“I will retire for a few moments, I believe,” Phillipa murmured. She turned then froze. She blinked twice, but Anthony’s tall form remained. A shot of excitement raced down her spine making her grip the glass of champagne too tightly.
Damn!
She’d thought Anthony’s appearance that morning at the park had been the devil tempting her. He had featured in several dreams last night that had left her shaken and needy. She had gone for an extra-long morning ride to rid herself of the sensual visions she couldn’t shake. Only to find her body all too sensitive to the feel of the muscular horse beneath her. And then to run into the man himself… Lord. It had been pure torture.
She groaned as his gaze swept the crowd and zeroed in on her.
She emptied her drink in a single swallow, and glared at him.
His gaze caressed her lips, and despite herself, she shivered. Averting her eyes, she scanned the ball, hard-pressed not to notice the many feminine gazes aimed his way. Her lips curved. They all thought they were being so sly, whispering behind their fans.
Her mother threw her the most delighted smile as he sauntered toward her with animalistic grace. Damnation. He was singling her out!
Excitement burned inside at the realization that he deliberately sought her from among all the beautiful young ladies swooning over him. She knew nothing good could come of a closer acquaintance with him, but for the moment she banished the thought and simply watched him with a soft hunger nipping at her insides.
He gazed at her with a determined intent that frightened her more than a little. She’d felt his intensity that night in the garden at Lady Graham’s ball, and had been intimidated. He looked dashing in a single-breasted purple waistcoat, black tails, and well-fitting trousers. His buttoned shoes shone, and the severe style of his haircut did not detract from his raw masculine beauty.
“Are you given to stalking, Lord Anthony?” She surprised herself by inquiring. The scent of him aroused the most curious sensation inside her. He smelled of sandalwood and an elusive fragrance she could not place. The deep sensual pleasure she felt at such a mere acquaintance staggered her.
His emerald eyes traced her figure. She wore a deep golden silk gown, cut low above her bosom. Phillipa knew she looked fetching with her tresses tamed into an artful cascade, tendrils caressing her nape and forehead. However, she got the feeling he’d mentally stripped her bare, and it unnerved her.
She ignored the pleased smile from her mama, her aunt, and the wink of Payton.
“Stalking, Miss Peppiwell? I think it a grand coincidence that we frequent the same social events, don’t you?”
Despite herself, a smile teased her lips at the rakish grin he threw her way. “I suppose I could accept your presence at the park this morning.”
“I really happened to enjoy my early morning run through Hyde Park.”
She narrowed her eyes as she met the mocking in his gaze. “And why, pray tell, are you at Lady Blade’s soiree?”
“Pleasure, Miss Peppiwell. Solely for pleasure.”
She told herself she would not ask.
He moved closer and said in an undertone. “Since you are so rigidly holding onto the question you are bursting to ask me, I will be a gentleman and enlighten you. I find I am intrigued by a certain redheaded ice maiden with freckles and the most delightful lips I have ever tasted.”
She found it difficult to maintain her cool facade in the face of her thundering heartbeat. She stood at a loss. She had no idea how to respond, without betraying the physical desire his words elicited. Her hands tightened even more on her glass. He gently removed it from her hands, handing it to a passing server.
“Wouldn’t want it to crack,” he said mildly.
A prickling sensation raced down her spine. Her eyes slashed from Anthony’s, and she saw Orwell watching her from his post at the refreshment table. She stiffened. He had not been invited, Elisabeth had sworn. Her hands shook. His persistence was becoming terrifying.
She had allowed Lord Anthony to sweep her from his clutches at Lady Graham’s ball, but she admitted she was not sure Anthony’s grasp was any safer. He was a far more sensual and sneakier predator, one she should avoid at all cost. Especially so, considering that she feared that she might be his willing prey. He provoked the most alarming desire with a mere caress or the gentle brush of his lips across hers. The invitation to sensual indulgence she saw in his eyes shook her to her core.
“Would you care to take a twirl in the garden?”
Her gaze whipped from Lord Orwell to meet the dark invitation that shone in his expression. He had the most beautiful, expressive eyes—dark and rich, holding secrets like the forest. “I cannot. Not without inviting unwelcome speculation.”