Page 6 of The Devil Baron

Before she could scramble a reply into her head, he inclined his head to her. “Enjoy your evening, silver bell.”

He abruptly turned, picked up his glove, and strolled toward the gardens, disappearing deep into the darkness of the evergreen hedges.

Yes. He definitely knew who she was.

And he left far before their conversation was over.

Intelligent man.

{ Chapter 2 }

Rafe stepped back into the Wolfbridge ballroom, leaning against one of the several columns that lined the east side of the room with a flute of champagne in his hand. Not that he would drink the vile liquid, but it was the right façade. He fit in with these people, even if that fact didn’t sit well with him.

It was the most important thing at the moment—not to be noticed.

His eyes scoured the crush. Dancing centered the enormous ballroom, though the dancers trying to step in time to the music had been forced into a tighter and tighter circle by the many people in the room as the evening had dragged on, until their steps had become stunted. Most were now just swaying and shuffling their feet in time to the music from the string ensemble seated high in the minstrels’ galleryabove the dance floor.

Lady Frantole had cornered another gentleman in the far corner of the room, and now stood half behind one of the gleaming white columns that stretched up three floors. Good. The woman had been useful in machinating an invitation here to Wolfbridge. Beyond that, he was done with her and her desperation.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive. She was. Very. And she’d been good enough in bed—experienced far beyond what her paling, elderly husband would have taught her. But then she’d started to look at him like he was water to her insatiable thirst. Her words more desperate. The time she demanded of him too much.

Relief lifted the extra weight from his shoulders. One nuisance scratched off the list.

Now, about what was to become of his next nuisance…his eyes shifted back and forth across the party, but he didn’t catch sight of silver.

She should be in here.

He’d waited in the gardens, deep in the shadows, studying Lady Victoria. It was his purpose here tonight, so it only made sense. He needed to know what she looked like.

What didn’t make sense was how long she had stood outside on the terrace beyond the ballroom. It was bloody cold out this night, and she stood in the chill with only that silver concoction gracing her curves, the gentle lay of the fabric over her shoulders leaving her arms bare down to the gloves that only reached to the middle of her forearms. She should have been freezing—or had chattering teeth at the very least.

But she had stood, talking to him like it was a balmy summer day. When he had walked away, she still stood there by herself for fifteen minutes in the cold. Staring at nothing in particular.

No one approached her. During those minutes he observed her, everyone that exited the ballroom would glance to their right, see her, then move onward.

A painful painting of a tragically lonely princess destined to face the world alone. It didn’t make sense, for all the world that she should rightfully have at her fingertips.

Fathers had that tendency, though—to machinate their children’s worlds until those very worlds choked the life out of them.

Though Lady Victoria appeared to be keeping up the fight, or at least telling herself she was.

What also didn’t make sense was what happened to him when he’d looked up and first seen her above him on the terrace.

A raw jolt of fire had seared through his veins.

He didn’t react like that to women at all. His cock reacted enough to couple with them. That was about all.

But the sight of her had been unnerving.

Her silver dress, glittering in the moonlight, paled in comparison to the mirth on her face. Stupidly, utterly dazzling. Looking down on him like she’d just stolen the crown jewels.

He hadn’t known who she was until the end of the conversation, and those few minutes of his own naivety had been a considerable misstep.

A misstep because it had only taken a moment for the damnable woman to worm under his skin. Her voice like silk floating down to him, the quirk of her full lips with every barb she tossed his way, the devil attitude in her eyes. Blue eyes that danced with silver—whether that was true in the color or merely a reflection of the dress, he couldn’t be sure. And the urge towantto know the exact color of her eyes had struck him. Those blue eyes had wrapped around him, begging to squeeze every secret out of the deepest recesses of his mind.

For an instant, he wanted to give her that.

His chest had twisted, heaving in the most unnatural way as he talked to her.

---