Simone gave a small sniff as she waved her satin fan until her golden curls bounced in the breeze. She had not seen the aggravating gentleman for the past two days, and the realization that she had spent each day in an agony of nervous tension awaiting his arrival, made her long to break something.
“Every foreign gentleman claims to be in line for a crown,” she retorted, her own gaze fastened onto the male body attired in black as it moved with uncanny grace.
Less than a week ago she thought that she knew all there was to know of men.
They were as a rule easily managed. Allow them to believe that you found them fascinating, charming and desirable and they would readily be clay in her hands. Especially when they had hopes of seducing her.
But Gideon ...
He refused to follow the pattern she had come to expect. He did not treat her as a delicate flower he longed to pluck. Nor did he readily dance to her tune. Instead he had thrust his way into her life, seared her with his touch and then waltzed away as if she were thoroughly irrelevant.
Her teeth suddenly gritted.
No one was allowed to dismiss her with such disregard, she told herself. Not again.
Unaware of her dark thoughts, Mary, a lovely widow with sable hair and curvaceous form, heaved a longing sigh.
“Perhaps, but they do not all possess the means of purchasing a home in Mayfair. And certainly none other is blessed with such indecent beauty. I would give my diamond necklace for an evening in his arms.”
Her teeth gritted even tighter.
The thought of Gideon in the grasp of the insatiable widow was not at all pleasing.
A ridiculous weakness she was not about to reveal.
No one would be allowed to know the manner Mr. Ravel preyed upon her mind.
No one.
“You could always make him the offer,” she said, her fan fluttering until it threatened to fly from her fingers. “I have heard the rumor that he is on the hunt of a fortune.”
“An absurd rumor, unfortunately,” Mary bemoaned. “He has been spreading enough money about town to reassure the most suspicious of matrons that he is deep in the pocket. I assure you if he were in the market I would have already purchased his services.” There was a faint pause as Mary turned to regard her with knowing brown eyes. “If you had not snatched him up first.”
Simone stiffened in shock. “Me?”
Although five years older than Simone, the widow had taken her under her wing when she had first arrived in London. She had not only helped Simone establish her image as the “Wicked Temptress,” but she had helped to choose the select circle of friends that would ensure her success.
She did, however, possess an uncanny habit of speaking her mind with amazing frankness.
“I have seen how your gaze follows him.”
Simone gave a loud sniff. “He is arrogant, opinionated and far too aware of his own charms.”
Mary gave a low laugh as her gaze returned to the ebony-haired gentleman.
“What does that have to do with anything? He is delectable.”
“He is passable, I suppose.”
“You do not fool me. You are no more immune than the rest of us poor females.”
Simone’s eyes darkened. Unlike Mary she did not allow herself to be prey to her desires. She did not tumble into lust with each new gentleman who appeared upon the horizon, nor did she readily entangle herself in sordid affairs.
Not even with a gentleman who made her skin tingle and her heart race.
She remained in complete control of herself at all times.
Complete control.
“I assure you that I am utterly immune,” she retorted in tight tones. “Although ...”
Mary regarded her with a hint of curiosity. “What?”
“I would not deny a desire to challenge that male arrogance. He is far too confident that he is irresistible.”
“Perhaps because he is irresistible,” Mary pointed out.
“Fah.”
The dark eyes sparkled in a taunting manner at Simone’s confident manner. “Pretend to yourself if you wish, Simone, but do not be surprised to discover yourself burned after toying with such dangerous flames.”
For no reason at all Simone felt a swirl of unease rush through her stomach.
She did not wish to be reminded of the danger that shimmered about Mr. Ravel like a cloak of warning. He had offered a challenge that she could not ignore. Not without appearing a coward. Something she could not bear.
“Save your sympathies for Mr. Ravel. He will be in need of them,” she said in tones far more daring than she felt.
