Page 31 of A Perilous Passion

Unbidden, her mind strayed back to the sensual dream she’d had—except, this time, instead of Justin it was Rafe pressing his naked body against hers.

The music had to end soon. His touch was exquisite torture.

“Come outside with me afterward,” he whispered.

“I cannot.”

“Are you afraid of me?” The dark eyes behind the mask glittered at her.

“Not at all. My only fear is for my reputation. I have it on good authority that you’re a rake.”

“Not anymore. And don’t forget you already risked your reputation with that ill-advised elopement.”

“That was a mistake. For which I’ve been duly punished.”

“So you will never sin again?”

The way he said “sin” made her quiver with yearning. “I did not sin! Not the way you mean it.”

“How do I mean it?” he asked softly. “Surely, you’re too innocent to know.”

Frustration—of more than one kind—boiled up in her. The temptation to dig her fingernails into that powerfully masculine shoulder until he yelped was hard to resist. As was the urge to run her hands over the flesh exposed by his Greek tunic. His feet and ankles were bare. Heavens. Was he wearing anything under that tunic?

A lump of anticipation lodged in her throat, and she had to cough several times before she was able to say, “The dance is ending now, so make your bow and let us part.”

“Will you come outside?”

“No.”

“Later, then, in your garden. I’ll wait for you by the laurel bushes.”

He was not a man who gave up easily. But what exactly did he want with her?

“I shan’t come,” she assured him.

“If you don’t,” he said, releasing her slowly, “you’ll never know the answer to your question.”

What question? He couldn’t read her mind, could he?

Before she could collect her scattered thoughts, he bowed to her, strode off through the crowd, and was quickly lost from view.

She wafted back toward her friends, barely aware of where she was going. A few moments later, she found herself in a seat—with no particular memory of having sat down—not only fanning herself vigorously, but being fanned by others.

“Oh my goodness, who was that gentleman?” asked Thea. “Did he speak to you? What did he say?”

“Charlotte, are you in need of the salts?” inquired Hester.

“Or a sip of nostrum?” Aunt Flora suggested helpfully.

Thank heaven Mama was out of the room—she’d have read the situation in the blink of an eye. She still might, if Charlotte didn’t make a gargantuan effort to pull herself together.

“No, thank you,” she said. “Please don’t fret about me. I’m a little discomfited by the crush, but I’ll be fine directly.”

“Had you better sit out the next few dances?” Aunt Flora asked.

“Well, maybe a couple.”

“But don’t renege on our host,” Hester advised. “It would be frightfully rude.”