After a surprised moment, he gave her a delighted leer. "You'll find no bolder bedroom warrior than me, milady."
She fluttered the lace fan provocatively across her face. "Then dance with me, Sir Knight."
"With pleasure." He drew her onto the floor as the musicians struck up a waltz. From his breath, it was obvious that he had been drinking heavily. Trying not to think of the time he had mauled her when she was a chambermaid, she cooed, "I'm so glad that the sweet young maidens have been taken home by their mamas. All that innocence becomes oppressive."
"Couldn't agree more," Harford replied. "M'brother, Mace, feels that it's family duty to entertain the neighborhood every year, so I spent the first half of the evening dancing with every wallflower in the county. But now duty is discharged, the little girls are gone, and we can do as we please. For the rest of the night there will be only extra long waltzes. So much better for getting acquainted, don't you agree?"
"Indeed." She stroked his right shoulder with her fingertips. "I always adore meeting a new knight."
He responded by pulling her much closer than the twelve inches that was considered proper in most ballrooms. Throughout the dance the suggestive banter continued, Kit acting as blatant as she knew how and Harford responding in kind. But as she had feared, the ballroom was too distracting for her to get a clear sense of whether he was the man she had been seeking. She would have to risk being alone with him.
The music ended. Pressing his hand meaningfully, she said, "Will you show me your lance later?"
He gazed appreciatively down the front of her dress. "Come into the garden and I'll do it right now."
"Too cold," she said with a moue of distaste.
"I suppose we can find a closet somewhere, though some of 'em are already occupied. Could be embarrassing."
"Why does it have to be a closet? A real knight takes his time-that's what chivalry is all about." She batted her lashes, hoping that the mask wouldn't destroy the effect. "Can't we go to your room and do it properly?"
He hesitated. "Since I'm one of the hosts, it's a little early for me to leave for good."
She stroked his chin with her folded fan. "Why don't we meet in your room in an hour?"
"Good idea." He produced a key from an inside pocket. "My rooms are in the west wing, last door on the left. There's no card on the door, but you can't miss it. Why not go there now and wait for me?"
It was an amazing piece of luck. She took the key and made a show of dropping it into her bodice. "You can play hunt-the-key when you come upstairs." She rapped his knuckles playfully with her fan. "Just don't forget and bring another lady back, or you may have a dragon to slay."
He laughed and squeezed her backside as she turned away. Her relief was enormous as she made her way across the dance floor. With luck she might learn everything she needed merely by being in his room. That would certainly be simpler than waiting for his return, then having to devise a way to escape his clutches. Though she had sworn to do whatever was necessary, the thought of lying with the enemy made her gag.
She was almost out of the ballroom when the musicians began playing another waltz. Behind her a deep, familiar voice said, "May I have this dance?"
And before she could protest, she was in the arms of the Earl of Strathmore.
Chapter 21
Of course Strathmore would find her, Kit thought with furious exasperation. The two of them could be dropped into the vastness of the Sahara and be drawn together like opposite poles of a magnet. But there was no sign that he recognized her, which was all that mattered. With only a few square inches of her face visible and that altered by cosmetics, her current disguise was one that even Strathmore would be unable to penetrate.
That didn't mean she should give him the opportunity to try. She altered the set of her mouth to mimic the delicately voluptuous poutiness of a Frenchwoman, then said with a Parisian accent, "I 'ave promised thees dance to another man, monsieur."
"When the fellow finds us, I shall yield to his prior claim," Strathmore said in fluent French. "But until then, it would be a pity to waste the music."
Since he did not release her, she was forced to follow him into the pattern of the dance-the wicked, scandalous waltz, which was condemned by high-minded citizens because it stimulated impure thoughts. Since Strathmore had that effect on her all the time, heaven only knew what a waltz would do.
She had the sense that he was watching her with unusual intensity. Did he have any suspicions? She tried to read his expression, but his black half mask made that impossible.
Their steps matched perfectly. Again she was unsurprised; ever since their first meeting, they had been caught up in a different kind of dance. They glided across the floor in silence.
Conversation was essential, for silence made her too aware of his nearness. Without removing her left hand from her partner's shoulder, she opened her fan and began cooling her face while she tried to think of something innocuous to say. She should not have had that third glass of champagne, for her usual powers of invention seemed to have failed her.
He solved the problem by asking, "When young French ladies are taught to dance, are they also taught how to fan themselves without missing a step? It's a clever trick."
She gave a trill unlike her usual laughter. "Frenchwomen are full of clever tricks, monsieur." Too late she realized that her remark was the kind of brazen flirtation she had been using on Roderick Harford.
"Splendid. I find tricky females irresistible," Strathmore said blandly…
He drew her closer so that their bodies were lightly touching. Every movement of the dance became a caress-a brush of her breasts against his chest, over even as she became aware of it; the whisper of his breath against her temple; the pressure of his knee as it skimmed her thigh; a grazing of pelvises that sent heat coiling through her limbs.
Though each contact was fleeting, the overall effect was powerfully erotic. She wanted to twine around him, to turn those teasing touches into a fierce embrace. Precise, physical memories of their supper at the Clarendon Hotel caused color to rise in her cheeks. She ducked her head, grateful that Strathmore could not read her mind.
He murmured into her ear, "You dance well, madame."
"As do you, monsieur, but you are too close for propriety," she said with gentle reproof.
She tried to move farther away, but his firm clasp on her hand and waist prevented that. "Propriety at midnight during a masked ball is a very different matter from propriety at high noon in a drawing room, madame. Look around you."
It was true that many couples were locked more tightly than she and her partner. But none of the other men, she was sure, had Strathmore's ability to make a woman's bones turn to taffy____________________
"You remind me of someone," he said thoughtfully.
Mental alarms went off, yanking her from her languid mood. "A good memory, or a bad memory, monsieur?"
"Both. A most delicious female, but maddeningly elusive. She was much of your height"-his cheek brushed her hair-"and as as delightful to hold as you"-he pulled her more closely in demonstration-"and she was graceful, like you." He gazed down into her eyes with a shrewdness that frightened her. "I wonder if your kisses are like hers."
Before he could act on his last comment, she pulled away, saying frostily, 'Only a most stupid man tries to compliment one woman by comparing her to another."
"You're quite right. I have been too often stupid about women." He raised her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips. "Forgive me. I shall try to be wiser."