And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,13
herself stricken with the most formidable ailment a lady could suffer.
Love at first sight.
It isn’t love, she tried telling herself, for she couldn’t even be certain this man was the one she sought.
But no matter, this was the gentleman her heart wanted, her body seemed to recognize without even the most sensible of reasons.
Why, it was a ridiculous notion, and yet . . .
She set her hand on his sleeve, her fingers trembling slightly until they came to rest on the wool of his jacket. There, beneath the smooth fabric and the linen shirt beyond, lay hidden the solid warmth of his muscled arm.
No dandy, no slight fool, this one. The same shiver that had run through her when she’d first read Dishforth’s advertisement in the paper once again stole down her spine, like a harbinger, the coursing notes of a spring robin.
Here I am, it sang.
Falling in step beside him, Daphne moved toward the dance floor in a bit of a daze. Whatever was she to say? However could she ask him if he was Dishforth? Never mind that she was accepting his request for a dance without the benefit of a proper introduction.
And when she slanted a glance up at him, this handsome rake with his stone-cut jaw, a tawny mane of golden brown hair, and deep, dark blue eyes that held a potent light, she just knew he must be the man she’d been destined to discover this spellbound night.
For when Daphne looked again, her errant imagination took over, and all she could envision was this rake tipping his head down to steal a kiss from her lips.
In his arms, she’d be unable to resist. His lips would touch hers, and the very thought left her insides coiled with a longing that she’d never experienced.
He, and he alone, would know how to unravel this knot, with his kiss, with his touch . . . his fingers undoing the laces of her chemise . . .
Daphne nearly stumbled. Whatever was wrong with her?
Then the music struck up, and he took her hand in his, while his other wound possessively around her hip. His touch sent shock waves through her, echoing what she’d suspected moments before. . . . This man could put her in knots of desire and then unravel her tangled senses with his touch.
He held her close, and Daphne should have protested . . . might have . . . but tonight seemed so full of promise and adventure that she allowed herself to forget all that was proper and necessary.
What had Dishforth written?
Have you ever wanted to dance where you may?
Yes, she had. So many times. And now she would.
She tucked up her chin, daring anyone to naysay her, and smiled at her partner as he began to swing her through the first notes.
“You are quite daring, Miss . . .” His words trailed off, as if he was waiting for her to give him the introduction he should have sought before asking her to dance.
“Am I?” She certainly wasn’t going to let this magical moment end with the horrible discovery that this wasn’t her Dishforth. He must be, for whyever else would this particular man have her aquiver?
“Yes, you are quite daring.”
Daphne, who had never had a daring moment in her life—up until a few moments ago—felt her insides light up, as if all the candles in London had been illuminated at once.
The man holding her grinned. “Dancing with a man to whom you have not been formally introduced.” There was no censure in his words, only a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I could be anyone.”
“Hardly.”
His brows rose, and he made a good effort to appear affronted, yet the light in his eyes said something altogether different. “Hardly? Who am I then?”
“A gentleman,” she replied, for certainly there was something very familiar about his features. As if she knew who he was but couldn’t quite place the face.
“How can you be so certain?” He tugged her a little closer. Closer than was proper, for now she was up against his muscled body, intimately so.
Stilling her pounding heart, Daphne tipped up her chin as if to say he wasn’t going to change her mind. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
“You don’t know the Seldons very well or you wouldn’t say that,” he teased.
She laughed—for here was someone who shared her opinions. “You cannot hide who you are,” she told him. “Besides, I have the distinct feeling we’ve met.”