“A bloody bulldog in my path,” he muttered.
“You’ll stay away from that particular young lady, Barrington.” Genny kept her voice just above a whisper.
His eyes narrowed as he focused on her. Only her.
Ha! She had his full attention now.
One down, another degenerate to go.
She really did have her work cut out for her this evening. She would bet a week’s worth of pin money that Charlotte had probably encouraged the marquess’s flirtation.
When Genny was done deterring Leo from his current conquest, she’d make sure the marquess also understood that his behavior was intolerable and unacceptable. She’d not stand idly by while her cousin fell to ruin.
Barrington remained silent as he studied her. Did he recognize her? Or had their time together all those years ago been so forgettable? No use lamenting a past long forgotten. Well, not completely forgotten to her. At least he wasn’t trying to dodge around her anymore. She had quite effectively stopped the charging bull from following his determined path.
“Isn’t this a surprise?” he finally said.
Before she could respond, he clasped her hand and twirled her into the middle of a throng of dancers and the quick steps of a mazurka. If she danced, she’d not be able to find Charlotte, but she couldn’t leave the dance floor now that he’d dragged her there.
“It’s been a long time.”
“For dancing?” She knew perfectly well that wasn’t what he meant.
He gave her an assessing look. “Among other things.”
He pulled her along with the fast pace of the music. She’d be hard-pressed to talk if they kept up with the vigorous tempo.
“Who is the young lady to you?”
“A vested interest.” At his raised brow, she added, “She is my cousin.”
He laughed and spun her around faster, taking their steps at the correct speed instead of slowing down enough to let her catch her breath. And how unfair that he wasn’t out of breath.
His fingers rubbed over the backs of hers as though searching for a ring beneath the fitted gloves. “You never married.”
Was this an absent observation or was he truly curious? What right did the man think he had to comment on her status as a spinster?
“Not for want of trying.”
She’d just chosen the wrong man to set her sights on.
If anyone had bothered to tell her that Barrington was not the marrying sort, she wondered if she would have listened. It was too late to wonder about the what-ifs. What was done was done. She’d made the most of the lot she’d been given in life. As much as she’d like to turn the clock back and try it all over again, life didn’t work that way.
“What do you want, Barrington?”
“How do you know I didn’t just want to talk to you?”
He smirked. Actually smirked as though she’d just told the funniest joke of the evening.
“You shouldn’t look so amused. It’s unbecoming for a man of your ilk.”
“Why hasn’t anyone ever told me?”
“Because you are a blackguard.”
“How wonderful to be showered with compliments by you.” There was a teasing quality to his comment. “How long has it been, Genny?”
She sighed. She supposed it wasn’t so terrible to be in his company since he did remember her. But she couldn’t help saying, “It shouldn’t surprise me you don’t know the answer to that.”
The heat of his breath fanned over the shell of her ear. “Perhaps I wish to hear it from your lips, talking about your memories of our wickedly delightful nights together. I have missed you more than you can imagine all these years.”
What was that supposed to mean?
He pulled her in a little closer as they rounded the outskirts of the dance floor. To an observer, it would look as if he merely had a good hold on her through the turns instead of holding her inappropriately closer so he could whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Well, inveigling words would not sway her in whatever game he played.
Afraid it would look too obvious if she fought his tight hold, she relaxed into the steps, letting him lead the brisk pace and the direction for their rapid turns and jumps and twirls.
Goodness, she hadn’t danced a mazurka since … since forever. They spun so fast, moved so quickly to the two-four beat, that she couldn’t utter another word. That was probably his intention, while his friend made off with her cousin.
She tried to focus on the room around them to ensure her cousin was still present but couldn’t concentrate her gaze long enough on any one spot while they danced.
Leo’s hand was firm and steady around hers. The muscles of his biceps moved and flexed beneath her hold on his other arm.
The citruslike smell of his cologne enveloped her. The underlying smell of male musk brought to mind the unwanted memories of hot sweaty nights, when they had embraced and been so thoroughly entwined with each other that nothing else had existed in all the world. She closed her eyes and swallowed back a lump that had formed in her throat, trusting him to guide them around the other dancers.
With those unbidden thoughts, her body swayed closer to his. Close enough to feel the shush of her skirts brushing against his legs. Close enough that his every breath moved the loose tendrils of hair around her temples. She looked away from his knowing gaze, realizing he understood exactly which direction her mind had wandered in.
When the song ended, she dropped her hand from his arm and attempted to slip away. She searched the crowds around the outskirts of the room for her cousin.
To her relief, Charlotte was still in view. Had the earlier warning that Genny would be displeased if her cousin so much as dared to wander off rooted firmly in the girl’s mind? Unfortunately she was still in the company of the marquess.
While Genny slackened her hand in Barrington’s grip, he did not release her. She turned to face him, eyebrow raised. What was he about?
“Our dance has concluded, my lord.” She tried to tug her hand from his, but he held tight. “You are making a scene.”
His smile was slow and so very wicked that it felt like hot flicks of his tongue dancing erotically against her heated flesh. She didn’t like or trust that expression one bit. It was one she’d grown used to during their summer liaison and it was full of mischievous and assuredly lascivious intentions.
“We are far from garnering anyone’s attention.”
A waltz—Chopin, if she wasn’t mistaken—started for the next set. Couples stood ready, then bowed and curtsied. Barrington twirled her on the spot, hand above her head briefly, and then he pulled her intimately into the circle of his arms, as though they were the only ones in the room and no reproach would come from their actions.
Two dances in a row.
She wanted to kick him in the shin for his bold behavior. Maybe she would if she ever came upon him without an audience.
She attempted to push away from him. “What are you doing?”
His grip tightened.
“Dancing.” That charming, nonchalant tone only added to her ire. “You?”
“My duties lie elsewhere. I’m not at liberty to play whatever game it is you have devised.”
“I assure you that you are much more than a passing amusement. Besides, everyone should be at liberty to enjoy a dance or two, princess.”
His use of that old endearment prickled unsettlingly at her pride. That was the nickname he’d used for her so long ago. For all she knew, he called every woman princess.
Purposefully, she stepped on his toes, giving him a wide smile as she ground the ball of her foot onto his instep.
“I know exactly the kind of man you are. And I know firsthand what you are capable of. You’ll have to find another woman to seduce.”
“Are you offering?” The teasing quality of his voice only irritated her further.
“You had your chance with me, Barrington. Never again.”
“Phrasing it that way, you don’t sound so sure.”
“That’s where you are sadly mistaken.” She wished she could walk away, and she would—just as soon as this dance ended. Never had a man infuriated her more than Barrington.
* * *
Forget bulldog. She was a hellcat, nails unsheathed and ready for a bloody battle.
To say he was reluctant to release her hand might very well be an understatement. He remembered Genny all too well, though he enjoyed goading her to believe otherwise when he could see clearly in her expression that she didn’t think he did. How could he ever forget a woman who had wormed her way under his skin and had made him restless whenever she was near?
It had been summertime when he’d last seen her. Though “seen” wasn’t exactly an apt way to recall their sultry nights and sensually charged evenings.
There had been nothing tame about her four summers ago.
What he did recall with perfect clarity was that she’d been dressed in the height of the season’s latest fashion back then. The garb she wore now was hardly fashionable. Hardly becoming. The only thing she needed to make it complete was a mobcap.
Even though her clothes might say she was here in a different capacity than that of finding a husband, he couldn’t relinquish the images of their entwined naked forms. He remembered what the heat of her skin had felt like against his. Recalled, too, the taste of her passion and the sound of her cries as their bodies came together.