What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,25

would you?”

She nodded. “Of course, I quite forgot,” she said. “Shall we?”

*

Lilah took the huge Highlander’s arm and tried to lead him onto the dance floor, but he resisted. Instead, he grasped her hand and pulled her toward him.

“You’ll find, lass, it’s the man who takes the lead.”

“You’re a savage,” she hissed.

He chuckled. “Your outlook has been tainted because you’ve been dancing with boys. It’s time ye danced with a man.”

His grip was strong, commanding, and though she wanted to fight against it, the thrill which coursed through her body at his touch conquered her resolve.

“I dislike being in the center of a room,” she said.

“I find it the perfect position for us.”

“Why?”

“Because it announces to the room that you are mine.”

Her body pulsed at his words, and her cheeks warmed until she felt her face was on fire. She daren’t look round the room—she imagined everyone’s eyes on her.

“I’m not fond of the attention,” she said.

“I thought a lady craved attention.”

“Not I,” she said. “Too much attention tempts a person to flaunt oneself. I’d rather carry out my life in private.”

“And remain hidden from the world?” he asked. “If I had a body like yours, I would not hide it from appreciative eyes.”

“You wish me to dress like a harlot and reveal my flesh to the world?”

“Of course not, Miss Hart.” He leaned over and dropped his voice to a whisper, his breath tickling her ear. “But, perhaps, your flesh may be revealed in private, for the eyes of a single admirer.”

His words sent a wicked pulse through her, and she shifted her legs to ease the unfathomable ache.

A number of other couples joined them, and the music began. Though he lacked prowess at dancing, he moved across the room with the self-assurance which came hand in hand with raw male power. Almost every unattached lady’s gaze was upon them, looking at Lilah with envy, and her partner with longing.

“I suppose you relish the adoration of the room,” she said.

“I should be offended.”

“I doubt a man such as yourself would take offense to anything I say or do,” she said tartly. “You seek to indulge in pleasure without one thought for those less fortunate.”

“And you seek to deny yourself and the rest of the world the joy of pleasure.”

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held firm.

“No, Miss Hart,” he said. “You’re mine for the duration of this dance, and I expect you to honor your promise to me.”

“A dance is not a marriage, sir,” she said. “And I believe you voiced your opinion on marriage very clearly the other day.”

His lip curled into a smile. “Only because I find that every unmarried woman of my acquaintance is driven by a single purpose.”

“Which is?”

“To snare a husband,” he said. “By declaring my aversion to marriage, I ward off predators. I am no different from any hunted creature.”

“I’ve no wish to marry either,” she said.

“Doesn’t every woman want a home of her own, a family?”

“So says the voice of patriarchy.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “I should have known it. Jeremiah Smith!”

Her stomach turned to ice at his words. How could she have been so foolish! Had she unwittingly revealed her identity? She lost her footing and stumbled against him.

“Miss Hart, are you all right?” The arrogant mirth in his expression had disappeared—replaced by concern.

“I-I became a little overheated,” she said.

“Let me take you onto the terrace.”

“No,” she said, “there’s no need.”

A wicked glint shone in his eyes. “You’re right not to trust me, lass. At this moment, I’d struggle to trust myself.”

At that moment, they were separated in the dance, and Lilah found herself linking arms with the elderly Lord Whitshire. A rather dull man, but she welcomed the respite from the assault on her senses brought about by the huge beast who had the power to render her as helpless as the swooning misses she despised.

As she moved from partner to partner, she watched him. Each lady he partnered seemed to fall under his spell as soon as he took her by the hand, her body melting into his arms before he moved onto the next. By the time Lilah rejoined him, her jaw ached from gritting her teeth.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion, particularly in a woman, and to be reduced to such a state was not to be borne. But he showed little sign of noticing the maelstrom of emotions that boiled inside her.

“It seems you’re familiar with Mr. Smith’s work,” he said. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised by