Page 50 of Thief of the Ton
“Miss de Grande?”
There was no denying the thrill that rippled through her body at the feel of his hand on her arm.
He arched an eyebrow, possession and hunger glittering in his eyes. Lavinia doubted that any woman had refused his offer to dance—nor, in all likelihood, refused an invitation to share his bed.
He was not a man used to denial.
And he was not a man to be denied.
Before she could stop herself, she took his hand and laced her fingers through his, relishing the feel of his skin on hers. His rich, masculine scent filled the air, and she drew in a deep breath, savoring the heady combination of woody spices and man…
Pure, virile man.
She lowered her gaze to his lips—full, sensual lips—and a little pulse of need throbbed in the center of her belly, sending a wicked heat between her thighs.
“I’m not in the habit of taking a woman unwilling, Miss de Grande,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You must give me your consent if I am to claim you.”
She drew in a sharp breath as an image floated before her mind’s eye—of this man claiming her as a woman ought to be claimed.
Sweet heaven—what was happening to her?
She flexed her hand, sliding her fingers along his, and he drew in a sharp breath.
“You must voice your consent, Miss de Grande.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and her skin tightened at the raw hunger in his eyes. A hunger that matched her own.
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
Then, without warning, he caught her waist and pulled her into the throng.
“We—we’re dancing?” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Of course,” he replied. “Did you think I had something else in mind?”
She caught a glimpse of mockery in his eyes. Cheeks flaming, she averted her gaze.
“Eyes onme, Miss de Grande. You belong to me—at least for the next few minutes.”
“Do not laugh at me, sir.”
“Believe me, Miss de Grande, what I wish to do with you tonight has nothing to do with ridicule.”
He lowered his gaze to her neckline, and he licked his lips.
She glanced down, and the heat in her cheeks intensified.Sweet heaven—a rosy bloom had spread across her décolletage, and—if she were not mistaken—two little peaks poked at the muslin of her gown, just below the neckline.
“Such unusual treasures, Miss de Grande,” he said. “If it’s not too forward of me, may I take a closer look at them?”
Sweet Lord!Such impertinence—and yet a wicked deliciousness coursed through her.
“At…what?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
“The gemstones in your necklace. A rather unusual combination—rubies and emeralds.”
“Oh,” she said, fighting the rush of disappointment.
“It’s not a conventional piece,” he said.
