Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

" A lady from the infamous Fairbanks family," Miss Fairbanks said with a cool smile, her blue eyes gleaming with challenge. "I am astonished you know something about me when I know nothing about you, my lord."

Rafe felt a dark wash of humor at her words. This woman, with her sharp wit and the memory of their encounter, had plagued him for several nights, forcing him to reassess what he thought he understood about himself. The cold pragmatism that had governed his life for so long seemed to have been consumed by a foolish part of him that hungered for something more—something that had no place in his carefully planned life.

"Someone close to me believed it necessary to explain why I must stay away from women with your name in my search for a wife," he replied, his tone dry but laced with a hint of regret.

A soft sound of outrage slipped from her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What prejudice!"

"Was it wrong to mention that your family has been embroiled in countless scandals?" he asked.

She sniffed disdainfully, lifting her chin. "Hardly a dozen; how were you warned about countless ? That suggested unbridled natures and hundreds of scandals."

Rafe chuckled, surprised by her audacity. "One is enough to ruin a family's reputation, Miss Fairbanks."

"I daresay we are simply too … delightful for that," she said sweetly, her tone dripping with playful defiance.

He stared at her, the memory of their encounter in Hyde Park flashing in his mind. Rafe wondered if she was alluding to his impulsive offer to delight her for the night. The thought made him rake his fingers through his hair, frustration warring with desire. Perhaps he should return to the ballroom and rejoin his sister Rebecca. Something deep inside warned him that any future entanglement with this hellion would be unwise.

And yet, everything in his body had come alive the moment he recognized Miss Fairbanks as the woman from the park. The sensible, disciplined man he had always prided himself on being was suddenly at war with an unfamiliar but powerful desire. He stared at her, wondering if this interest was a mere anomaly that would eventually ease. But there was enough moonlight for him to see her clearly, and the sight only fueled the fire within him.

By God, the lady was ravishing. She wore a dark green evening gown trimmed with gold lace and ribbons, the rich color contrasting beautifully with her fair skin. Black gloves clung to her elbows, adding a touch of mystery, and delicate dancing slippers peeked out from beneath her skirts. The gown bared the creamy swell of her shoulders, accentuating her exquisite shape, while her strawberry blonde hair was piled atop her head in artful curls that framed her face with an elegant yet slightly untamed air. Her choice of attire was unlike that of a typical debutante, and he sensed it was a deliberate choice, revealing a hint of her rebellious spirit.

"You are staring, Lord Ashton."

"You are lovely."

"I know I am. However, there are many lovely ladies inside the ballroom. I did not observe you staring in this scandalous manner."

"You were watching me."

Her shoulder lifted in an elegant shrug. "Your entrance did cause quite a stir. I also have a habit of eavesdropping on those who love to gossip."

Rafe chuckled. Her forthright manner was refreshing and endearing. "And what have you learned about me."

"You have been away from society for a number of years. I have been out for a couple of seasons, and we have never met."

Her voice had a curious lilt as she shifted a bit closer, dipping slightly to pick a flower and bring it to her nose.

"I have only visited London for my duties in the House of Lords and investment matters."

"Do you not long for the frivolities London has to offer?"

"No."

"How … unusual." She smiled. "You will not find a bride out here in the gardens, my lord. They are in the ballroom eagerly waiting to drop their handkerchiefs before you and have you escort them to the dance floor."

There was a wistful ache in her tone as if a suitor had never flattered her with courtship.

"I am certain I will be reminded of this from my mother," he said with dry fondness. "I suspect you and I sought the gardens for the same reason."

She canted her head, inhaling the flower. He could sense her acute attention to every move he made, even though she wasn't looking directly at him. The strains of the waltz floated on the air and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. "May I have this dance, Miss Fairbanks?"

The invitation was as impulsive as the kiss they'd shared in Hyde Park, and the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Miss Fairbanks's eyes widened, but the hesitation lasted only a second before she nodded, her lips curving into a glorious smile.

"Yes," she said, and with a graceful movement, she stepped forward and placed her hand in his, walking into his arms.

Rafe's damn heart shook as he drew her scandalously close, far more improper than he would if the eyes of the ton were upon them. The warmth of her body pressed against him, and she did not pull away. The heady scent of her perfume enveloped him, a mix of jasmine and something indefinable.

Shocked and aroused by her fearless response, he closed his eyes briefly. Miss Fairbanks was quite unlike any lady he'd ever met. However, this was neither the time nor place for such an entanglement, and yet he found himself unable to resist the allure of holding her close. The orchestra's music drifted out from the ballroom, and with smooth precision, he led her into a waltz right there in the hidden alcove. The soft strains of the melody mingled with the night air as they moved together.

"This feels so exhilarating … and yet so dangerous," she said softly.

Ah, so the lady was indeed aware of how inexcusably scandalous they were being. Her piercing blue eyes held his gaze, and he felt the stirrings of desire. Rafe knew he should pull away, should end this dance before it led to something neither of them could take back, but the thought of releasing her now felt like a loss too great to bear. The sound of their footsteps on the grass, the rustle of her skirts as they moved, the steady beat of the waltz—it all melded into a sensual harmony that he found himself loath to disrupt.

Finally, as the music from the ballroom began to fade, he reluctantly slowed their steps, bringing the dance to an end. For a moment, they simply stood there, their breaths mingling in the cool night air, neither evidently willing to break the spell that had woven itself around them.

Bloody hell. I am turning into a fanciful idiot.

"I should go," she whispered, then smiled. "Though this was lovely, perhaps one day we might dance inside the ballroom, Lord Ashton."

"Do not leave." Not yet.

Miss Fairbanks looked up at him, her eyes softening. "Why not?"

His chest tightened at the question, and he struggled to find the words. "I enjoy your company," he admitted, his honesty surprising even himself.

A slow smile spread across her lips, one that sent a jolt of desire through him.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her mouth in the lightest kiss. "For seven nights, you visited me in my dreams."

"I am pleased you suffered a similar fate."

The tension between them crackled, but this time, it was laced with something else—an understanding, perhaps, or the beginning of something neither of them could quite name.

"Shall we return to the ballroom?" he asked, though every part of him wanted to stay here with her, away from the prying eyes of society.

"I bid you good—" Miss Fairbanks began, but before she could finish, Rafe yielded to the temptation that had been gnawing at him.

He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Her soft gasp was swallowed by the intensity of his kiss as he slid his tongue into her mouth, groaning as her sweet taste rushed to his head like the strongest whisky. Miss Fairbanks's hands pressed against his arms, but instead of pushing him away, she curled her fingers into his coat, gripping him as if she needed to steady herself.

Rafe felt a surge of triumph as she returned his rousing kiss, her response as passionate as his own. For what felt like endless minutes, they remained locked in that embrace. When Miss Fairbanks finally pulled her mouth from his, her chest heaved with ragged breaths. Her eyes were wide and searching as she peered up at him, her expression a mix of shock and desire.

"You are here searching for a wife," she said huskily, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Was that kiss an offer of marriage, my lord? Should I anticipate that you will present yourself tomorrow to my brother, the Earl of Celdon?"

Her words struck him like a cold plunge into an icy lake. Rafe stiffened, his pulse racing as her meaning sank in. She stepped back, hiding her expression in the shadows.

"It was not an offer of marriage," he said gruffly, reaching for her instinctively before ruthlessly forcing himself to lower his hand. "It is an invitation to be my lover."

Her gasp pierced his chest, and immediate regret coursed through him. This was not like him—he was a man of restraint, a man of honor. Bloody hell . Something about this woman unraveled him, made him forget the boundaries he had always maintained. Perhaps he had been too long without a lover, too long without speaking to a lady with such fire.

Rafe felt like a damn bounder. "Miss Fairbanks—" he began, trying to repair the damage he had done.

"I am tempted to slap you," she interrupted, her voice soft yet fierce, laced with fury. "However, I have never been a hypocrite, and I wanted to kiss you. Still, I do believe should you even fall on your knees one day and beg me to marry you, I would never accept you!"

With that, she skirted past him and walked away, her back stiff with wounded pride.

"Miss Fairbanks, please allow me to apologize—"

"The only thing I will allow you, Lord Ashton, is the understanding that you are my enemy. Be warned."

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. The fire in her beautiful eyes robbed him of breath. Sheer admiration pulsed through him—no one else would dare speak to him or look at him so boldly.

"You are aware I am the Earl of Ashton," he said with an arrogant tilt of his head, unable to suppress a smile at her audacity. "Who are you to threaten me? Have you also never heard that to forewarn is to be forearmed?"

She lifted a brow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Ahh, I thought you understood I was Julia Fairbanks, one of the bad Fairbanks."

Without awaiting his reply, she whirled around and walked away. Rafe watched her go, a smile tugging at his mouth.

By God, he was hopelessly enchanted.