“Nonsense.” She retrieved her hand and primly clasped both before her. “Two waltzes is the maximum—well, perhaps three.”
“You being twenty-five?”
“Exactly. But you’ll have to dance with others, too.”
He didn’t look impressed, but there wasn’t a matron present who would allow it to be otherwise. He might be focused on her, but the chance to waltz with him was nevertheless an opportunity, one the matchmaking mamas wouldn’t allow their charges to miss.
Which thought had her dwelling on opportunities again.
Georgina came up on Milton’s arm, then Deidre appeared with Peter and Charlie.
“We were thinking of taking some guns out tomorrow.” Peter looked at Deverell. “Will you join us?”
He glanced at Phoebe, and declined, but then asked what sport Peter expected to find. It took a moment before Phoebe realized he’d chosen a topic guaranteed to bore the ladies present. Georgina shifted, as did Deidre, but neit
her gave any sign of moving on.
Phoebe took pity on them. “That’s a lovely comb, Deidre—where did you find it?”
The three of them were soon engaged in a comparison of London’s milliners and haberdashers.
Then the musicians at the end of the large ballroom started the prelude to a waltz. Deverell’s hand closed strongly about hers before the first chord faded.
He raised their linked hands, boldly raised her fingers to his lips, and kissed. “My dance, I believe.”
She wasn’t about to argue, but as she let him lead her to the floor, she glimpsed the chagrined look Deidre sent Peter, and his helpless grimace.
“You upset their plan,” she said as Deverell swung her into his arms.
He caught her eyes as he drew her to him. “My plan comes first.”
That was instantly apparent; he set them revolving with consummate grace, all powerful strength and ineffable control. Throughout their first circuit of the large room she was fully engaged in growing accustomed to the sensation of being so utterly in his control. And in letting her starved senses soak in his seductive nearness, and the promise therein.
Having him close seemed to subtly ease her flickering nerves—not so much soothing them as reassuring them that satisfaction was nigh. In that respect, a waltz with him was a flagrant exercise in sensual promise.
His strength surrounded her; she was even more aware of it than when she’d stood in his arms and let him kiss her. As they revolved and precessed, she was totally in his control, and he managed her effortlessly, guiding her where he willed, drawing her a fraction too close as they whirled through a tight turn, and later not easing his hold.
And all the while, his eyes held hers; she felt trapped in his green gaze. She wondered what he could see, what he was reading as he searched her eyes.
Deverell doubted she knew how transparent she was, at least to him, at least in this. Since he’d parted from her that afternoon, she’d reached a decision; she wasn’t seeking to be seduced but she was willing to be seduced. By him. Her altered stance did not extend to any other gentleman, only him. He was the one who had evoked the change, and he was the only one she had any interest in allowing to attempt her seduction.
That last calmed a primitive part of him, one he wasn’t well acquainted with and didn’t understand, that had been stirring—that hadn’t entirely liked the way Milton Cromwell had looked at Phoebe, or the glances other gentlemen had cast her undeniably appealing figure.
She’d been paying more attention to how she dressed, an indication of her interest that hadn’t escaped him. Her subtle transformation had focused his attention even more strongly, feeding his desire.
And now she’d decided to put her hand in his and allow him to lead her along the path to intimacy.
The scent of victory set a spur to his desire; he ruthlessly tamped it down. Her decision was a triumph, yes, but only in the sense his way forward was now clear—to the next step.
He put his mind to the task. Bringing them out of a turn, he set them revolving up the long room. “Why is it that chits like Deidre Mellors think that revealing as much of their charms as possible without precipitating a scandal is alluring?”
Phoebe’s brows rose. “I don’t know.” After a moment, she asked, “Isn’t it? Don’t gentlemen prefer that?”
He smiled into her eyes. “It’s not so much what we prefer as what we find most fascinating.” While Deidre had thought to capture interest with her daringly low-cut bodice, Phoebe had fixed his attention, and others’, much more effectively with her gown that hinted at what lay beneath but didn’t reveal enough to satisfy even their imaginations.
“We’re simple creatures,” he murmured. “You need to tease us.”
She laughed. “I’ll remember that.”