Page 30 of A Story of Love

Fast felt rather than saw Bevil’s jolt of surprise at her bold words.

“Are you asking me to dance, Miss Fontenot? I don’t recall that ever happening before.”

Rather than slink away in shame as a ton miss would do, she boldly met his gaze. “I daresay manners have changed a great deal since you were a young man.”

Fast laughed. “Well done, Miss Fontenot.”

She grinned. “So? Will you waltz with me, my lord? Or is your dance card full up?”

Chapter 8

“I am sorry if I shocked your friend Moreland,” Lori said as she and Lord Severn glided around the ballroom as gracefully as a pair of swans. For all his great size, the viscount was a remarkably elegant dancer.

“Don’t lie, Miss Fontenot; you are not in the least sorry.”

Lori laughed. “No, you are right: I’m not. He’s rather full of himself, isn’t he?”

Severn’s striking eyes glinted with surprise—and something else… Interest?

“You have the loveliest eyes,” she blurted. What in the world was wrong with her? Those weren’t the words she’d been planning to say.

He raised his eyebrows. “Miss Fontenot, are you trying to put me to the blush?”

“I doubt that could be done.” But she was doing an excellent job making herself blush.

“If there is a woman alive who could do it, I’m guessing you are she.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“Unfortunately, I suspect it wasn’t my lovely eyes that you wanted to talk about,” he said, thankfully moving the subject onto something less mortifying.

“No, you are right. I’d like to talk about the Sea Ranger mutiny.” If Lori had not been staring fixedly into his magnificent eyes at that precise moment, she never would have seen them shutter. Otherwise, his expression didn’t so much as flicker. He was very, very good at concealing his thoughts.

“I wasn’t in the country at the time so I daresay you know a great deal more than I do.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Your doubt does not make it any less true.” He smoothly spun her into turn, startling a laugh of delight out of her. Yet again she blurted words she’d had no intention of speaking. “You are very good, my lord!”

He smiled faintly but made no response.

They danced in silence for a few moments, his steps as smooth as silk, his massive body throwing off heat like a forge. Lori hastily pushed aside thoughts of his body, or at least made the attempt, but he was far too close and real at that moment.

Nothing could have been more unfortunate than Lori’s reaction—both her body and her mind—to Lord Severn whenever she was near him. In theory, he represented everything she despised about wealthy men. In reality, the odd sense of recognition—she had no other word for it—from the moment she’d first set eyes on him he had unnerved her and continued to do so. She told herself, over and over, that was why rakes were rakes: they cast an irresistible lure over women without even trying to do so. That was their evil genius. That meant Severn, the King of the Rakes, broadcast an almost crippling appeal. The thing of it was, Lori honestly doubted that he ever considered his effect on the female race. Like storms, droughts, and plagues, he just was.

Regardless of knowing all this about him, she could not help wanting to be near him.

“Ninnyhammer,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lori’s eyes leapt up to meet his. “Er, nothing.” She was scrambling for some topic of conversation when her gaze was caught by the Earl of Moreland. He was standing with some other men who were chattering, but his eyes were fixed on them. Or, more specifically, Lord Severn.

“You’ve known Moreland a long time?” she asked.

His coal black eyebrows lifted enquiringly. “What makes you say that?”

“There is just something about people who’ve had a long acquaintance that shows in the way their bodies move. A sort of silent language.”