An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,3
through quadrilles or reels, these couples completely ignored the music to move to their own wanton rhythms. They touched fully along their fronts from hips to shoulders, with the women clasping glasses of brandy and port in their hands and the men clasping breasts and buttocks in theirs.
“No, indeed,” he agreed. But for some reason he couldn’t name, he wanted a dance with her. He wanted the chance to have her in his arms if only for a few minutes, to find out who she was beneath that mask and why she was here…and why he felt increasingly certain he knew her. “But the musicians won’t mind playing for a couple who want an old-fashioned waltz.”
“An old-fashioned waltz?” she asked, her voice breathless with irony. “Is there even such a thing?”
He called out to the lead musician and tossed the man a coin. “There is now.” When the first flourishes of a waltz went up, he held out his hand with a formal bow. “Lady Scarlet, our dance.” He arched a brow. “I promise to keep my hands where you can see them at all times.”
An ironic smile tugged at her lips. “With a request like that, how could a lady refuse?”
Pearce took her into position and twirled her into the waltz, making certain to maintain a proper distance as he led her through the steps.
She followed lightly in his arms, just as he’d suspected she would. Refined and polished to the bone, she gracefully placed every step, including the perfectly positioned tilt of her head that showcased her elegant neck. Just another reason he knew she didn’t belong here tonight. She was far too good at waltzing to be someone who made her living on her back, and she lacked the hard-edged bitterness that marked the society ladies.
So who the devil was she? And why couldn’t he shake the suspicion that he knew her?
He led her into a half turn. “Now that I’ve rescued you from Derby, tell me… What’s your name?”
She stared at him in surprise, as if he should know her. And damnation, if he didn’t feel the same. “Apparently, it’s Lady Scarlet.”
He turned in the opposite direction, hoping to catch her off-balance. “Your real name.”
She hesitated, then dodged. “You first.”
“Pearce.”
She sized him up with a sliding glance in his direction. “Just Pearce?”
“Just Lady Scarlet?”
“Yes.” The determined sound of that told him she’d obstinately cling to her defenses even as she teased, “But my friends call me Red.”
He laughed, a warmth stirring inside him. He wasn’t making any headway in solving her mystery, but heavens, she was amusing.
“And what do your friends call you?”
“Brigadier.”
She missed a step and stumbled, but he caught her, solidly righting her again.
Her eyes darted to his. She repeated in an incredulous whisper, “Brigadier?”
He knew her. He was certain of it now. But from where?
“Brandon Pearce, current Earl of Sandhurst and former brigadier in His Majesty’s army, Coldstream Guards.” He lowered his mouth to her ear as he spun her through a tight circle and started back across the dance floor. “But most people call me Pearce.”
“Pearce.” The soft sound of his name curled heatedly along his spine. And around another more sensitive place.
His memory couldn’t place her, but his body somehow knew what he didn’t. He’d been intimate with her. He would have wagered in the book at White’s on it. But when? Where?
Beneath his concentrated stare, she nervously cleared her throat and looked away over his shoulder. “Do you often go around rescuing women?”
“Constantly,” he drawled dryly. “Do you often need to be rescued?”
“Never.”
He arched a disbelieving brow.
“I would have handled Lord Derby just fine on my own.”
His brow inched higher.
“I’m handling you just fine, aren’t I?” Her green eyes gleamed mischievously, sparking a yearning desire in his gut. “And you’re a brigadier.”
He grinned at her cheekiness. They weren’t dancing. They were dueling. And he was enjoying it immensely. She was the kind of woman who could easily keep a man on his toes, or leave him lying in the dust without a second thought if he couldn’t keep pace.
“I’m not like the other men here tonight.” He hid the gentle warning of that behind a tease of arrogance.
She smiled, just as he’d hoped. “So I’ve gathered.”
He changed direction in their waltz. And in their conversation. “And you’re not like the other women.”
She tensed in his arms, her smile tightening. But this time she didn’t miss a single beat and continued to match his steps, her eyes never leaving his.