by Bec McMaster
She could think of no one else.
The flutter of her fan increased, though she refused to look at him. "Considering yesterday's proposal and your mysterious absence last night, I thought you'd forgotten me."
"Hardly. If I'd had any hope of succeeding in such an endeavor it would have been months ago." There was a wry edge to Malloryn's voice as he stepped closer. Her skirts stirred against her stocking-clad calves. "Try as I might, I can never quite manage to get you out of my mind, Adele."
A shiver went down her spine.
She didn't turn, even though she could feel his cool breath on the back of her neck. Nobody was watching her here, tucked away in the corner of the ballroom, but she couldn't help feeling as though she danced the edge of scandal.
Ridiculous.
Malloryn was her husband, after all.
"You give a good impression of it," she retorted, trying to slow her fan and look disinterested.
A fingertip brushed against her back, rippling over the taffeta of her peacock-colored gown. "Did you wait for me?" her husband murmured, his voice soft and indecent.
Adele closed her eyes. Yes, damn you. All night.
"Not at all," her mouth said.
"Liar."
Somehow, she knew he was smiling. "What do you want?"
Malloryn held out his gloved hand as he circled her. She couldn't stop her gaze from lowering to his stern mouth, though the black hawkish mask hid his features and its cascade of feathers disguised his coppery hair. A bird of prey. How eminently suitable.
"A dance, Adele. Consider it an apology for my absence. I've been seeing to some business."
"You never apologize."
"Perhaps it's time for peace between us. Dance with me."
"Do I have a choice?"
"I've probably earned that." The faintest of quirks crossed his mouth. "You could deny me. Nobody knows who I am right now, so the gossip would be minimal. Though I warn you, the consequences might be dire."
"What sort of consequences?"
He brought her gloved hand up to his lips, and his voice turned to liquid heat. "Try me and find out."
Adele glanced around, but the idea of dancing with him intrigued her. They'd never danced. Barely even conversed in a rational manner. Peace.... What a fascinating concept.
It didn't make her lower her guard entirely.
She accepted his proposition with a careless shrug that extricated her hand, and set it on his arm. Far safer than having it beneath his lips. "Don't think I'm afraid of your consequences."
"No?"
"Intrigued," she admitted. "I've never seen you dance."
"I generally prefer not to."
"And now you're offering to dance with me," she mused. "One might say that's somewhat suspicious."
It all had to do with Devoncourt's kiss, she was sure of it.
But what to make of it all?
Malloryn had told her to make her own arrangements, yet his reaction yesterday when he tossed the photograph in her lap belied the instruction. And now, here he was, showing up at a ball and asking her to dance with him.
Curiouser and curiouser.
If Adele was a foolish young debutante, she might almost have thought him jealous.
But she'd long given away such ridiculous notions.
Her husband was up to something.
His gray eyes heated behind the black velvet of his mask. "Well, if I don't make a move, some other young buck might."
"There'd be more rumors swirling if people knew it was you holding me in his arms, than some handsome stranger."
"You think me handsome?"
The thought clearly amused him.
"To lie would only make me seem an idiot. You're a veritable product of Michelangelo's imagination, and you know it." Her fingers squeezed the muscled flex of his upper arm, which was hidden beneath his coat. "Carved of chilling perfection, radiant with an unearthly strength and power. Just as cold as David himself and twice as untouchable. Indeed, one would expect to find more warmth in the statue's caress."
"Mmm." His head lowered, his lips brushing the curls in front of her ears. "But we both know that's not the truth, don't we, Adele?" His thumb stroked the pulse in her other wrist, a lash of sensation. "Or do you not recall yesterday afternoon in the carriage?"
Her pulse started to race. Of course she recalled it. How could she not?
The memory of his touch had haunted her all bloody night long, whilst he was off seeing to "some business."
"Perhaps I should remind you?"
"Perhaps we should dance?" she blurted.
There was that smile again as he led her onto the dance floor.
She'd never dared dream of finding herself in her husband's arms—dreams were for foolish girls, not those who'd tasted the darkness that could be found in one of the Echelon's ballrooms.
And yet, it was startling to realize how easily she fit there.
"Considering you prefer not to dance, you're very good at it," she admitted in a begrudging tone. Of course he'd mastered the art. He took the lead with a control and mastery that left her no choice but to keep up.
"My mother would have been pleased to hear that. She spent a fortune on dance tutors when I was a youth."
Adele's curiosity pricked. She'd been all through Lady Hammersley's Guide to the Peerage and could trace his origins as well as she knew her own.
A minor son of the House of Malloryn, he'd surprised the entire Echelon when he'd steadfastly climbed his way to the head of the house upon the death of his father. Or murder, if one was being accurate, though the killer was never named.
There were several ways one could legitimately inherit in the Echelon: have the good fortune to be born as the eldest son of an eldest son; or duel your way to the top.
She'd heard rumors of a dozen duels fought to clear his path, alliances between cousins against him, betrayals, attempted assassinations he'd somehow survived.
And when his cousins all fell, Malloryn was the only one left standing.
The youngest duke to ever sit on the Council of Dukes.
Ruthless.
Dangerous.
And yet, utterly loyal to his queen.
But it was the little things she didn't know about him—that he'd had a mother who'd insisted on dance lessons for her son, despite knowing he'd most likely never inherit anything of value. She must have dreamed of great things for him, but Adele wondered what had driven him to survive those bloodstained years where he nearly lost everything.
"You're quiet."
"Just thinking," she admitted.
"A dangerous thing, in my experience. What are you thinking about?"
"How little I truly know of you."
He swept her through an elegant turn, his gloved hand resettling on her waist even as his thumb stroked her hip. "I thought it was the title that mattered. Not the man."
"The title is what every debutante dreams of. But the man intrigues. Everyone likes a good mystery."
"What do you want to know?"
Why did you agree to marry me?
He'd asked her a similar question on the day of their wedding.
And when she'd trapped him—running breathless and bloodied out of the gardens of a ball, straight into his arms—he'd maintained it was a matter of his honor being besmirched by her claims that he'd done it to her.
But he was the Duke of Malloryn.
If he could survive a dozen bloodthirsty cousins, then he could survive her lies.
And yet he'd allowed the engagement to stand. He'd done his duty and married her. And while their marriage was a thing of locked bedroom doors and aloof greetings in the hallway as they passed, he'd never actually punished her for the lie.
"I want to know—" Her courage failed her as they swirled between dancers. "—what your mother was like."
Malloryn's left brow flickered in surprise. "She was a baron's daughter who married into the ducal line. My father was far down the line of inheritance, but
it was a good match between them. They seemed happy together. She died of consumption when I was sixteen. My father was inconsolable."
That was all very good, but.... "And how did her son fare?"
Their eyes met, and she saw the faint tightening of his mouth. "As well as could be expected."
A polite disengagement.
He may have decided to seduce her into bed—or whatever game he was playing—but the message was clear: she was not welcome behind those walls.
She would never be welcome.
Somehow, Adele managed to paste a smile on her lips. "Well, she would be pleased to know her lessons have not gone to waste. One could almost think you were born to play the role of duke."
A slight hesitation. "It was not what my parents aspired for me, but forced on me by circumstance."
There'd been a woman, she'd heard.
Another lord's thrall.
And the girl had died, and Malloryn swore bloody revenge and set about taking it on his own terms.
"And what of you?" he asked. Lights glittered as they twirled in elegant circles, but all she could see was the watchful glint of his eyes. "From what I understand, you haven't seen your mother in months."
Adele fought to contain her instinctive stiffening, but he noticed. He always did.
"It seems she and my father did not welcome the news of our marriage," she admitted carefully. "There is no love lost between me and my mother."
Or my father, truth be told.
But where Sir George Hamilton seemed content to pretend he'd never laid eyes upon her, Adele's mother was a different story.
The only time they spoke was when Lady Hamilton wanted more money.
Did Malloryn know of those exchanges?
Her sister's peace and virtue in exchange for cold hard pounds?
"And here I thought I'd managed to escape family dinners with the in-laws," he said. "I thought your parents would be thrilled to have landed me."
Adele took the opening he gave her and smiled in return. "Believe it or not, Your Grace, you are not universally adored."
"No?" Despite the mask, she was certain one eyebrow arched faux mockingly. "What conspiracy is this?"
"Perhaps you would earn the hearts of others more easily if you smiled more."
"You like my smile."
"So brilliant for its rarity," she responded, with the faintest flirtatious shrug. "Is that not the way of precious things?"
"Like diamonds, for instance?" His gaze dipped to the elegant array that dripped into her cleavage. "Though one would doubt their scarcity, considering how positively aglitter you are tonight."
He swept her beneath his arm, and then she was back in his arms, slightly breathless. This time he drew her closer, and she couldn't escape the brush of his thighs against her skirts or the stroke of his thumb across the inside of her wrist.
"You seem intrigued by them. I thought I was the one with the obsession with diamonds?"
"You can only blame yourself," he whispered. "All I can think about is your parting words of yesterday. What was it you said? 'Maybe I'll wear nothing but my diamonds when you visit my chambers....'"
She'd rarely been so bold before. Adele fought to conquer the blush she could feel heating her cheeks.
He held her too closely now, and she caught the flash of speculative glances thrown their way.
"People are watching us," she whispered.
"I know."
Malloryn spun her under his arm again, his palm resting but briefly on her silk-clad waist. By the time she waltzed back into his arms, they'd escaped the press of dancers, and he'd somehow maneuvered her under the arch of ivy that led to the gardens.
Away from the ballroom.
"Why don't we go someplace private where we can escape their prying eyes?"
"How convenient, Your Grace."
"I thought so myself."
Adele rested her hand in his, some part of her missing his touch on her waist. "I only agreed to a dance."
"I'm trying to convince you it would be in your interest to accompany me further."
Adele shivered as his voice lowered. "In my interest?"
"You haven't yet accepted my apology. I thought to earn it instead."
"How?"
She looked at his mouth, barely inches above her own. The same mouth that had been on her breast yesterday afternoon. As if the memory conjured the sensation of his touch, Adele felt it again, her nipples hardening behind the crush of her corset.
"Don't look at me like that, my dear." A whisper of pure temptation. "I'm not going to ruin the surprise."
Malloryn's voice had always been a weapon. She'd heard actors on stage with less control than he wielded. One second his mouth caressed her name, made her think of silken sheets and the heated lash of his tongue; the next it was a cutting whip, flaying the skin off someone who'd crossed him.
But now....
Lucifer tempting angels to sin.
"Are you going to allow me to steal you away to the gardens for a midnight rendezvous?"
Somehow she found her breath as he took a step back into the shadows of the arch. "Should I? I'm still not entirely certain I should forgive you."
"I dare you," he replied, holding his gloved hand out to her with a merciless smile curving his lips. "I'll make it worth your while."
And Adele, damn her better sense, couldn't stop herself from taking his hand.
She was clad in cobalt blue with a peacock mask dripping feathers, and her hair gleamed like pure gilt in the lantern-light.
Think what he might about her, Adele was born for moonlight and silk, stolen kisses and whispers, throaty laughter and lies. In other circumstances, Malloryn might have pursued her.
He wanted to unearth that pale, creamy skin and reveal the flawless curves beneath the silk. He wanted to pin her to his mattress and fuck his way into her, making her scream with pleasure. He wanted to bind her wrists behind her back and leave her helpless to his whims.
It was what he disliked most about her: his inability to deny that some dark part of him found her irresistible.
It was the way she always challenged him.
It had to be.
"You think to ravish me in the garden, Your Grace?" Adele fanned herself, glancing around at the greenery as if disinterested. "First the carriage and now this. Do you have some aversion to beds?"
Malloryn tossed his mask carelessly aside as they reached the folly, and stepped toward her. Lanterns were strung throughout the trees, leaving her radiant and glowing. "Perhaps I can't resist you long enough to wait."
The faintest of laughs escaped her. "Tell me, is any woman actually foolish enough to fall for that ruse?"
"Is it so impossible? You're the most beautiful woman inside that ball."
Despite the fact she was possibly an agent of his enemy, he didn't deny the truth.
Adele speared him with a look. "Now I know you're up to something. You despise me, Your Grace. You've made no attempt to mask your opinion of me—until now—which means you have an ulterior motive."
"I don't despise you."
"You give a fair approximation of it."
"I despised your tactics in bringing me to heel." He considered her. "You've always been beautiful. I state it as a matter of fact, not flattery. And... you did save my life when I was shot."
It was the first time he'd ever truly touched his wife.
Blue bloods could heal from practically anything, but when Balfour put a mind-controlling device inside Gemma and she'd shot him, he'd been bleeding so badly he couldn't pursue her when she went after the queen.
Adele—of all people—had happened upon him and given him her blood, though the first he'd known of it had been when he came out of the ravening rush of the craving and realized he was clasped between his wife's thighs. His mouth had been on her throat, the coppery taste of her blood wetting his tongue, and his hand had been working its way up her thigh.
He had very nearly deflowered his wif
e on the floor of the Ivory Tower.
"It's not as though you were actually dying, Malloryn." Adele rolled her eyes, but he caught the faint stain of pink that swept her cheeks. "You made certain I was aware of that. Giving you blood helped accelerate your healing, but it didn't save your life."
"Did I say that?"
"You did."
"Then I was an inconsiderate fool."
Green eyes narrowed and she pressed a hand to his chest, stepping forward until they were barely inches apart. "What are you up to?"
His gaze fell to her lips. Those soft, rosy lips. He'd never tasted them. It was easier to play the part of besotted lover than he'd have imagined. "As I stated, I need an heir."
"Then throw me down on the bed and have your way with me. I believe that is how it works, does it not? And yet, you're actually attempting to"—for a second her facade slipped, impregnable insouciance giving way to confusion—"seduce me."
"You don't trust a gentle touch."
"I don't trust your gentle touch."
And yet, she wanted it. He could read it in the softening of her body and the way she leaned into him—even as she leashed her body's physical needs. To win her over, he would need to enrapture that cool, rational mind too—because she'd seen right through his physical flirtations.
Clever girl.
"You're right. I have no need to make such efforts." Malloryn's lashes half-shuttered his eyes. "And yet, my conscience dictates I make them. I am not the sort of man who throws a woman down on his bed and simply takes what I want, like some sort of barbarian. I am the Duke of Malloryn."
"Ah, arrogance." Adele tipped her chin defiantly. "Now that I can believe. I would hardly call it conscience. You don't have one."
Despite himself, a smile brewed. "Be careful, my dear. For if that statement was true, you would be in a great deal of trouble right now."
"What would you do to me?" Adele bit her lip. "Chastise me?"
He stared at her. Was she...? She was. She was daring him. Practically flirting, if one didn't notice the calculating gleam in his eyes.
Malloryn leaned closer, until their breath mingled. "Like I said, I'm hardly a barbarian. I could think of other ways to make you rue your words."
Adele's gloved hands came to rest upon his coat. "I think every blue blood is part barbarian deep inside." Those hands slid lower, pausing over the flat ripple of his abdomen. She looked up, dark lashes fanning across her cheeks as her voice softened. "You all call it your primal side. Your craving. Your hunger. And you leash it, and think it obeys you. But it's still there, Malloryn." A thumb stroked inside his coat, inside his waistcoat. "I wonder what it's like when you let it off the leash. All that civilization stripped away from you. Your raw desires given sway. I wonder.... What would he be like?"
