To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

Her lips had parted; her gaze had fallen to his lips. Realizing, she stifled a weak gasp and looked up—into his eyes.

“Why I intend to learn all your secrets should be clear enough.” His voice reached her, soft yet infinitely dangerous, the words slow, uninflected, yet all the more potent for that. His grip on her nape released; his hand slid down to the back of her waist.

“Tell me…or show me. It matters not which you choose. But one way or another, I intend to learn every last secret you possess.”

She’d fallen into the green well of his eyes and couldn’t find her way out. Couldn’t, for the life of her, break free of his hold.

“I’m going to seduce you, as we agreed at the manor. One step at a time—do you recall?”

She almost nodded, stopped herself just in time. “No. That was then, this is now, and—”

“Nothing whatever has changed. I still want you—I still intend to have you. And along the way I intend to learn everything—every last little aspect you hide from the world. From me, you’ll hide nothing.” His gaze held hers, then he softly added, “You won’t be able to. I intend to strip you naked in every way.”

Deverell watched each word sink into her mind, watched her reactions darken her eyes—shock, yes, but that wasn’t her dominant response. Fear, yes, but that, too, was overridden, not wiped away but rechanneled by the rush of some stronger, more elemental and primitive emotion.

There was nothing simple about her response to him and to what he was suggesting; it was complex and complicated. Fascination was a part of it, along with sexual need and a flaring, darker hunger.

He’d been with enough women to recognize its like, but such responses were strongly individual. And with Phoebe, he sensed he’d be walking a tightrope—it would be crucial to get the balance right.

Tonight, he was feeling his way. Cautiously.

Lifting her hand, he raised it to his lips and once again kissed, breaking the spell. She blinked, then refocused on his face.

“Tonight, I want to waltz with you—just a waltz, nothing more.” He’d pitched his voice to a cadence he knew ladies found soothing.

The suspicion in her eyes told him she wasn’t fooled, but the musicians had started the prelude to a waltz.

“Come.” He urged her forward.

Unable to deny him without creating a scene, she allowed him to lead her to the floor. Allowed him to take her into his arms and set them whirling.

Gradually, revolution by revolution, the frown in her eyes faded, the stiffness in her spine eased. But she remained puzzled, confounded, unsure whether or not she wished to flee. Whether or not she wanted to escape him.

Mildly he arched a brow at her. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know I didn’t learn anything of substance today. I did, however, set various lines of inquiry underway.”

Her lips thinned; she studied him, then said, “You’re not going to go away, are you?”

He let his mask slip for a moment, let her see the truth, then whirled her to a halt as the music ended.

He bowed over her hand, then straightened; raising her from her curtsy, he met her eyes. “Until tomorrow night—and our next step.”

Without waiting for an answer, with a nod he left her—and left the Camberleys’ ballroom before temptation, and she, got the better of him.

Phoebe didn’t let her emotions surface until Skinner had left her alone in her bedchamber. Clad in her fine nightgown, her hair brushed and rippling over her shoulders, she paced before the dying fire in the hearth and tried to focus her mind.

Tried to deal with her feelings, to put them into some frame of reference so that she could manage them—or at least understand them.

When she couldn’t do that, she turned her frustrated attention to their cause.

Deverell.

While she would have liked to heap full blame on his head, indeed, was sorely tempted, there was no point in self-delusion. It was her reaction to him that lay at the root of her problem.

Flinging out her hands, she addressed the room. “Why him?”

Indeed. Him kissing her was bad enough, but when he touched her like that—as he had that evening—while every sense she possessed knew enough to be afraid, while fear definitely leapt and coursed her veins, it was instantly, in the same breath, submerged beneath a tide of almost ravenous longing.

Her fear didn’t drown, didn’t evaporate, but became a part of that scintillating, surging sea of need. Merged with it, into it, lending a certain edge, a frankly primitive thrill that only added to the excitement.