Michael raised one brow. “How very astute you are, Lady Jane.” And impertinent. But then, he’d expected that. A waltz was beginning. Michael bent his arm. “Would you care to dance?”
Without hesitation, she accepted his arm. “I’d be delighted.”
The roar of the ballroom became deafening. A ruined woman, dancing with the Duke of Death, the same duke who had ruined her, and from whom she’d run away. Did gossip get any better? At the edge of the dance floor, she withdrew her hand from his arm and faced him. She curtsied. He bowed. Then reached for her. Her height matched with his in just the right fashion. He placed his hand upon the curve of her spine and she rested her hand upon his shoulder without much of a reach. Her gloved fingers lay within his palm and they began to move among the other dancers. It didn’t take long to realize, she was very accomplished. It also didn’t take long for most of the other couples to move away from them, a great number of them leaving the dance floor altogether. It took less time to remember how she’d felt in his arms, crushed against him, her heart beating wildly.
“You are a pariah, ma’am.” He swung her into a twirl and she never missed a step.
“Do you take a particular fancy to pariahs, Your Grace?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“There is little left to life that surprises me, but I find myself intrigued by your singling me out. I’m quite appreciative, surely, because I do love to dance, and despite their willingness to speak to me, my family’s friends can’t be quite so brave as to squire me about the floor.”
She smelled of lemons. How appropriate. “There is a distinction between bravery and a wish for self destruction, Lady Jane.”
Her eyes were lit with amusement. “And you are bent on self destruction?”
“Of course not. Our dancing together isn’t condoned, but I’m above reproach. Your lessons in peerage must surely have made that clear.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Dukes behaving badly must be countenanced?”
“Precisely.” She was a divine dancer, quite light on her feet. He pulled her a bit closer. She did not withdraw.
“Shall I puzzle it out then?”
“Please do.”
“I’ve already discounted the notion that your interest is based upon idle, rude curiosity. You’ve no need for female companionship, owing to the fact you have a mistress, and even if your intentions were so dishonorable as to include making me your mistress, my father would kill you, duke or no.”
In spite of himself, he was shocked. But he remained mute.
She laughed. Right in the midst of a waltz, with all of London society looking on, she laughed at him. “I have a tendency to plain speaking, Your Grace.”
“So I’ve been told.” Was she not going to speak plainly of their marriage that did not happen? Could she simply ignore their history?
“I assume, from your stunned expression, that my second guess is inaccurate. You don’t wish to make me your mistress, despite my ruination. Can it be that your intentions are honorable? Are you searching for a duchess to produce the heir you covet?”
“There was a time when the idea of marriage to me pleased you.”
Her smile never failed. “Yes, I remember it well. What was it you said? I am ruled by passion and would make a most unsuitable duchess. I would be your very last choice of a duchess. Yet here we are, four years later, and I’ve suddenly become quite the thing to you. What fascinates me is how I can now be so attractive to you. Not only am I ruled by passion, I’m totally and completely ruined. My reputation is destroyed.” Her gaze never wavered. “For a large man, you are really quite an excellent dancer.”
Michael deeply suspected she was not one to idly offer flattery. “Thank you.”
“Of all women, why me?”
Her waist dipped in above her hips with an enticing curve. Lady Jane was born in the wrong era of fashion; the high waistline of the current mode did not allow a man to adequately appreciate her hourglass shape. “Why not?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Sir, you insult me. Shall I request pen and paper and list out the reasons? I believe it will require two sheets of Lady Manderly’s stationery.”
He couldn’t very well say right out loud that she was his only choice. For all that he was a man of few words, he wasn’t an addlepated clod. In his fashion, he was bent on wooing her to accept his hand. There must necessarily be some semblance of a courtship. “I find you very attractive.” It was not a lie. She was a beautiful woman. Bedding her would definitely be a step above unpleasant. Many steps, actually. He was still obsessed, it appeared. Despite harsh, silent commands to the contrary, his cock was beginning to make itself known. He did not recall ever having such a thing occur merely by dancing with a woman. He inhaled her scent, once again. How intriguing that she smelled of lemons.