Page 117 of The Hunter
She might not be his first lover, but Millie was sure she was the first woman to ever snuggle with the mercenary Christopher Argent. That fact gave her a sense of possession, of proprietary status that was among the most exclusive in the world. In the ever-expanding British empire, there were a disparate amount of duchesses, a manifold of marchionesses, and a considerable number of countesses. But in the arms of this man, Millie felt like a queen. Unparalleled and protected. There was nothing in the world that compared. And she’d know. Millie had ridden the euphoria of a standing ovation. Had cashed a banknote with more zeroes on it than she’d expected to see in a lifetime. Had enjoyed the success of acclaim and renown.
Somehow, this quiet moment surpassed all that.
Perhaps because she was in the arms of the man with whom she was falling in love.
Closing her eyes she breathed in the heady truth of it. She loved the warm smell of his skin, clean and sharp and altogether masculine. Loved every scar on his hard body, and every shard of ice in his eyes. She loved how every moment of pleasure and amusement they shared he treated like a rare gift he didn’t quite know what to do with, and she desperately wanted to fill his bleak and empty life with joy. To teach him how to be happy. How to laugh. She’d give her entire fortune to hear him laugh.
She knew he was unsure of his heart, not only of what it contained, but if he even had one to begin with. But he did. She’d seen it in his eyes, and her next move was to coax it into her hand. It would be a large undertaking, but she’d done it before. She’d won the love of the whole of Britain, and not a small amount of the Continent, truth be told. If she set her mind to something, she attained it. And her mind, her heart, was now set on the man whose big, naked body she was currently draped across.
Now… where to start?
A proclamation of her intentions seemed a bit premature, and if she knew anything about men, she knew that they needed the illusion that everything was their idea so as not to feel trapped or coerced. Christopher Argent might be a strange and singular man, but he was a man nonetheless, and she felt it wise to leave the pace of their relationship up to him. He would need more time to process his feelings, as he’d not done so in quite some time.
And, she supposed, she was getting ahead of herself. What if her feelings for him surpassed his own? What were his intentions, his expectations? Perhaps she should find out. However, one did not just demand such things, did they? Not even of a man prone to sometimes offensive brutal honesty.
She decided to start small. Now that contracts, threats, and coercion no longer precipitated their interaction, she’d need to find something else.
A wide smile stole over her mouth as the perfect idea sweetened the moment.
She craned her neck to look up at him and found him frowning up at the canopy.
Resting her chin on the meat of his chest, she said, “You’re a wonderful dancer.”
He glanced down at her, the grooves between his eyes deepening. “What?”
“I was just remembering when we first met. I thought you were so handsome, and intriguing, but when you asked me to dance, I was afraid you’d be too big and clumsy to make an effective partner.”
His eyes darted away.
So, they were back to that, were they?
Refusing to be deterred, Millie smoothed her hand over his pectoral, then angled south, exploring the taut ridges of his ribs and stomach. “And then you quite literally swept me into that waltz, beneath the blue candelabras, and you were shockingly graceful.” Pressing a kiss to his skin, she licked the salt of it from her lips and sighed her contentment. “I’ve never been so seduced.”
His nostrils flared and his lips twitched. A smile, perhaps? Or was it her hopeful imagination?
“I heard you singing to Jakub,” she confessed. “You have a lovely voice.”
He didn’t thank her, but she watched the spread of his reaction coloring his golden skin ruddy. An assassin who blushed? How could she resist him?
“We both know you weren’t raised as a gentleman,” she ventured, hoping to show him that she was willing to discuss his past, to share it with him. “Was it your mother who taught you to sing and dance?”
His throat worked over a swallow and his eyes found hers again in the lantern light. “It was my mother who taught me to sing, but I learned to waltz elsewhere.”
“Oh, really? And just who taught you that particular skill?” Some saucy tart, probably. Millie narrowed her eyes, picturing a pretty blond woman with bigger breasts than hers waltzing with him before bending over and offering up her—
“Welton.”
Millie gasped. Then snorted before dissolving into an unladylike fit of giggles that shook the entire bed. “You’re… joking,” she accused over spasms of mirth.
“Why would I be?” he asked in that endearing way of his, true confusion transforming his features into something younger, almost boyish. “It became apparent to me that in order to take contracts among theton,I needed to be able to blend into their social environs.” The more she laughed, the more he explained. “I have trained myself to memorize quite a lot of fighting stances and such that flow from one to the other. Dancing is rather like that, I suppose, just set to music instead of breath.”
Her giggles ended on a sigh and she squeezed him fondly. “Do you like to dance?”
His shrug lifted her head where she rested it. “I don’t know.”
“You seemed to enjoy yourself that night,” she reminded him.
“That wasn’t me.”
