Free On a Wild Night by Stephanie Laurens Page B

turned back to Dexter, eyes wide. “No?”
    His jaw was clenched. His eyes bored into hers, searching . . .
    Then he looked up, over her head, over the crowd. His fingers shifted; he changed his hold on her hand, locking it in his. “Come with me.”
    She hid her grin as he towed her to the side of the room. She expected him to stop there; instead, he pushed open a door left ajar and stepped through, drawing her into a long gallery that marched down one side of the ballroom. The gallery was narrow; the wall it shared with the ballroom was punctuated by three sets of doors. The other wall contained a succession of windows that looked out over the Consulate gardens.
    Other couples strolled in the light shed by wall sconces set between the ballroom doors. The windows were uncurtained, letting moonlight stream in, adding its silvery tint to the scene. The gallery was considerably less stuffy than the ballroom; gratefully, she drew a deep breath.
    Dexter set her hand on his sleeve and covered it with his. Face grim, he steered her down the room. “This entire start of yours is madness.”
    She didn’t deign to reply. The last window, just out from the room’s corner, drew near; it looked down on a small courtyard. “How pretty.”
    They halted before the window; drawing her hand from beneath his hard fingers, she leaned on the windowsill and looked down.
    â€œYou’re not seriously considering doing any of those things on your so-called list.”
    She said nothing, merely smiled. Kept her gaze on the courtyard.
    â€œYou know very well how your cousins will react.”
    â€œThey won’t know, so they won’t react.”
    â€œYour parents, then—you can’t expect me to believe you can slip out night after night and they won’t notice.”
    â€œYou’re right. I can’t manage night after night. But . . .”—she shrugged—“occasionally is not so hard. I’ve already spent two nights this week outside the ton. There’s really no impediment to my plans.”
    She wondered if the sound she heard was his teeth grinding. She glanced at him—and noticed the other couples returning to the ballroom. Music drifted out to them, muted by the doors. Dexter watched as the last stragglers departed, leaving them alone in the quiet gallery, then he looked back at her.
    The silvery light threw the planes of his face into sharp relief, leaving the whole much harsher, more intimidating. He was the descendant of Norman warriors; in this light, he looked it, every angle stripped of its assumed softness, the elegance he wore like a cloak.
    She lifted her chin. “I’m determined to experience at least a little excitement—I intend to ask Lord Cranbourne to squire me to Richmond on the next fine night.”
    Already hard, his face turned to stone. “I can’t allow that.”
    Haughtily, she raised both brows. “Why?”
    Not the response he’d expected; a frown gathered in his eyes. “Why?”
    â€œWhy do you imagine you have anything to say in the matter? My behavior, my actions, are no concern of yours.” She paused before adding, deliberately provocative, “Earl or not.”
    She shifted to slide past him and head for the ballroom. One hard arm rose; his hand locked on the window frame, caging her. She eyed it, then returned her gaze to his face. Raised an even more haughty brow.
    His eyes held hers. Then he raised his hand; fingers curved, he brushed the backs, featherlight, down her cheek.
    She quelled the resulting shiver before it showed, yet knew he sensed it. His lips, long, thin, set until then in a straight line, eased. His gaze sharpened. “If you want excitement, you can find it here. There’s no need to travel to Richmond.”
    His voice had deepened; he seemed much closer, although he hadn’t moved. His strength and heat were palpablethings, beating against her.