Page 47 of To Winter at Wildsyde

He gave her a respectful bow, his gaze holding hers, warm and openly full of admiration for her, before taking his leave. She watched him move back through the crowds, a fine, masculine figure any woman might be proud to call her own.

“You still have your pup on a lead, I see.”

Matilda stiffened, her heart immediately pounding in double time. Panic rose in her chest and with it, the need for escape. Before she could think about her actions, she walked away without turning. As he was behind her, she was not so very daring—or reckless—as to give the Marquess of Montagu the cut direct, but even if no one else knew she’d done it, he did.

Somehow, she made it to the other side of the ballroom, moving blindly through the crowds and snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter on the way. She took a large sip and almost choked on the bubbles, taking a slow, deep breath to steady her nerves. Just as she thought she might have them somewhat under control, she looked up, to see Montagu walking directly towards her. This time she could not pretend she had not seen him, and she was not foolish enough to try the same trick again.

He stopped in front of her and she dipped a negligent curtsey, not the kind a man of his station would expect. Montagu inclined his head, but said nothing, his gaze on her cool and considering.

“Running scared, Miss Hunt?”

Matilda’s jaw tightened. “Scared? Of you?” she gave a very unladylike snort and lifted her champagne glass, taking too large a swallow.

“No, not of me.” There was amusement in his voice and Matilda glared at him.

“Oh, I see,” she said, understanding dawning. “You believe I am afraid to be anywhere near you for fear I might be overcome with lust.” She gave him a tight smile. “Please, do not concern yourself on my account, my lord. I believe there is little risk of my tearing my clothes off and demanding you take me here on the dancefloor.”

“Little risk,” he repeated, nodding as though she had said something of great interest. “As I have no expectation of anyone else doing such a thing, you remain the most likely to favour me with such an enticing display.”

Matilda opened her mouth and closed it again. “That is not what I meant, and you know it. Stop being so pedantic.”

“But I am bewitched, Miss Hunt, remember? I cannot help but hang upon your every word.”

“Ah, so it appears I have two pups on a lead,” she said, smirking at him. “Though you are the only one following me around the ballroom.”

One blond eyebrow rose just a fraction, the silver-grey eyes beneath fixed upon her. The very idea of likening Montagu to a puppy was like comparing a day old kitten to a sabre-toothed tiger. She knew very well that he was not following her like a puppy, and that this slow, careful wearing down of her will was far more calculated and predatory. She’d be a fool not to be aware of it, or of the force of his intent, or of the fact he was right; she was afraid of her own perverse desire for him.

She had looked for him tonight. Despite the fury she’d felt at their last meeting, the anger he’d brought raging to the surface, she had looked for him, and been sorely disappointed to discover he was not there. She’d known the moment he’d arrived, had been as aware of his presence as she was of a sense of victory at him discovering her dancing with Mr Burton.

“I hope you have saved a dance for me.”

Matilda shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

Wordlessly, he reached for her dance card and, as she could hardly commence a tug of war with it, Matilda let it go.

“You seem to have saved several,” he remarked, lifting his eyes from the little book to hers.

“No,” she bit out, though she had the unnerving sensation in her gut she was not being totally honest with him, or herself. “I am simply not in the mood for dancing this evening.”

“Me either,” he said, and offered her his arm.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

That she’d spoken the words with a disgusted sneer seemed lost on him.

“Mr Burton is heading this way.”

His gaze was placid.

She peeked over his shoulder to see he was correct, and the dog with a bone glint was firmly back in Mr Burton’s eyes.

“Oh, damn you,” Matilda cursed, and snatched at his arm, allowing him to manoeuvre her effortlessly through the crowd.

It was not like it was when she tried to negotiate the room alone, that was for certain. The throngs of people simply melted away in front of him, leaving a clear path. She was so taken with the spectacle it took her a moment to remark on the fact they had left the ballroom.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, tugging at his arm and trying not to acknowledge a little thrill as she felt the hard muscle beneath the fine cloth.

“Just for a walk,” he replied, unperturbed. “Look, there are plenty of other couples escaping the noise and the crush. It’s quite respectable.”