Chapter Fourteen

Ellie pressed close to Harry as they entered the crowded ballroom, her stomach churning with dread that she'd see someone she knew, and be recognized. The room was a blur without her spectacles, so she wouldn't even see if potential disaster was coming her way until it was too late.

"Smile," Harry whispered, leaning close to her ear. "You're a goddess with the power to render men speechless with desire, remember?"

Ellie forced a smile, wishing it was true.

"It seems the Willinghams have some interesting acquaintances," he commented, raking the crowd with his gaze.

"They're not regarded as the best ton ," Ellie murmured. "Willingham's a bit of a boor, and their support of Bonaparte didn't help their popularity, so now you could say they linger at the edges of fashionable society."

Harry nodded. "Shall we dance?"

He guided her onto the dance floor and swept her effortlessly into a waltz, and Ellie threw caution to the wind. Professional pride demanded that she play her part well, so tonight she would be Carlotta, a woman so confident of her own appeal that she had men eating out of the palm of her hand.

She lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and sent Harry a glittering smile.

His fingers tightened on hers. "Perfect," he murmured.

The room blurred even more as they swirled around in perfect unison.

"Please tell me these jewels I'm wearing aren't stolen," she said breathlessly.

He clucked his tongue in a chiding sound. "Of course not. We're just borrowing them for the night."

"With the owner's permission?" she pressed, suspicious of his ability to skirt the truth.

"Of course. They belong to a friend. He's not yet married, so he's glad they're getting some use, instead of sitting in a dusty bank vault."

Her skin grew warm as his hot gaze traveled over her throat and chest. "You're certainly doing them justice tonight. I'll have to be careful someone doesn't steal you away. ‘Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.'"

Ellie tried to place the quote. "Shakespeare?"

He nodded. " As You Like It. "

A bubble of happiness swelled in her chest. The waltz was her favorite, but she'd rarely danced it in public, and the music made her feel reckless and wild and free.

Perhaps Harry was right about needing to live, instead of just existing.

She didn't for a moment believe his flattery was serious—he probably complimented his horse and his valet with equal fluency—but still, it was nice to feel attractive for once.

His warm palm pressing the lower curve of her back felt ridiculously intimate, while the muscles of his shoulder flexing beneath her hand made her stomach somersault. His chest was mere inches from her own, but she leaned closer still, to bring him into focus, inhaling the delicious scent that always clung to him.

She stared into his eyes, studying him intently, and his dimples reappeared.

"Are you pretending to be a love-besotted fool? Or is it just because you can't see without your glasses?"

"Your eyes," Ellie said, ignoring his teasing, "have been vexing me for some time."

"How exciting. Haunting your dreams, I hope?"

She gave an unladylike snort. "I couldn't tell if they were blue or green or even hazel, and now I see why. They're two different colors. It's extraordinary."

His teeth flashed in a smile. "Ah, yes. A curiosity, is it not? There's a fancy Latin name for it, but I forget what it is."

He stared back at her, allowing her to look her fill, and she tried to ignore the sensation that she was falling into his gaze. Or under his spell.

"If you look closely," he said softly, "you'll see that both eyes are blue, with gold and brown flecks. But my left eye has so many flecks it appears hazel—more brown or green."

He blinked, and she noticed with a stab of envy how long his eyelashes were.

"I can't tell you how useful it's been in my previous career," he smiled. "Whenever people tried to describe me to the authorities, they could never agree on what color they were. It made them far less credible as witnesses. And made me far less susceptible to prosecution."

"A very convenient quirk of nature."

He shrugged. "In some cultures, having mismatched eyes is thought to be a sign of witchcraft. Some think it means I have the ability to see both heaven and earth."

"Have you found that to be the case?"

"Sadly not. My talents for trickery have all been gained through tedious practice and dull repetition. Nothing as exciting as making a pact with the devil, I'm afraid."

His eyes still held hers, and the butterflies in her stomach increased at the intensity of his regard. It would not be difficult to imagine him a sorcerer, with the ability to read her mind, or steal her heart.

" Your eyes are the color of caramel," he said. "Or toffee. I can't decide. Something sweet, at least. Hai un bell'aspetto da mangiare ."

Ellie frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You look good enough to eat."

Heat scalded her cheeks as her unhelpful brain provided a scorching image of him teething her neck, pressing little nibbling kisses to her shoulder and collarbone.

"Scoundrel!" she muttered, pinching his arm.

He chuckled.

"Out of interest, how many languages do you actually speak?"

"Fluently? Only a handful. English, obviously. Plus French, Spanish, Italian. I have a smattering of Russian and Portuguese. And I can swear impressively in at least a couple more." His lips quirked. "Perhaps I should teach you a few useful Italian phrases. Just in case someone tries to talk to you tonight. Repeat after me: Harry è l'uomo più bello in questa stanza ."

"What's that?" she asked suspiciously.

"Harry is the most handsome man in this room."

She rolled her eyes.

"Here's another: Vorrei che Harry mi baciasse ."

"Meaning?"

"I wish Harry would kiss me."

Ellie laughed at his cheeky presumption. "You are ridiculous."

Those dimples appeared. "I live in hope. Perhaps, when we get that book, my fortunes will change and you'll throw yourself into my arms."

Ellie snorted. "Perhaps pigs will fly. It'll take more than a lucky book to win my kisses, signore."

The music came to an end with a final flourish of violins, and she pulled out of his embrace. They were here to work, not to flirt, and she'd been too easily distracted.

Harry tilted his chin toward a tall, broad man standing at the entrance to the cardroom. "That's Willingham. Let's go and say hello."