Flirting With Fortune

man’s arms?

Apparently, it was.

His fingers tightened on hers as he led her onto the dance floor. They took up the proper position, a perfectly respectable distance between them to the casual observer. What the others in the room couldn’t see was the tingling nerves of her back where his hands rested against her skin.

“Do you know,” he murmured, holding his position as they waited for the start of the dance, “as beautiful as you are in daylight, I think I prefer you in the candlelight?”

“You do?” she squeaked, taken off guard by the unexpected statement.

“I do. Sunlight makes your eyes sparkle, but candlelight illuminates the fire within. It’s more true to your personality.”

Before she could utter a word in response, the music started and he swung them into motion. For once she didn’t focus on counting out the steps in her head. How could she? Her mind whirled faster than even their bodies as she basked in the compliment. Did he think her fiery then? That thought made her feel the slightest bit reckless and a great deal more bold.

His steps were smooth, his rhythm sure. Somehow, her body just seemed to follow his, to give up to the authority of his lead. He wasn’t the most graceful dancer in the world, but he moved with a certain confidence that suited her much more than an exceedingly polished partner might. She didn’t need someone whose elegant moves would make her look clumsy—she needed someone who knew how to lead. She wouldn’t have thought a man of his background would have such command of the waltz, but here they were, gliding along with the dozens of other couples as if he’d done such a thing his whole life.

“And here I thought your specialty would be the Scottish reel. Who taught you to dance so well? From what I know, Sir Frederick attended many a ball, but never danced.”

“You can thank my aunt for that. My mother died when I was five years old, and no matter how accomplished my father was, Aunt Constance always feared that he was raising her sister’s only son to be some sort of Scottish brute. It dinna help that my father moved us back to Scotland shortly thereafter. Determined to bring culture to her nephew, she arranged for private tutors for my education, elocution, and etiquette.”

“So she’s the one responsible for that singular accent of yours.”

He raised a dark brow, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Singular accent? I’ve heard it called many a name, but that is a first.”

“Why would anyone call it names? Your accent is”—divine, intoxicating, toe-curling— “lovely.”

She’d pleased him. He dipped his head in acknowledgment of the compliment, tucking his chin in a way that was almost bashful. “Why, thank you, my lady. I think the problem is I doona quite fit any molds. Most Scots find my way of speaking annoyingly English, and most Englishmen find it dreadfully Scottish.”

“Well, then, most Scots and Englishmen are idiots.”

He laughed out loud at this, drawing the attention of several of the couples around them. He ignored them as he smiled down at her, his fingers giving her a little squeeze. “I’m inclined to agree, my lady.”

“I hate it when you call me that.”

She’d said the words almost to herself, but clearly he heard them. “‘My lady’?”

She nodded. She would never have said such a thing to anyone else, but he thought her fiery, did he not? She allowed the space between them to close just the slightest amount, her heart pounding all the while. “It’s what servants and strangers call me, and even formal acquaintances. I don’t think of you that way.”

His eyes met hers, his gaze seeking. “Doona you, now?”

“How could I? You’ve unearthed me from the curtains, braved the elements to sit in my drawing room and defend my sister, and danced the Scottish reel with me among your father’s most priceless works of art. If that doesn’t do away with the ‘my lady’ nonsense, I don’t know what would.”

“Well, is that all?” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided grin.

“No,” she admitted, focusing on his shoulder for a moment before looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “You shared your father with me. You, Colin, made my dreams come true.”

* * *

Colin could hardly think straight with the way she watched him, as if he were some sort of knight in shining armor. He was allowing himself to be caught up in the liquid fire of her gaze, and he really needed to remember that this was just a simple dance with an off-limits woman. “I wouldn’a go as far as all that, surely. Perhaps you could say I made your day?”

She looked up at him with those huge blue eyes, which were a thousand times more brilliant than the sparkling aquamarine necklace hugging her slender throat. Damn, he really needed to watch himself. Two weeks among the ton and he was turning into a bloody poet.

“You made my life. No one on earth could have crafted a more intimate portrait of Sir Frederick, sharing all those little things that made him who he was, over and above his mastery of painting.”

He couldn’t deny the truth of that. As much heartache and trouble as his father had brought to Colin’s life over the years, he had still loved the man. It felt good to share the harmless, interesting little bits about him with Lady Beatrice—someone who had genuine respect and admiration for the man.

Instead of denying her sentiment, he merely cocked a brow, allowing a bit of levity to show in his eyes. “You, Lady Beatrice, need to reach for higher goals in life.”

She rolled her eyes at him, unoffended. “So you say. I’m content with them, thank you very much. And I meant it when I said no more ‘my ladying’ me, if you please. Lady Beatrice in public because we have to, but when next we find ourselves alone, I expect you to drop the ‘lady’ altogether.”

His mind skipped right past her request—demand?—and landed on the fact that she clearly intended to spend more time with him.

Alone.

Swallowing the surge of satisfaction that spread through his chest, he gave a brief nod. Yes, he knew very well that he should be distancing himself from the addictive woman in his arms. But that was the thing about vices—the fact that they should be avoided only made them that much more enticing.

As if his little stor needed any help in that department.

He tightened his grip on her, sliding his hand across her back as he led them across the dance floor. Neither one of them was an excellent dancer, but they were a good match for each other.

This was what he liked best about Beatrice. She made him feel like a normal gentleman, enjoying being with a normal lady. No thoughts of what she could do for him, only what he could do for her. The self-disgust of being a fortune hunter slipped away, like the hood of a dark cloak falling back. She had sought him out, had she not? In every instance, in fact. She had sought the introduction, invited him to call on her, and even asked him to waltz, in a roundabout way.

“Well?”

He glanced back down at her. “As you wish.”

“That’s more like it. Now, I’d like for you to do something for me. Please,” she added belatedly.

He didn’t even pause to think. “Anything.”

The music came to a close then, and he reluctantly pulled away. Beatrice curtsied as he bowed, and he held out his arm to escort her off the dance floor.

“I’d like for you to meet me in Green Park on Monday. Around noon?”

There she went, seeking out his company again. It was the sort of thing that could easily go to a man’s head. “I’ll be there.” He cut a sideways glance at her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You do realize that at some point I should probably be the one to suggest a meeting?”

Beatrice raised a single golden brow, her eyes alight with mischief. “Yes, but what is the fun in that?”

* * *

“Do you truly think it was Mr. Godfrey?”

The whispered question brought Beatrice up short. She glanced around casually, as if looking for someone she knew, but really she was trying to overhear what the response would be.

Lady Chester and Mrs. Langford had their heads bent toward each other, their fans lifted strategically to shield their mouths. “It did rather look like him, but it doesn’t make sense. His father is a viscount, after all. And a