Chapter 8

“I am sorry if I shocked your friend Moreland,” Lori said as she and Lord Severn glided around the ballroom as gracefully as a pair of swans. For all his great size, the viscount was a remarkably elegant dancer.

“Don’t lie, Miss Fontenot; you are not in the least sorry.”

Lori laughed. “No, you are right: I’m not. He’s rather full of himself, isn’t he?”

Severn’s striking eyes glinted with surprise—and something else… Interest?

“You have the loveliest eyes,” she blurted. What in the world was wrong with her? Those weren’t the words she’d been planning to say.

He raised his eyebrows. “Miss Fontenot, are you trying to put me to the blush?”

“I doubt that could be done.” But she was doing an excellent job making herself blush.

“If there is a woman alive who could do it, I’m guessing you are she.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“Unfortunately, I suspect it wasn’t my lovely eyes that you wanted to talk about,” he said, thankfully moving the subject onto something less mortifying.

“No, you are right. I’d like to talk about the Sea Ranger mutiny.” If Lori had not been staring fixedly into his magnificent eyes at that precise moment, she never would have seen them shutter. Otherwise, his expression didn’t so much as flicker. He was very, very good at concealing his thoughts.

“I wasn’t in the country at the time so I daresay you know a great deal more than I do.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Your doubt does not make it any less true.” He smoothly spun her into turn, startling a laugh of delight out of her. Yet again she blurted words she’d had no intention of speaking. “You are very good, my lord!”

He smiled faintly but made no response.

They danced in silence for a few moments, his steps as smooth as silk, his massive body throwing off heat like a forge. Lori hastily pushed aside thoughts of his body, or at least made the attempt, but he was far too close and real at that moment.

Nothing could have been more unfortunate than Lori’s reaction—both her body and her mind—to Lord Severn whenever she was near him. In theory, he represented everything she despised about wealthy men. In reality, the odd sense of recognition—she had no other word for it—from the moment she’d first set eyes on him he had unnerved her and continued to do so. She told herself, over and over, that was why rakes were rakes: they cast an irresistible lure over women without even trying to do so. That was their evil genius. That meant Severn, the King of the Rakes, broadcast an almost crippling appeal. The thing of it was, Lori honestly doubted that he ever considered his effect on the female race. Like storms, droughts, and plagues, he just was.

Regardless of knowing all this about him, she could not help wanting to be near him.

“Ninnyhammer,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lori’s eyes leapt up to meet his. “Er, nothing.” She was scrambling for some topic of conversation when her gaze was caught by the Earl of Moreland. He was standing with some other men who were chattering, but his eyes were fixed on them. Or, more specifically, Lord Severn.

“You’ve known Moreland a long time?” she asked.

His coal black eyebrows lifted enquiringly. “What makes you say that?”

“There is just something about people who’ve had a long acquaintance that shows in the way their bodies move. A sort of silent language.”

“You are a student of human nature, Miss Fontenot?”

“I find people interesting—more interesting than anything else, in fact.”

“ Hmmph .”

“Don’t you?”

“Some people are interesting but the vast majority of them are either annoying or boring.”

She laughed. “Which category does Lord Moreland fall into?”

***

Miss Fontenot was persistent, Fast would give her that.

She had not asked the question he’d expected, either. Which was which category she fell into. At least that was the sort of vapid flirtation he was used to at ton functions.

But once again Miss Fontenot did the unexpected.

“Moreland falls into a category all his own,” he said, and then knew the moment he’d said the words it was a mistake. If the woman had possessed antennae, his statement would have sent them twitching.

“What category is that?”

“He is my oldest friend.”

“Oh.” Her obvious disappointment at his prosaic answer was almost comical. But she rallied quickly. “I noticed you didn’t say closest or best friend.”

“Didn’t I? Perhaps that’s because I’ve been away so long that I can no longer claim that status with him, or anyone else in England.”

Again, she looked thwarted.

And again, she rapidly came about. “Lord Moreland does not look at you that way.”

“No? How is he looking at me?”

She took her time before answering. “He looks like a man who has opened a door to a room he believed was empty, only to find it occupied. Whether he’s happy or vexed by the contents of the room, I cannot say.”

Fast thought she’d hit the nail precisely on the head.

Miss Fontenot sighed. “Or perhaps I’m just being fanciful.” She lowered her gaze until it was somewhere in the neighborhood of the top button on his coat, making him realize that her neck must have been craned at an uncomfortable angle. He’d not thought her especially short until that moment. But from this angle he could see the pins that had been shoved into her thick blue-black hair pell-mell.

Why did he find that so… endearing ?

“—upon the mutineers?”

The word mutineers was like being doused with cold water.

“What?” he asked rudely.

“I asked how you’d come upon the mutineers? After all, the place they’d run aground is said to be exceedingly remote.”

Fast stared down at her, darkly amused when her cheeks flushed under his gaze. “Am I dreaming? Did I somehow mention mutineers and don’t remember it?”

“Are you denying that you rescued at least one survivor from the Sea Ranger ?”

“Where did you hear such a thing? Parker?”

“I cannot reveal my sources.” Her prim, smug tone made him want to turn her over his knee and spank the truth out of her.

The image was an enticing one and Fast visualized a big red handprint— his handprint, in point of fact—on what would surely be a soft, generous, pale buttock. His cock immediately began to harden. He added a few more handprints to the pleasing mental picture and next imagined her eyes no longer sharp and inquisitorial, but sensual and submissive.

“Why are you looking at me that way, my lord?”

The pleasing image wavered at the edges and then dissipated entirely. “What way?”

She squinted at him, taking a long moment before saying, “I can’t describe it.”

“I thought you could read the language of people’s bodies. Can’t you read mine right now?”

“I think you would hurt me if we weren’t in this crowded room.”

“I don’t hurt women.” He toyed with adding not unless they like it to his statement but recalled her virginal responses to his teasing when she’d crashed into the brothel and decided to spare her blushes.

For the moment.

“Who would have spread the rumor that you rescued men from the Sea Ranger, my lord? It seems like an exceedingly specific accusation to be entirely false.”

“You are tenacious.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. You put me in mind of a badger, Miss Fontenot—a badger with Parker holding the leash. Tell me, is he your lover?”

Her smile turned brittle. “I thought you’d concluded that I was a virgin the last time we discussed the subject of”—she broke off and glanced around before hissing, “ fucking. ”

Fast hated the relief he felt at her words. But he loved the fiery pink blush that stained her cheeks.

“ Tsk, tsk, that is no word for a little girl, Miss Fontenot. Somebody ought to wash your mouth out with soap.”

Her eyes bulged and a vein pulsed in her forehead. For a moment, Fast really thought she would forget she was in the middle of a ballroom and slap him. Or punch him, rather, as Miss Fontenot seemed far too feisty for a mere slap.

But she collected herself with admirable speed, regarded him with the icy indifference of a duchess, and said, “I should like to see you try it, my lord.”

Fast laughed. But his amusement rapidly dissipated when he recalled the subject of their current argument. “Parker is unethical. By following his direction, you are too. You need to stop this line of inquiry immediately, Miss Fontenot, before somebody gets hurt.”

“Are you threatening me with more Runners, my lord?”

Thankfully the music drew to a close because their heated exchange had already begun to attract interested glances. “Let me escort you back to your—”

“I don’t need your assistance to walk across a ballroom,” she retorted, pulling away from him before he realized what she was doing.

Fast stood on the dance floor, trying not to look like a fool who’d just been arguing heatedly with his dance partner.

He failed miserably.