Page 8 of How to Start a Scandal

‘You’re home now, then?’ she asked. ‘From the war?’

Though she hadn’t meant the question to be a barb, the skin around his eyes tightened briefly, almost a flinch.

‘I am,’ he replied. ‘I do hope I’ll be seeing more of you now that I’m returned?’

The inflection at the end of his statement turned the words into a question. An invitation. She would do well to break out a whetstone and sharpen her wit back to rapier precision. For even with her shield up, it was always best to be armed when it came to a man like Lord Dalton.

Chapter Three

Seth had nearly forgotten how beautiful Lady Violet was. She fixed him with her ice-blue gaze. Her eyes had always been lovely, pale blue like a winter sky, ringed in a darker, deeper blue set beneath her black, expressive brows. The effect was stunning, especially with her long, dark lashes.

Though he shouldn’t, he let his hope that she might be interested in seeing him more often hang for a moment between them. Surely he didn’t deserve the attention of a woman like Lady Violet Lavell. Not when she was so beautifully pure within and he was so horribly damaged.

She tilted her head and offered him a contemplative look as if studying him in a manner he rather liked. Earlier that day, he’d been irritated at Bennet for the hours of attention he’d given Seth upon his return from Waterloo. Now, however, Seth was grateful for his valet’s efforts.

‘Perhaps,’ she replied at last.

‘A bit coy for a wallflower, aren’t you?’

She flushed prettily. ‘Perhaps I’m full of surprises.’

It had doubtless been meant as innocent banter, seasoned with a dash of flirtation, but, good God, how it set his mind wondering. Every thought that flitted through his mind was entirely too wicked for the likes of a ballroom. ‘Indeed,’ he simply replied.

He considered her for a moment, really taking her in for the first time since seeing her. The blue silk of her gown was overlaid with a bit of gauzy thing that had ribbons sewn all over it. But that wasn’t truly what caught his interest—it was the hint of her body beneath, her voluptuous curves.

She’d always enticed him with that body, the one society forced her to try to hide beneath the high-waisted hideous gowns in fashion. Now, though, the lower-cut bodice of her ballgown cradled her generous breasts, full and sensual where the gentle, creamy swells teased him.

It took nearly every ounce of his control to keep from letting his gaze fall to her bosom.

‘How the devil are you not married?’ he asked aloud the question that he probably ought to have kept silent.

‘Not every woman wants to get married.’ She lifted her chin in a prideful manner, in a way that suggested she defended her position often. She always had been one to play up her false bravado. But then, didn’t they all?

That was one of the things he’d always liked about her, how very real she was. It made her instantly likeable and wonderfully relatable.

‘Of course every woman wants to get married or men’s lives wouldn’t be as difficult, attempting to thwart matches and debutantes.’

He shouldn’t be having this light-hearted conversation with her any more than he should allow himself to be swept away by her. Not when he had his family to care for and his demons to tame.

She gave a little laugh at that and he couldn’t stop the surge of victory swelling through him at the warm sound. She had a beautiful smile, her lips full and pink, her teeth white and straight. He’d fantasised about kissing her when they were acquainted as youths those years before the wars.

That was a lie, actually.

He’d fantasised about doing far more with her than just kissing.

The orchestra tinkled to life in preparation for a set.

‘Would you care to dance?’ he asked.

Her smile faltered. ‘Forgive me,’ she said in an apologetic tone, ‘but I don’t dance.’

He should take her rejection and walk away. But he remembered the young woman she’d been and how her eyes had always lit up when she danced.

‘Nonsense. Yes, you do.’ He waved aside her protest and offered her his hand. ‘I’ve danced with you several times in my life. You performed adequately with your feet moving in the appropriate steps and in perfect time with the music.’

Her brow lifted in a bemused expression. ‘How flattering.’

‘You were quite graceful as well,’ he offered. ‘As I recall.’