She was tired of hiding. Of not being noticed as a woman.
The idea of leaving the protective comfort of her usual role, of daring to pretend to be feminine and desirable, filled her with trepidation. Yet Alaric was right. Tamsin had isolated herself. She owed it to herself not to hide behind her work and her past any longer. She might be out of her depth tonight but she was no coward.
Deliberately she lifted her hand and removed her glasses, dropping them onto a nearby table. Straightening her shoulders she left the room, her head high.
Alaric viewed formal balls as a necessary evil. Until he turned from greeting an ambassador and her husband to see the next guest in line and the air punched from his lungs.
She was breathtaking.
Among the bejewelled and bedecked glitterati she was unadorned, yet she glowed with a radiance that set her apart. She didn’t need diamonds and platinum. Her skin was flawless, her lips a glossy pout that turned his blood molten hot with instant hunger. Her dark hair was a sensuous invitation to touch. It looked like she’d just pinned it up after rising from a bath or bed. As if it would tumble down at any moment around her bare shoulders.
And her eyes. She’d removed the glasses and her amber-gold eyes were even more vibrant, more beautiful than he remembered. They blazed with an expression he’d never seen. He’d known she was hiding her real self. But nothing had prepared him for this.
The ambassador moved away and Tamsin approached.
Alaric stiffened. She was fully covered, more fully than many of the women present. Yet he knew an almost overpowering impulse to unbutton his military tunic and toss it around her bare shoulders.
He didn’t miss the arrested glances from the men nearby. He wanted to growl out a warning to keep their distance. To look away.
‘Tamsin.’ His voice worked, though it emerged brusquely from frozen vocal cords. ‘It’s good to see you.’ If his muscles weren’t so stiff with shock he’d have laughed at the enormity of that understatement. He bowed over her hand, resorting to punctilious formality to prevent himself shepherding her straight out the way she’d come. Away from those admiring stares.
His gaze dropped to her bodice, tightly fitted to show off her slim frame and full breasts. Flaring skirts accentuated Tamsin’s narrow waist and for an insane moment he found himself distracted, musing whether he could span her with his hands.
‘Hello, Alaric.’ Her voice was low and throaty, yanking his libido into roaring life.
His hand tightened around hers and he wondered what would happen if he swept her away right now and didn’t come back. He was within an ace of scandalising everyone, had moved closer, when she spoke again.
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’
Reluctantly he dropped her hand and stepped back, removing himself from temptation.
‘You’re not late at all.’ His voice was unnaturally clipped. ‘Please, go on in. I’ll join you soon.’
She nodded and he turned away, forcing himself to greet the next guests in the reception line. Never had it been so hard to focus on duty.
It was easier than she’d expected to mingle at a royal ball. Tamsin smiled as she sipped a glass of champagne and listened to the conversation around her.
‘You’re enjoying yourself?’ asked Peter, the friendly community centre coordinator she’d met just over a week ago.
‘How could I not? I’ve met so many fascinating people and I love dancing.’ She’d only discovered that tonight, as partner after partner had whirled her round the mirrored ballroom, her dress swishing about her and her blood singing in her veins. It had been heady and delightful.
She turned. Peter wore an officer’s dress uniform. The gold braid and the neat row of medals across his chest gleamed in the light of the chandeliers. He looked the model of a dashing soldier of a couple of centuries ago, except for the scar on his neck and cheek.
He laughed. ‘It’s true, then, that all the girls love a uniform.’
‘Sorry. Was I staring?’ His smile dispelled any embarrassment. ‘It’s just so unusual. Uniforms have changed since the Napoleonic Wars.’
‘Not in Ruvingia. Not for formal occasions.’ He winked. ‘Especially as they make us so popular with the ladies. But in the field we wear khakis like everyone else.’
A pair of dancers swung by: Alaric looking like he’d stepped from the pages of a fairy tale in a uniform like Peter’s only with more medals pinned to his chest, and in his arms a delicate blonde woman glittering in azure silk and sapphires.
Something struck Tamsin in the ribs. Jealousy? The possibility appalled her.
Despite promising to join her hours ago, Alaric had only danced with her once. He’d held her at arm’s length, propelling her around the floor as if she were an elderly maiden aunt. Not close in his embrace as he smiled down into her face like he did with the gorgeous blonde.