To Want a Rogue

The neckline dipped near off her shoulder and exposed a peak of cleavage. A tad conservative for London standards of evening wear but considering she was having dinner alone with a dangerously seductive man, she considered changing the gown at least three times to wear a much less revealing day gown.

She realized now what that sizzling energy between them was. She’d been correct that it wasn’t necessarily fear, although she was a touch afraid of how he made her feel. Despite the formidable stone wolves at the gate, she was far more afraid of herself than him. Sam was doing well, and she’d lied and told a god of a man that she was an experienced woman. She’d seen the change in him those words had caused. He’d gone from restrained energy, with his back to her, to rapt attention in a single moment.

If she were smart, she’d cry ill and hide in her room. It was the wiser decision to be certain. He was dangerous. The problem was that she was also curious. Lord de Wolfe was so much more than any man she’d ever met in London. From his height to his large shoulders and muscular frame to the dark intensity of his stare, he was a living force of nature. She should stay away, but Dahlia was drawn to him.

Dragging in a long breath, she crossed the room and opened her door. Her brother was still in the house, how awry could one dinner possibly go?

The moment she stepped into the drawing room, that was answered. Lord de Wolfe stood in his evening attire, cut to perfection to highlight his broad chest, staring at her with the intensity of an actual wolf. A hungry one who was ready for his dinner. And she feared she just might be the dish he wanted to eat.

“You look ravishing,” he said his eyes traveling up and down her body.

She brought a hand up to cover the bare skin of her collar bone. His choice of words did little to assuage her impression of him as a predator. Which was somehow both exhilarating and terrifying. “Thank you. You also look quite dashing.”

He gave her a slow smile and her breath caught in her throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Greenwich.” He began to cross the room toward her, his movement powerful and graceful in a way that made her freeze like a frightened little bunny.

“Y-you’re welcome,” she croaked out, trying to make her voice work normally. He wasn’t going to eat her, and she needed to gain control of herself. Her palms were sweating and her knees weak.

He held out his elbow and she carefully placed her fingers in the crook, as though she needed to guard herself against her reaction to touching him. Which was the truth. A shiver of awareness raced down her spine.

He leaned close. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Another indicator she had lied. “Yes, please. My nerves could use the salve.”

He gave her fingers a pat. “I can imagine you do. It’s been a trying few days.”

She didn’t correct him. She had been worried about Sam, but it was more her reaction to Lord de Wolfe that had her feeling frayed. “In regards to my brother, I am feeling most fortunate that I ended up at your door. Your help has been valuable beyond measure and I feel confident about his recovery thanks to all you’ve done.”

His hip brushed hers as they approached the bar. An ache was beginning to grow between her legs. He leaned close to her ear. “I was very glad to help, and even more thankful that his recovery is going so well.” Then he seemed to tense, his heat cooling. “When my wife fell from her horse, I did not know then what I do now.”

Her eyes flew to his. “Did she die from the fall?”

He shook his head, his body tensing as he moved further away from her. “No. She seemed fine at first, only sore in the ribs. It was complications that developed later that took her life.” His face twisted as he looked down at the floor. “What about your husband?”

Dahlia’s mouth fell open. Why had she not considered that she’d need specifics? She reached for the bar to steady herself. Silly little fool. Searching her mind, she used her parents’ deaths as inspiration. “Disease of the lung.”

He nodded sympathetically. “So difficult.”

She wet her lips, her fingers digging into the bar. “Were you heartbroken at the loss?”

One of his shoulders rose and fell. “I’d known Amelia since childhood. It seemed natural that we marry. And when she was gone, I…” He stopped, looked away. “I had never pictured my life without her.”

Guilt stabbed at her insides as she clenched her skirts. He had suffered real loss. She knew something about that, having lost half her family, and lying to say she’d also lost spouse was a terribly insensitive thing to do. “I am so sorry.”

He gave her a small smile. “You’ve experienced the same.”

She shook her head. “Oh no. Nothing like that.” Her mind began furiously searching for answers. Which only made her feel worse. “I’d lost my parents and married for security. We’d hardly been together when he’d fallen ill.”

“Ah,” he moved closer. “That explains why you are so young. When I very first saw you in a heap on the floor, I mistook you for a girl. I realized my mistake once you were out of the coat. Still, how old are you, if I might ask?”

The truth seemed her best option. She’d told enough lies for one night. “Nineteen.” He handed a glass filled with a deep red wine and she took a generous sip. “And you?”

“Twenty-six,” he answered. “And fully seasoned too in the perils of life, as are you.”

She gave a nod and took another large sip. “As long as my brother survives, I shall continue to consider myself an optimist.”

He gave a sad chuckle, his fingers brushing her arm. What a dangerous game she’d entered. She was both guilty of being deceitful and attempting to play the part of a woman with far more experience. In addition to all of that, worry for her brother made her long to bury her face in the comfort of his strong chest.

He gave a husky whisper. “I have faith he will.”