Free Devil in My Arms by Samantha Kane Page B

I’d have asked her myself. But the damned gout has me playing the wallflower, I’m afraid.”
    “Tolly,” his wife admonished at his language.
    “Sorry, sorry, my dear,” he mumbled. “Apologies, Mrs. Fairchild.”
    “No apology necessary, Mr. Tolliver,” she replied sweetly. “I’m sure the gout would cause even one as timid as I to curse on occasion.”
    Tolliver guffawed. “Timid, indeed,” he said. “Timid as my old bitch Matilda who still insists on leading the hunt, eh, St. John?” he asked.
    “Tolly,” his wife admonished again.
    “Yes,” Hil agreed. “That about sums it up. Mrs. Fairchild?” He could see that Eleanor was fighting laughter as she bit her lip and nodded. “Good evening,” Hil said to Tolliver and his wife.
    “This will be our second dance,” she said quietly as they walked sedately toward the dance floor.
    “Yes, I know,” he replied.
    “People will talk.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a half smile.
    “I know,” he said again with a smile of his own.
    Hil took his place beside her for a waltz. If he knew his ballroom etiquette, and he did, supper would be served after. It was understood she would stand up for two dances with him. He felt supreme satisfaction at his maneuvering, while at the same time he was dismayed that he was strategizing in order to spend time with her. He’d never had to pursue a woman before, at least not since he was an untried lad.
    “You are now supposed to reassure me that I am neither old nor a bitch,” Eleanor told him quietly as they performed the march steps to start the dance.
    “Am I?” Hil inquired as he completed a slow pirouette.
    “Are you no longer playing the gentleman?” she inquired, copying his previous movement. “A gentleman would tell me that I am more desirable than those young girls who naturally draw the eye.”
    “You sound as if you are envious, Mrs. Fairchild.”
    They now stood beside one another facing opposite directions, their left arms raised over their heads, their hands joined. “Of course I am envious, Sir Hilary. For what is youth if it is not to be mourned?”
    “Mourned, Mrs. Fairchild? Has youth died, then?”
    “Mine has,” she answered with a wry twist to her lip. “With my past.”
    This was the first time he’d heard her speak with bitterness. He made a show of inspecting her from the tips of her dancing shoes to her artfully styled hair as he placed his hands on her waist in the dance. “My eyes do not deceive me, Mrs. Fairchild.”
    “Do they not, sir?” Her voice was definitely tinged with amusement.
    “No, madam, they do not. And they tell me that you are still in the flush of youth.”
    “Not the first blush, then?” she asked teasingly.
    Hil regarded her with a raised brow. “I seek and offer truth, Mrs. Fairchild, not flattery.”
    “That is too bad,” she answered. “I could use a little of the latter.”
    They moved closer, their hands on one another’s shoulders. He obliged her. “I could not resist the lure of your beauty,” he said quietly. “You have mesmerized me all night.” She stumbled and he gripped her arms tightly to help her regain her feet and topull her closer. “Your intellect, your wit, the challenge you present, it is a siren’s call to me.”
    She said nothing, but he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest, surely more than the steps of the dance warranted. Her cheeks were a becoming pink again, and he found it enchanting. Had any other man made her blush like that? He didn’t think so.
    “Tell me that you do not feel the same,” he whispered into her ear as he circled her slowly, thankful that the steps of the dance hid his furtive wooing.
    “I do not feel the same,” she said breathlessly.
    “The lie falls uneasily from your siren’s mouth,” he told her. She didn’t stumble, but her pause spoke volumes. “I have studied desire,” he continued, “and I see the symptoms in you.”
    “It does feel a little like