Her heart drumming with terror, she lurched to her feet, ready to flee.
She was too late.
Ranelaw sent her a sly look under heavy eyelids and bowed deeply. As if she was an aristocratic guest and not merely the hired help.
“Miss Smith, may I request the honor of this waltz?”
Chapter Sixteen
As Ranelaw loomed nearer, he watched horror dawn on Antonia’s beautiful face. She wore her dowdy disguise, but these days, he couldn’t regard her as anything other than spectacular.
“Go away,” she growled under her breath. Behind her ugly spectacles, her eyes darted from side to side as if she sought some way of fending Ranelaw off without attracting notice.
“Miss Smith?” He didn’t lower his voice. Challenging Antonia was always exhilarating.
“Stop it. I won’t listen,” she hissed, trying to sidestep.
He hemmed her in, easy when surrounded by so many chairs, most occupied. The old kitties finally noted the small drama. He read surprise and prurient curiosity in their faces.
“You’ll generate considerably less interest if you agree to dance with me,” he said in a low voice, seizing her arm in a grip that brooked no resistance.
For two weeks he’d wanted her, with a craving so painful and persistent it was like an illness. Touching her kicked his heart into a gallop. Through several layers of fabric, he felt her power and vigor. The same power and vigor that made possessing her such a world-shaking experience.
Even for a rake like him.
“You’ll generate less interest if you go away,” she muttered through her teeth. He saw her consider struggling, then decide, sensibly, that physical confrontation would only bolster gossip.
Smart girl.
“But I’m not going away,” he said equably, striding toward the couples forming in the center of the room. To prevent him dragging her unceremoniously after him, Antonia was forced to follow.
Her hand covered his where it lay on her arm and she dug her fingernails in hard. Black lace gloves shielded her claws. Heat shuddered through him as he remembered her hands bunching in his shirt. She’d have drawn blood that night if he’d had the finesse to undress before tumbling her.
“I hate you,” she said viciously.
“No, you don’t.” With a commanding movement, he swung her around to face him. “Now dance with me like a sweet little poppet or set tongues wagging.”
“I hope you rot in hell.” Under his hands, she vibrated with outrage. He’d intended the poppet remark to raise her hackles.
“That outcome is beyond argument, sweet Antonia.” His devil-may-care smile was sure to stir any hackles poppet left undisturbed.
The waltz started and he swept her into a twirl. Excitement buzzed in his veins. Around them, curiosity rose to a cacophony.
“They know you’re mocking me,” she said without inflection, performing a perfect waltz step. She followed him with a lightness that made his heart di
p with admiration. He’d known she’d dance like an angel.
“Let them think what they like.”
He whirled her into a dizzying turn that had her hand clutching at his shoulder. Another memory shuddered through him, of her hands digging into his shoulders as he pressed his way inside her body. Since she’d deserted him, he’d relived every detail of that fierce encounter again and again. With her now, the vividness of the recollections left him shaking with desire.
He’d been unhappy, restless, irritable since leaving Surrey. He’d lived on memories of her. Her absence slowly strangled him. The instant he took Antonia in his arms, he breathed again.
“I’d rather they thought me the butt of a joke than guessed the truth,” she sniped back.
“What is the truth, my lady mystery?” he asked silkily, performing another breathtaking turn.
For all her hostility, she moved smoothly. However they argued, physically they were in complete accord. His arm was firm and possessive around her lissome waist and their bodies were so close, her heat curled out to lure him. Her fresh scent teased. He drew it into his lungs and his curious sense of rightness crescendoed with the music.