Page 40 of What a Scot Wants
With a consummate smile of dismissal, Imogen slipped her arm in his and ushered him toward the corridor that led to the private boxes. Ronan didn’t know whether to protest or applaud. But between the eye-opening dress and the lowered register of her voice, both his brain and body were in a state of utter confusion.
“I see a different Lady Imogen is out to play tonight,” he said, finding his sanity and falling into step beside her.
“Disappointed, Duke?”
He met her gaze again, stunned by the wry humor and intelligence glimmering in them and shocked by the difference from the woman he’d been with the last few weeks. “No’ at all, actually.”
“Good.”
They stopped as she greeted a few people she knew. Most, like him, seemed pleasantly surprised. One gentleman even asked if they’d met before. Her throaty, uninhibited laughter rang through the foyer like the sound of wind chimes, making Ronan’s gut clench. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her real laugh.
“Why didnae ye wait?” he asked. “At the house?”
She lifted her fan and smiled coquettishly behind it. “And spoil the surprise? Where’s the fun in that? I have to admit, seeing your jaw on the ground was worth it.”
“I imagine I wasnae the only one, lass.”
As they left the foyer, he felt the sting of Grace’s gaze on his back, and as he looked over his shoulder he also caught the black look on the face of Silas Calder, who hadn’t moved from his spot at the balustrade near the entry doors. He had been waiting for Imogen, Ronan realized. The expression wasn’t for him, however. Calder’s gaze was branded to the visible expanse of Imogen’s back, which was on glorious exhibit in that revealing gown. The man looked positively enraged.
When they reached his family’s box, he escorted Imogen inside. As the curtains shrouded them in privacy, the tension left her body in a rush, and Ronan frowned. Had that all been an act?Of course it was. Imogen did nothing without a reason. If she meant to seduce him, to turn the tables by acting the tart, her performance would continue. However, she seemed almost relaxed and relieved, as if shewasn’tacting. At least not any longer.
He played back her earlier entrance in his mind, taking in all the people who had been in the foyer, including Calder…and the man’s livid expression. Had Imogen’s performance been forhim? And if so, why? His gaze flicked to her. Asking her outright would only make her close off and shut down. And she was stubborn enough to refuse to answer.
“I miss the frills,” he said eventually.
Her eyes met his, wariness in them now that they no longer had an audience. “You hated the frills.”
“They were growing on me.” He smiled. “Though I cannae say yer voice ever did. That was torture.”
Imogen swallowed and grasped her fan in her gloved fingers when he took the seat beside her. She cleared her throat. “You must know that was fake. All of it. My attempt to get you to walk away. You abhor silly women.”
“Aye. So why the change?”
“I realized such obvious tactics weren’t going to work.”
His eyes scanned her, snagging on her bosom, until two spots of color rose into her cheeks. “So ye opted to play the seductress instead?”
“Something like that.”
Ronan held her gaze. “I’m no’ that easy of a target, Lady Imogen.”
“I don’t expect you to be,” she said.
He leaned close. “In the interests of disclosure, I kenned all along yer plan. I overheard ye speaking to Hilda about a baby and Haven. Ye used yer real voice, too.”
A strange expression crossed her face then, as if she was torn between being vexed and being flustered. “Well, this is the real me, so get used to it.”
Hecouldget used to it.
Though she had changed the rules, the match was still ongoing, and two could play at the seduction game.
“Are ye planning to seduce me, then, my lady?” he whispered, his voice pitched low and husky. A visible tremor shook her shoulders, her grip so tight on the fan in her lap he was sure it would snap. She kept her eyes shut as Ronan’s breath blew against the fine hairs of her nape, traveling up to the lobe of her ear. “It wouldnae be too hard, ye ken. I want to kiss yer cheek again, drag my mouth across yer fragrant skin to yer lips and dip into yer sweetness with my tongue. I want to tug down that bodice and gorge myself on the silk of yer nipples. To peel away all yer layers and get to the truth of ye. The sweet, damp heart of ye.”
His voice was almost a growl by the last word, and from the sound of her shallow, panting breaths, some deeper part of her wanted those things, too. He could sense her arousal, hear it in her breaths, see it in the rosy flush beneath her skin. But his seduction was a double-edged sword. He was so hard it bordered on agony. Ronan clenched his shaking fists.
“Would ye like me to kiss ye, Imogen?” he whispered.
Her eyes flew open, meeting his, shock and resentment burning in hers. “No, of course not.”
