Page 33 of The Lady's Last Mistake
He parted his lips but faltered on the first syllable. And then, he ceased speaking all together. Across the room, a throng of guests parted, and Cassie appeared.
Her chin was high, her eyes searching the ballroom floor. For him, he imagined. Hours after Cassie had left the Church Street clinic, his palm had continued to feel the soft, firm curve of her hip that he’d gripped through her gown. He’d lost his bloody mind, touching her like that. And yet, he’d been a man possessed. Had Tris not come clomping down the stairs to interrupt the heated moment, Grant would have taken Cassie’s lips in a kiss. He might have done worse. And from the little moan she’d emitted when he’d pulled his thumb across her perfectly lush bottom lip, she would have allowed worse. The sound still echoed in his ears.
She hadn’t come to the ball alone. Fournier and the duchess stood nearby, as did Cassie’s other brother, Tobias. The midnight blue, satin gown she wore accentuated her figure with precision, drawing Grant’s attention to her modest, yet delectable bosom.
No.No, no, no,he had to get his head on straight.
He’d tried the last two nights to do just that. After leaving the clinic, he’d gone to the Fallen Arch in search of Miss Martha Devereaux, whom he had an off and on again, no-feelings-attached arrangement. She was a bit scandalous and tended to fall for married men. However, she also had a weakness for widowers. She’d not been at the club the first night, and though there had been plenty of other women there to take his mind from Cassie, the first such woman tosit in his lap had laughed too shrilly for him to endure her attentions for more than one minute. He’d left, cured of the painful attraction that had nearly blinded him at the clinic when he’d been so close to Cassie.
The second night, he’d forgone the club altogether and sent a note to Martha directly. However, after she arrived, something happened that had never happened before—her usual charms failed to entice.
“I’m not feeling myself, I’m afraid,” he’d told her. She’d peered at him with concern, even offering to nurse him back to health—sans clothing. But in the end, he’d made his excuses, and she’d left after a drink.
What in hell was wrong with him?
“Are you going to answer me?” Hugh asked.
Grant couldn’t even recall the question. He passed his empty wine glass to Hugh. “Excuse me,” he said, and started across the ballroom floor.
Cassie spotted him several strides in, the flare of her eyes doing something unwholesome to him. She appeared nervous as he came through the crowds, directly toward her. He shouldn’t have liked the influence he had over her, the upper hand he’d secured in this game. But he needed to maintain it. And that meant not giving in to the physical desire he felt for her.
Grant came to a stop in front of her and bowed his head. “Lady Cassandra.”
Fournier came forward. “Ah, Thornton. Good evening.”
He greeted the duke with another bow. “Your Grace.” In any other circumstances, such formality wouldn’t be necessary; he and Fournier were well acquainted already. Butconsidering what he was about to do, the show of respect was vital.
Grant turned back to Cassie. “May I have the next dance, Lady Cassandra?”
Pink seared the apples of her cheeks. From the corner of his eye, he witnessed the duchess, Genie, lifting a gloved palm to her chest, as if in surprise. Fournier cleared his throat, and Tobias’s forehead crinkled in surprise. None of them spoke. Not even Cassie.
Grant waited, holding her ever widening gaze. He had no plan for what he’d do should she not respond. To give him the cut so publicly would surely be satisfying for her, especially if she’d gone home Saturday in a high dudgeon. She’d had plenty of time to stew about histaking liberties, as she’d clearly stated were off the table. Was this her revenge?
Just when he thought he might have to employ some sarcastic quip to salvage his pride, Cassie murmured, “Yes.”
His breath went out at the single word, which was fortuitously punctuated by the first strains of a waltz. Grant held out his hand, and Cassie fed her fingers into it. They joined a few other couples already in the center of the dancefloor, his palm settling on her upper back. His other hand gripped hers as they extended their arms.
“You enjoyed making me sweat back there,” he murmured as they commenced.
She moved skillfully, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Her eyes would not meet his. “I wager no woman has ever made you sweat, Lord Thornton. You always get exactly what you want, don’t you?”
All right then. She was angry. Rightfully so, he supposed.
“No one gets everything theywant, my lady,” he replied as their legs moved in time, taking them in an expanding twirl around the ballroom. “For instance, I did not want Hugh and Audrey to return to London just now. Low and behold, they are here.”
She flicked a devilish look up at him. “Worried the viscount will think you a scoundrel?”
“He already knows I am. That’s not what worries me.”
“Then what does?”
“He knows me better than anyone. He’ll figure out what we’re doing, fast.”
“Do not imply that I am your willing cohort.” She skewered him with a glare. Then quickly softened it, likely recalling they were supposed to be taking their first dance together as a newly smitten couple.
Grant’s eyes scraped the periphery of the ballroom floor and landed on Hugh Marsden. His friend stood with his viscountess at his side, the pair of them watching Grant and Cassie with matching concern.
“I cannot lie well to Hugh,” he admitted through gritted teeth, wanting to keep his lips from forming words. Here, lip-reading was as much a skill as embroidery or playing the pianoforte.
