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"Don't worry, my dear," Harry said, reading her mind.
"I doubt if Jack is interested in such an ice princess. He prefers a
bit more passion in his women."
Claire turned to stare at him, her mouth open. He met her look with a
bland one of his own.
She snapped her mouth shut. If she had not already been in disgrace
for quarrelling with Jack, she'd have been very tempted to start one
with Harry.
Jack pushed open the door to Lord Hawke's study and stepped inside.
The room was empty. A low light burned on the massive mahogany desk.
He had no idea why
Claire would send him a message asking him to meet her here,
particularly as their dance together was next.
A grim smile twisted his mouth. It was unlikely she wanted a
tete-a-tete with him. She had made that clear enough. More likely she
wanted to refuse him the dance in private.
He flung himself down in Lord Hawke's chair and scowled at the ink-well
sitting in front of him. Unfortunately for him, the attraction he'd
felt for her when she was seventeen had erupted into desire for the
woman she'd become. He wanted to possess her. He wanted all of
her--her softly curved body, her lovely face. He wanted her to smile
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for him and talk to him as she once had.
He still had no idea why she'd refused his offer six years ago. Had
his passionate kiss scared her so much she was afraid of marriage to
him? Had her brother filled her ears with tales of his liaisons? He
couldn't deny he'd had a scandalous affair with a married woman, but it
had lasted only a few months.
He rose. Brooding about it would not help.
He started at the sound of a key turning in the lock. With a curse, he
strode to the door and tried the knob. It was locked. He rattled it
harder. The faint strains of a minuet reached his ears. The dance had
started.
"Damn!" Who in the hell would lock him in the study, and for what
purpose? More to the point, where the devil was Claire? Had something
happened to her? Or had the message been nothing but a ruse to get him
here?
He tried the door again, but it refused to budge. The last thing he
intended to do was wait here until someone discovered him. He glanced
around the room and saw the window near the desk. He went to it,
pushed up the sash and climbed through.
Claire watched the dancers with a mixture of anxiety and annoyance.
Had he decided to deliberately forget their dance as punishment for
turning him down? Or had something happened to him? But whatever
could happen at a ball?
She looked around the crowded ballroom again. There was no sign of
him. Perhaps he'd gone off to play cards. Or he had just forgotten.
Frowning, she turned away and decided to find Jane. Certainly she had
no intention of dancing with him if he should show up later. She was
halfway across the room when he appeared at her side.
"Claire." He touched her arm.
She started then looked up, ready to tell him exactly what she thought
of his effrontery. The words died on her lips when she saw the angry
red scratch across his lean cheekbone.
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"What happened? How did you come to be scratched?" she asked,
suddenly anxious.
"An encounter with a rosebush."
"A rosebush? Here?"
"Not precisely in the ballroom." A cool smile played on his lips.
"While I waited for you in the study, I somehow came to be locked in.
I was forced to make my exit through the window. Unfortunately, there
was a rosebush below. "
"But why were you waiting for me in the study?"
"The message you sent. You wished to meet me there." Claire felt the
colour drain from her face.
"But I sent no such message."
"Didn't you?"
"But why would I? I would never even think of asking to meet a man
privately, certainly not at a ball," Claire said, torn between
indignation that he would think that and worry at who would send such a
message in her name.
A slight smile curled his lip.
"A pity. I'll admit I was surprised.
Perhaps you wished to cut me up for forcing you to dance. I hardly
thought it was for a romantic tryst. "
"I should hope not!" She flushed anyway, looking at his firm mouth,
and wondered why the last encounter she had had with him, before
everything had fallen apart, should enter her mind.
"I fear we missed our minuet. Promenade with me instead." His fingers
lightly pressed her arm.
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"Come."
She looked down to where his hand rested on her white kid gloves. The
sleeve of his coat did not quite conceal the fine scratches covering
his hand. She looked back up at him.
"Shouldn't you have a servant fetch some ointment? I fear your
scratches may become infected." This time his eyes held genuine
amusement.
"I doubt it. I've been injured much worse without ill effects."
"But your cheek. I am certain it must hurt."
"A little." His eyes had softened.
"So you are concerned about me?"
"I would be concerned about anyone in the same circumstances," she said
lightly. She looked away, not wanting him to see how the look in his
eyes made her feel slightly breathless.
"I see." He raised a mocking brow.
"I suggest we take a turn about the room. The rest of the company is
undoubtedly waiting to see if we're about to quarrel again." His voice
was cool.
She bit her lip, hurt by his abrupt change in manner, So, they were
back to being seen together merely to appease the rest of society. It
had nothing to do with his actually wanting her company.
He held out his arm. She placed her fingers stiffly on the fine cloth
of his coat. They began a slow promenade around the edge of the
room.
She felt his eyes on her face.
"Smile," he said.
"You look as if you've been sentenced to Newgate."
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