Devlin exhaled a silent oath as he watched the first figures of a country gavotte form on the dance floor.

Damn. Damn. Damn. He had done his infuriating best to provoke a slip of the tongue. But neither Anna nor Polianov had given anything away. The Russian’s sudden interest in her might be a signal that the conspirators were rattled by the failed attempt on the prince’s life and needed to quickly make alternate plans.

Or it might simply mean that Polianov, like himself, had overheard several of the London ladies earlier in the evening speculating on how large a dowry the formerly poor-as-a-churchmouse Anna was likely to get from her wealthy new brother-in-law.

As for Anna, she masked her emotions better than most hardened gamesters. He had watched her closely during the past Season and had admired how coolly and calmly she had dealt with the bevy of suitors seeking her hand. All had been treated with charming smiles and gentle grace. It had made him curious as to what feelings lay beneath the flawless skin.

He had always sensed that she had intriguing depths at odds with the outward show of sweetness. But given how hard she was to read, Miss Anna Sloane could make a fortune in the gambling hells—that is, assuming she still desperately needed money to support her family.

Which she didn’t.

The soft slap, slap of the capering feet seemed to set the same insistent question to dancing round and round inside his head.

So why would she involve herself in such a nefarious plot?

Devlin considered himself very adept at piecing together the parts of a complicated puzzle. But this one had him flummoxed.

The lively music ended, and the laughing couples began to drift off for refreshments and to re-form into new pairs for the next set.

The violins ran through the first few notes to test their tuning.

A waltz, as promised.

Pretending that he didn’t see the Come-Hither look from Lady de Blois, Devlin moved quickly along the stone colonnade to where Anna and her sister were standing with Count Rupert and Lord Saxe-Colza.

“Miss Sloane, I believe you are promised to me for this dance.”

“Have I misunderstood—” began Count Rupert.

Anna’s “No” was overridden by Devlin’s “Yes.”

“I did request the honor of your hand as soon as Lady Dunbar announced there would be a waltz,” he added. “I should be wounded beyond measure if you tell me that you’ve already forgotten.”

Count Rupert conceded with good grace. “It seems that Lord Davenport’s claim takes precedence over mine. I shall wait until the next one, for I’m sure our hostess will have the musicians play another.”

A smile remained on Anna’s lips but it came nowhere near her eyes. “The next one is most definitely yours, sir. And if any other gentleman claims a prior promise, he is telling an untruth.”

“Now, who among us would do something so dishonorable?” murmured Devlin.

Anna didn’t deign to reply.

“We had better take our place on the dance floor.” As he placed a hand on the small of her back, he felt an unexpected pulse of electricity jolt through his palm. He would have dismissed it as anger heating her blood, but he felt her body react with equal surprise.

Neither of them said a word as he guided her to the least crowded corner of the polished parquet. For him, it was because speech was momentarily impossible, the jolt had sizzled up his arm and somehow tied his tongue in a terrible knot. He couldn’t talk, he could only feel—the graceful sway of her hips beneath his hand, the soft swish of her silken skirts against his trousers. Tonight she was wearing a dusky lavender-colored gown trimmed with accents of a darker shade of plum. A perfectly ripe plum.

No wonder most of the men were eyeing her hungrily.

But all consciousness of anyone other than Anna disappeared in a blur as Devlin turned and they came close together in the intimate embrace of the waltz. Hands touching, heat thrumming—awareness spiked through him as the first notes of the music filled the air, and all at once his skin began to prickle and a tiny trickle of sweat started to tease down his spine.

Cursing himself for a fool, he somehow managed to move through the first intricate steps of the dance without tripping over his feet. His only consolation was that she, too, seemed affected by the same strange force.

A swirling turn seemed to dispel some of its power. Devlin recalled that he had brought her out here to prod her, to pressure her into giving him some answers about her recent activities. But he found himself caught up in the rhythm of the dance and the way their bodies moved in perfect harmony.

In a moment—I will confront her in a moment.

Anna spun through the moves with an effortless grace, feeling light as a fluff of eiderdown in his arms.

“I assume you did not ask me out here simply for the pleasure of dancing,” she finally said, after they had whirled through another few turns. Her voice sounded a little fluttery, like the whisper-fine frothing of lace peeking out from beneath the hem of her gown.

Tags: Cara Elliott Hellions of High Street Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net