Page 8 of The Moonstone Pirate
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Parrot is nudging me toward you, so I suppose he wants me to accept you.”
“He is a very smart dog.” Draco led her onto the dance floor and took her into his arms. She felt deliciously soft and fit so perfectly beside him. He was glad he had instructed the orchestra to play a waltz for this supper dance. “See, Imogen, we did not miss out on our waltz after all.”
“Why did you ignore me after requesting the first dance?” She looked up at him, her eyes no longer sparkling but filled with disappointment.
Perhaps he had not been so successful in gaining her trust. “I did not mean to, but I was truly concerned about Driscoll and his friends. They were already looking at you, and I feared they might try something if I showed too much interest in you.”
“So you decided to keep away?”
“I was considering it. Then Lady Dowling approached me with her nonsense about spraining her ankle. Same for the ladies who came before her—they all had some inane excuse to demand my attention.” He shrugged. “It was all so fake, it left me with an ill feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“You could have simply told me.”
“Would you have understood?” He sighed as he twirled her around the dance floor, that sweet body of hers so lithe and graceful. “Yes, you probably would have. You seem generous in this way, not like the petulant debutantes one finds in London. I’m sorry I did not say anything to you, but I truly believed you were better off if I simply ignored you.”
“We do not have to keep dancing if you do not wish to—”
“Butterfly, you are the best part of this evening. I have no intention of letting you go.” His gaze rested on her as they danced. “Driscoll was watching me as closely as I was watching him. I don’t know why he showed up here this evening, and I certainly do not want you in his line of sight more than you already are.”
His heart beat faster as her hand relaxed upon his shoulder and she moved with him to the music instead of looking as though she wanted to bolt. She was light on her feet, and he liked the way the delicate layers of fabric in her costume swirled around her like butterfly wings. Those little peepers poking outof her hair had held firm atop the glorious, reddish-brown mass of curls that he itched to run his fingers through.
She looked adorable, but he was not going to act upon his attraction to her.
Another time.
Another place.
She nibbled her lip. “Why are you and Driscoll so at odds? What has he done to you that you should feel such enmity toward him?”
“Nothing to concern you.”
“Spoken like a dismissive, arrogant oaf,” she shot back with a frown. “I did describe you as arrogant earlier, did I not?”
“You also said I was honorable.”
“I am rethinking that opinion.”
He chuckled as he spun her with ease amid the circle of dancers. “I suppose I deserved that. But I still am not going to tell you. Let’s change the subject, shall we? The unmasking will take place in a few minutes. I must admit, I am curious to see your face. Are you curious to see mine?”
“No, not really.”
He laughed. “Imogen, stop tossing your barbs at me. I know you are eager to see what I look like. It is the artist in you that needs to see all of me… Well, all of my face.” Although he would not refuse her if she wished to see all of his body, too.
But she was innocent, and he was not going to have a ribald conversation with her. It was bad enough his tongue was lolling on the ground over this spectacular girl. He wasn’t the only man who had been staring at her all evening. Most had been, but Draco was not worried about those insignificant others. He was only wary of Driscoll and his friends.
Not that the other men were completely harmless. No, these costumes brought out the wildness in everyone.
Hence the need for Parrot to remain by her side.
When the dance ended, his uncle and cousin strode to the center of the dance floor. A dozen footmen marched in with candles blazing as his uncle announced, “Let the unmasking begin!”
A cheer rang through the crowd.
Draco drew Imogen aside and helped her to remove her mask.
Dear Lord.
The girl was exquisite.
