After several moments with no movement about, she expelled the breath, feeling ridiculous.
With hurried steps, she slipped inside the conservatory where it was much warmer. She halted. There it was again, that strange, tingly feeling. Her pulse quickened. She knew exactly what it was—Mondvale’s gaze upon her. For a timeless moment she was still, hardly daring to breathe. Every instinct she possessed told her he was somewhere in the dark, watching her. The sensation that coursed through her at the thought bordered on fear…combined with a dash of excitement. It took enormous willpower to not flee back inside to the ball.
Where was he?
Close. She could feel him.
She had never known such awareness of another.
But to remain here, alone with him, would be courting further disaster. She turned to leave. The din of laughter and music spilled into the night, but instead of filling her with excitement, dread curled through her. There was nothing for her in the ballroom but hurt.
But the idea of possibly facing Mondvale was nerve-racking. It had been different when she’d only discreetly observed the Lord of Sin from afar, spinning girlish fantasies about her wicked prince charming. Everything about him had seemed exciting, and tempting, and mysterious. Now, he just seemed…dangerous.
She took a few steps back toward the ball and again hesitated. For all she knew, he was watching her from the terrace or the gardens, and not from inside the conservatory itself. She hadn’t actually seen him, and the thought of returning to the ball to face the sly whispers and innuendos was unbearable. She squared her shoulders, turned back, and walked deeper into the conservatory.
“Even more curious,” his voice drawled ever so softly, prickling the hairs at the nape of her neck. She spun toward the voice, nerves and excitement surging to life inside her.
Instinctively, she knew she had been hoping for just such an encounter the whole time she had watched Mondvale tonight. Now that the occasion was upon her, she doubted her sanity, and wondered dizzily if this daring encounter would lead her into the arms of her prince charming…or only into further ruination?
Chapter Two
Constance had missed seeing the stone bench near the entrance of the conservatory, hidden by shadows and overgrown plants. Mondvale sat splayed in the most insolent manner, his cravat undone, a glass of champagne dangling loosely from his hand. She could sense the leashed power of his personality beneath the casual façade he presented.
A blush heated her cheeks. Was she interrupting a clandestine meeting? From the quick frown on his face, she had the oddest thought that he had retreated here for privacy, and she had intruded. She cleared her throat cautiously. “Your Grace, I… Pardon my intrusion, I was not aware someone else was in here.”
Despite the dimness of the light, she was able to make out the curl of his lips.
“Liar,” he drawled with an icy bite. It was said so softly, it took a while for the word to sink in.
She stiffened in affront.
Silver eyes slid over her in an encompassing look that was as physical as a caress. “You have been watching me with avid fascination, devouring me with your gaze, since I entered Lady Lawrence’s ballroom.”
Constance’s heartbeat thudded in her eardrums. It was so embarrassing to know he had been aware of her regard. Should she deny his humiliating assessment? It was only half true. She had escaped to the conservatory to be away from it all, not to follow him. “My apologies. I was watching you because you reminded me of someone else.” Her excuse sounded inane even to her own ears. His unswerving gaze made her uneasy and propelled her into further speech. “I see now my error, but I assure you, Your Grace, I did not follow you out here.”
He gave her a dark, jaded smile, placed his champagne glass on the bench, and rose to his feet, stepping into the light that spilled from the gas lamp in the far corner. She stumbled back, trying to ignore the unwilling interest he roused in her. But she couldn’t look away from him, awed by the ruthless beauty of his face. High cheekbones intensified the aristocratic cast of his features, and cruel sensuality curved the hard line of his mouth. He was tall with powerful shoulders and muscular legs, and she flushed, mortified for noticing. He was clad in black from head to foot, with the exception of his snow white shirt and cravat, and the silver waistcoat which fitted his lean frame to perfection. Each time she had spied him, he had always dressed with simplicity, in dark, well-tailored clothes, never with flamboyance.
She found the reaction he stirred in her curious, thrilling—that low tightening in her stomach and the slow drum of her heart when their gaze collided. He had the most compelling eyes she had ever seen—pure silver, making them appear as shards of ice.