But when she looked back toward him, she experienced the same reaction. Before she could decide what to do about it, he’d arrived at her side.
“Good evening.” His greeting encompassed everyone as he bowed. Pleasantries were exchanged, and Annabelle was surprised to realize Aberland knew Thomas.
The two men spoke for several minutes before Thomas turned toward her.
“Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
“I’d be delighted.” She was careful not to look at her sister but couldn’t miss her reaction. Caroline seemed thrilled that he’d asked her.
Annabelle didn’t understand Caroline’s reaction in the least. Her sister knew Thomas’s reputation as a terrible rogue. Did she need a reminder of the fact? Though Aberland’s reputation had been similar, her family now knew that had been a cover for his work as a spy. One couldn’t say the same about Thomas.
He escorted her to the dance floor where they waited for the other dancers to clear the area before taking their place.
“Have you any news?” Annabelle asked, wondering if he’d made inquiries about the murder.
“I do.”
She was forced to wait until the dance steps allowed them to cross paths again before she could prod him further. “And?”
“The similarities are more concerning than we originally thought.”
His response nearly paused her mid-step. “Truly?”
He nodded as he moved away before returning once again. His serious gaze held hers, but he said nothing when they passed again.
Attempting to have a conversation during a dance was maddening. She dearly wanted to hear what he’d learned. With a firm grip on her patience, she focused on the steps, wondering how they could steal a moment of privacy.
“Smile.” His whispered order had her glaring at him in response. “Your angry expression is drawing notice.”
She immediately did as he bade her, earning a chuckle from him.
“Perhaps a more genuine one if possible.” He smiled, bringing forth his dimples.
The sight of them sent a wave of heat through her. Why was she so fascinated by them? She had no idea, but the urge to draw her bare finger along the indentation stole her thoughts. Perhaps if she had the chance to do so, her curiosity would be appeased.
“What are you thinking?”
His question had her blinking to dispel the urge. “Nothing. Why?”
“There’s a certain look that comes into your eyes at times.” His practiced gaze swept over her from head to toe, quickening her pulse. “I would dearly like to know your thoughts when it does.”
The way he looked at her was a reminder of his reputation—a rogue. Yet that didn’t dampen her desire for him in the least.
She deliberately widened her eyes. “I was thinking of eating one of those lovely cakes my cousin set out for her guests.”
“Liar.”
The heat stealing up her cheeks could surely be blamed on the dance, couldn’t it? “I don’t know what you mean,” she managed.
With the smoothest of moves, he took her arm and swept her out through the French doors and onto the terrace.
“The dance hasn’t yet ended,” she protested as she looked about, uneasy at the thought of spending any amount of time with him alone.
“We have more important things to do than dance.” With a glance at the two other couples who also stood outside, he eased Annabelle toward one end of the terrace where the lanterns’ light dimmed.
He smelled nearly as good as he looked, a combination of bergamot and forest. The scent wound through her senses, muddling her thoughts.
Her heart hammered alarmingly, but it didn’t appear to be passion that motivated him based on the seriousness of his expression. She wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or disappointed as he drew her closer.
Chapter Five
Thomas watched the others on the terrace, but none of them paid Annabelle and him any mind. Perfect. He guided her further into the darkness, preferring not to be discovered by any guests who wandered outside.
A hint of violets teased his senses and it was all he could do not to lean closer to her to catch more of it. Did she rinse her hair in the fragrance, or was it perfume? He could too easily imagine her dabbing the scent at her delicate wrists and the slim column of her throat. Where else might she place it?
He gave himself a mental shake. That didn’t matter in the least. He needed to focus on the problem at hand now that they had a few brief moments of privacy.
“I spoke with the reporter who wrote the article on the murder,” he began, only to be interrupted by