Unforgivable(26)

When she saw him pause to look at her, she rose from her chair, smoothing the skirt of her gown. There was something utterly charming about that uncertain gesture. He smiled at her, testing the water, and she smiled back, though warily, he thought.

He closed the distance between them and made her his best bow. “Madam,” he said as he rose to his full height again. “You are not dancing. That is something that ought to be remedied, I think.”

She looked up at him. She was a full head shorter than he and had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, exposing her pale throat. “Do you think so, sir?”

“I do. You are very beautiful and quite alone. Alone at a ball, no less, with dancing happening as we speak.” He gestured at the dancers who took up the part of the ballroom nearest the musicians. The music would play constantly all night, and people would dance or not dance as they pleased, with whomever they pleased. It was nothing like a Ton ball, where the ladies doled themselves out in half-hour measures.

“Perhaps I am waiting for my husband?” the lovely woman said and smiled, a little twist of her lips that he noted with fascination.

“Are you?”

She shrugged. “Or perhaps I simply do not care to dance.” She tilted her head, birdlike, which made the feathers on her mask seem curiously apt. He found that charming too. And her stature, which was small. And most especially her breasts, which looked to be delicious, the upper slopes very pale against the bluish iridescence of her gown, the lower curves lovingly outlined by the close-fitting bodice.

“Take pity on me, then.” He grinned. “For I should dearly love to dance. Yet I don’t know any ladies here at all.”

“The ladies you do not know include my good self.”

He laughed. “Ah, but that is very easily remedied, and once we know one another, we can dance together all night. Provided your husband doesn’t mind?” He raised an interrogatory eyebrow.

“Oh, he won’t mind,” she replied. “He didn’t accompany me here, after all. Though dancing all night with you doesn’t sound very proper, I must say.”

“Well, it’s not proper, of course. But this isn’t a very proper affair. You do realise that, don’t you?” He watched her carefully, curious. He wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t known till she’d got here. There was something deliciously innocent-looking about her. She hadn’t seemed especially comfortable, sitting in her little corner, alone.

When she stayed silent, he smiled at her, adding coaxingly, “Come on, pretty lady. We can become acquainted while we dance. By the time we’re finished, we’ll be like old friends.”

She gave a little laugh. “All right, then, but I warn you, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“That can’t be true,” he retorted, offering his arm. “You look as though you were made to dance.” She didn’t answer but gave a snort of laughter as she laid her arm over his. It was an inelegant little sound of amusement that made him smile—then frown briefly as he wondered who it reminded him of.

He was distracted from that thought by the sight of her slender arm resting on his, gloved in white satin. As he led her to the dancing area, he imagined himself removing that glove and studying what lay beneath, memorising the shape and line of elbow and wrist, kissing each finger. It was just the sort of seductive assault women loved—risqué but not too wicked. Always time to call a halt and repossess your arm before it went too far.

The orchestra was playing a waltz. When they reached the edge of the dancing area, Gil turned his arm beneath her fingers, simultaneously bringing his body round to face her, capturing her satin-clad hand in one of his own and bringing his other hand up to draw her closer. Before she could speak, he was stepping forward and drawing her into the dance, sweeping her into the crowd. He heard her gasp and give a muttered protest. She stumbled once, but when he held her close and danced on, she quickly corrected her footing and was soon following him, her body beginning to respond to his signals.

“Don’t look at your feet,” he murmured in her ear after a few turns. “Look at me. I’ll keep us upright and going in the right direction.”

She looked up, and when their masked gazes met, he smiled again, a slower smile this time. She didn’t smile back—she had that funny serious look again—but he couldn’t mind. She looked too sweet with that grave, beautifully shaped mouth. She didn’t need to smile to look lovely. He wanted to trace her lips with his fingertips. He wanted to kiss her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, surprising himself with his honesty. He didn’t normally like to give too much away at this stage. Light, expert compliments were one thing; a straight-from-the-heart confession was quite another.