Page 24 of The Rakehell of Roth
“None of them have my skill.”
“Is that so?” she returned, determined to ignore the imprint of his long-fingered hands and the shivers tracing over her skin like butterfly wings.
“I’ve had lots of practice.”
She wanted to roll her eyes and punch him in his conceited head, but settled for a bland smile instead. “So I’ve heard.”
He remained silent for a few more beats, his hold loosening marginally as though he knew she wouldn’t flee as she’d threatened. And after a moment of wary internal debate, Isobel let herself relax into his expert lead. There was something so freeing about dancing, notwithstanding the fact that if one had a talented partner as Lord Roth clearly was, it felt as though she was barely touching the ground with the tips of her jeweled slippers.
This was one of the things she’d missed. The balls and the dancing. She’d had the barest glimpse of a season with her aunt and uncle when they’d all but forced her to accept the Earl of Beaumont’s suit. Isobel had relished every bit of the social life in London for the short time she’d been here, despite her revulsion for the earl himself.
As if her thoughts conjured his visage, on the next turn, Isobel’s eyes caught on a gentleman who could have been Beaumont’s very twin standing at the edge of the ballroom. She faltered a step before reason could intervene. The earl was no longer welcomed in England, so it could not be him. The last she had heard, he’d fled to the Continent in disgrace, his title and fortune having been stripped by the Prince Regent.
And yet, her eyes scoured the edges of the crowd, just to be sure.
The man, had there actually been one, was gone.
“What is the matter?” Winter asked.
“I thought I saw someone.”
“Who?” He frowned and glanced around the ballroom.
“No one,” she said, meaning it. “I made a mistake.”
Her second mistake was to look at up at Roth, hearing the almost protective note in his voice. The breathwhooshedfrom her lungs, that intense gray stare burning into hers…as tangible as the strong arms banded about her. Isobel swallowed, her cheeks on fire as her nerves sizzled with awareness. One smoldering look and she was ready to wave a white flag. Beg him to kiss her. Tell him to doanythinghe wanted. The concern in his gaze melted into amusement as his sinful mouth curled in gratification.
“See something you want, kitten?” he purred.
“I told you, don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
Isobel narrowed her eyes in affront. “I’m not a housecat.”
Something like agreement flashed in his eyes as he studied her, his gaze falling from her eyes to her lips, and then back up. “No, you’re not. You’re a tigress.”
That gray gaze of his darkened, swirling with storm clouds and smoky desire. Desireshehad somehow put there. Desire that now transferred liberally to her, making her breasts tighten and her body feel distractingly achy. God, the man could incinerate drawers with a glance, and right now, she was on the verge of going up in flames. She licked her lips, her pulse ratcheting as she stumbled on the next step and gripped at him for purchase.
“Problem, kitten?”
“No.” Isobel nearly stomped on his instep in frustration at the nickname. He would only keep saying it to provoke her if she gave him a response. “The floor was slick just there.”
Winter’s smile was all teeth. “Slick, is it?”
The low rasp of his words, as intended, shot straight to her throbbing core. Blast it, she couldn’t do this! A few filthy words and victory was in his grasp. Isobel’s breath hitched, her entire body slumping like a rabbit caught in an inescapable snare.
“You’ll never win, you know,” he taunted. “This game you’re playing.”
Thenevermade Isobel’s spine snap straight. Being dismissed by him in such a flippant way made her see red.
Chin up,she told herself fiercely.You came to London with one goal.She didn’t come here to lose…or to go down without any semblance of a fight. She’d be damned if she’d turn tail and run just because her shameless flirt of a husband could seduce a doornail. He wasn’t immune from her touch, either, and that gave her power.
Unhurriedly, she let her hand slide down his arm, shaping the well-defined muscle, and felt his entire body stiffen. “It’s cute that you think this is a game, Winter.”
His eyes darkened at her use of his given name, and Isobel hid her smile. Careful not to call attention to her next move, she purposefully drifted off balance on the following turn, forcing them to almost collide with another couple, and let her knees buckle. The momentum shoved her side into his hard chest.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she said over her shoulder to the other couple before peering up at him, eyes wide and guileless. “Sorry, my lord, there must have been more…slickness.”
