A Taste of Seduction (27 page)

As he reached her side he heard her quick, indrawn breath. Oh, yes, she'd be ripe for the plucking. She was already under his spell, and he'd not even turned on the charm.

To seduce her would be easy, enjoyable, and bloody dangerous.

For the first time in a very long time, his body was wound tighter than a drum for a woman he should not want with such ferocity.

“Good evening, Lady Isobel.”

She glanced round, as if looking for someone, anyone, to save her from the big bad wolf, before finally saying, “Good evening, my lord.”

Was he mistaken, or had she stepped closer to her friend? Her low, husky voice sent a further charge of heat along his nerve endings.

She pretended to be calm. “May I present my friend Lady Cassandra?”

He took Cassandra's hand in his and in his most seductive French accent said, “
Enchanté,
mademoiselle.”

Lady Cassandra stood, blinking, staring at him.

He turned back to Isobel. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Isobel?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did my stepmother put you up to this?”

Time to dazzle. He gave her one of his most seductive smiles and took her gloved hand, running his thumb over her palm. “No. I spied you from across the room and did not wish to miss the chance to dance with the most beautiful woman in here.”

To his surprise, her prickly demeanor did not melt.

“I'm sorry, but my dance card is full.”

She was lying. He knew that, and she knew he knew that, or else her partner would be here asking for his turn on the floor.

Annoyance flickered. She'd expect him to do the polite thing and bow out. Well, she had a lot to learn about him, and she might as well start learning now.

He looked round. “It would appear your partner has been detained,” he said, and held out his arm. If she wished not to cause a scene, she could do little but take it.

To his dismay, she bested him. She smiled sweetly and said, “I'm sorry, Lord Labourd, but I'm sure you'll understand that I cannot accept your kind invitation. My feet are sore—new slippers, I'm afraid. However,” she said, turning to her friend, “I'm sure Lady Cassandra will be my savior and partner you instead. Since you seem so keen to dance.”

The defiance in her gaze, in her stance, was a challenge incarnate. She might have won this battle, but she would not win this war. Too many people's lives depended on his success—lives of people he cared about. And since he had no family left, he would claw through the devil's own flames to protect his friends.

This would be a most challenging seduction, he thought. A jolt of pure desire sizzled through Arend at the prospect of pitting his wits against hers.

He took a step toward her, so their bodies were touching. He felt her tremble. It annoyed him at how just this slight touch aroused him so swiftly.

Isobel pushed Cassandra forward, causing him to step back. Her friend was too thunderstruck to object. And that was how he found himself escorting the wrong debutante onto the dance floor.

Arend bit the inside of his cheek to stop a curse from issuing forth.

He would unearth Isobel's secrets, but more crucially, he would find the evidence they needed to stop Victoria—or he'd die trying.

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