come now, Charles, we both know there is no love lost in this poor excuse for a marriage. You’ve never cared who shared my bed before, so why pretend to care now?” She sent him a bitter glance. “Or are you finally beginning to realize just how pitiful a specimen you are when compared to your brother?”
His hand curled into a claw that threatened to close around her slender neck. Angelique took a quick step back. She knew Charles would not initiate a scene. To do so would only double the attention his brother’s spectacular entrance had attracted.
“Your threats mean nothing to me,” she hissed, shoving her half-empty glass into his solid chest. “I will have Drake back. You cannot stop me.”
“I rarely waste my time making idle threats, Angelique. I’d as soon kill you both before allowing you to humiliate me the way we humiliated him.”
Her lips tightened as her gaze hatefully raked his muscular form. Rugged, but not nearly as appealing as his brother’s, she thought as she reached out and straightened his blue silk cravat. “Sharpen your blade then, husband. You’ll be needing it soon.”
With a rustle of her silk skirt, Angelique pivoted and strolled regally away. Her bearing was straight and proud, As though she hadn’t a care in the world.
The glass splintered in his hand, slicing his palm as Charles watched his wife maneuver herself through the crowd. Trickles of blood dripped down his fingertips, spotting the polished floorboards. He noticed neither that nor the stinging pain of the alcohol as it seeped into the cuts.
“I do not make idle threats, witch,” he spat darkly, stalking in her wake.
She might have been floating on air for all the ground Hope felt beneath her feet. The soft linen brushing against her calves was a luxury in itself. But it was nothing in comparison to the tingling sensations evoked by the strong arms around her waist, and the solid chest that grazed her breasts.
Dancing with no slippers to protect her feet could have been a fatal mistake—were she waltzing with anyone but Drake Frazier. She needn’t have worried. Not once were her fragile toes trod upon as he swept her into his arms and guided her with precision across the empty dance floor.
Who would have guessed that the hardened gunslinger who had taken on Oren Larzdon without blinking would be so familiar with the intricate steps of the dance? Certainly not she. But then, there was a lot she didn’t know about this man. And his list of mysterious attributes was multiplying by the minute.
“What are you thinking?”
The husky voice caused Hope to glance up in surprise. “I was wondering which one of these men is your brother,” she lied, not at all liking the direction her thoughts had taken. It was growing more and more difficult to remind herself she really should hate this man. “Do you see him anywhere?”
The sea-green eyes scanned the room as the dance made an elaborate turn. When his gaze darkened, and his arms tightened, she knew he had found Charles.
“Brace yourself, sunshine; we’re about to run straight into a storm.” He glanced down at her, his face expressionless. “Or more correctly, it is about to run into us. Charles and Angelique are heading this way.”
A strangled “Oh!” was about all she could manage through the sudden dryness in her throat. Although Drake’s attention focused exclusively on her, Hope knew he was aware of every step his brother took. He seemed not to notice her grip tightening with alarm on his shoulder and hand.
Drake waited until Charles and Angelique reached the border of the crowd, then drew a startled Hope hard against his chest. She blushed furiously at the intimate contact and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Kiss me,” he demanded throatily, his lips cutting a hot path to her own as his eyes darkened with passion. “And make it good—your job depends on it.”
Hope didn’t have to make up anything. The first touch of his, warm lips against hers, and she was lost. Her hands crept up around his neck, her fingers instinctively tangling in the rich mane of his hair as she opened up to him like flower petals open to the kiss of the morning sun.
It seemed like an eternity had passed since the last time she had felt his body pressing insistently into hers, his mouth demanding a passion she could not hide. She clung weakly to his broad shoulders, forgetting for the moment where they were, forgetting as well the captivated audience their mutual passion ensnared.
Her fingers ached to peel back the expensive shirt, to feel once again his rippling flesh beneath her hungry fingertips. The fine clothes could not disguise the smell of leather and sweat clinging to his body. It was a familiar scent that warmed Hope to the core, and she drank of it deeply as she surrendered herself to the consuming fire of his kiss.
All too soon, he pulled away. “Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes saying he was anything but. “I don’t think the old biddies huddled in the corner over there would appreciate our showing them what they’ve been missing all these years. Do you?”
She glanced up, her eyelids still heavy with unquenched passion. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they might enjoy it.” She paused, a mischievous grin tugging her lips. “It would certainly give them something to discuss at the next Church Social.”
“Incorrigible,” Drake chuckled. Clucking his tongue he shook his head. “Absolutely incorrigible. You should be ashamed of yourself, Miss Bennett.”
“Mrs. Frazier,” she corrected stiffly. “And I’m not ashamed in the least. Why should I be? I doubt we’re the only people who ever felt this way.” To her surprise, she found she wasn’t lying. She truly wasn’t ashamed of the passion she felt for this man—although she knew by all rights she should be.
His eyes sparkled. “Maybe not,” he agreed with a shrug, slowing his steps as the music drew to an end. “But I’d bet my life we’re the only ones who display it so openly. This room will never be the same again.”
Neither will I, Hope thought as she dipped a curtsey t
o his neatly cut bow. Neither will I.
“Hello, Drake.” The voice, remarkably like the purr of a contented feline, flowed over his shoulder with a satisfied sigh.
Drake straightened and all semblance of lightness left his body like steam floating up from a kettle. He took Hope’s suddenly cold hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.