“You are odiously provoking,” she gasped in a suffocated voice.
He caught her about the waist and swung her lightly down to her feet.
“You still like me—I can tell.”
Maryann hurriedly stepped back a few paces. Her hands were no longer quite steady as she smoothed the front of her gown. She remained where she was, carefully eyeing him, attempting to swallow down the impulse to retreat inside. It affected Maryann that he rattled her nerves so easily.
An awfully intense sensation twisted low in her stomach when he rested a strong, powerful arm about her waist, and stepped in a pocket of shadow.
“My lord—” she started to protest at the intimate way he held her body against his.
He lightly pinched her chin. “Shh.”
She was unequivocally flustered. And it was then she heard the footsteps above. The earl had come out onto the balcony. A quick peek upward revealed a dark shadow, the clear outline of a man, leaning against the iron railing and looking down. Reflexively she gripped the lapels of St. Ives’s jacket, her heart pounding.
Wariness rolled down her spine in a chilly wave. “Why is he so persistent?” she whispered. “I cannot understand it.”
“Sometimes racoons are highly coveted.”
Maryann glared at him, barely able to discern the flash of teeth in the darkness. With each inhalation, his masculine scent seemed to trap in her lungs. A strange, darting heat pooled low in her stomach, and to Maryann’s annoyance, she very much liked the feel of his body pressed against hers. They fit. The top of her head brushed against his chin, and she swore the man smelled her hair.
She made to lift up her head, and his hands tightened on her hips, arresting her movement. She slowly became aware that his heart was pounding, and she could feel its thud in the space between them. Uncertainty rippled through her at the provocative embrace…at the closeness…at the tripping of her heart…
At the butterflies in her stomach.
The heat of his body surrounded her. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “We are now one with the shadows; any sudden movement might give away our presence.”
A tremor traveled through her and vibrated against his chest. A lengthy, tension-filled silence stretched between them. A minute or two perhaps passed with no words between them, just a dizzying awareness of his closeness and how improper their entire encounter was.
“Is he still there?” she asked huskily.
“Hmm.”
“What is he doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you looking?”
“No.”
She let out an exasperated huff. “Why not?”
“I am too busy staring at you.”
The diabolical fiend. “If you are minded to be wicked, I implore you to try your wiles on someone else.” The marquess was notorious for his womanizing exploits, and she was not about to become one of his amusements. It even astonished her that she would be, not when he had so many eager girls for his salacious attentions.
He smiled, and suddenly it was unbearably tempting to press her mouth to his. Annoyed with herself for having the desire, Maryann twisted and glanced up. “You fiend! Lord Stamford is no longer there!”
Before Lord Rothbury could reply, she balled her fist and punched him in the gut. It was as if she’d slapped a rock, and it was her hand that throbbed. With a huff, she sidestepped him with the intent to rush back inside before she was discovered.
Gentle hands clasped her waist, lifted her, and placed her back in the pocket of the shadows. Maryann was so astonished at his audacity, she spluttered.
“Sheathe your claws, little racoon; your hair is a mess, and you have twigs and leaves all over your clothes.”
Oh! A warm, melting sensation flowed through her. “Thank you.”
“Hmm.”
He unerringly found the few twigs and removed them in silence. His gloved finger brushed her nape and that warm feeling muted to pure heat. She did not understand her reaction to the man, and she wondered if he felt anything at all.
A lone finger caressed her spine up to the exposed part of her neck. When had he taken off his gloves?
“You have the most delightful skin. So unbelievably soft.”
“I gather this is a marriage proposal, since you want the privilege to touch what is not yours?” she asked with some amusement, unable to be annoyed with his impertinence, not when he made her heart race in such a recklessly curious way. There was an inexplicable part of her unbearably tempted by the marquess.
He made a rough choking sound.
“A feverish aversion to matrimony, I see,” she said lightly. “Yet here we are, alone and enshrouded in darkness.”
“Mothers do warn their daughters from slipping away with me to dark corners, a message that seemed to miss you.”
When she stiffened, he chuckled.
“And in the same breath, they tirelessly plot how to trap you into marriage,” she drawled. “I cannot fathom what is the charm.”
“It seems the title and my wealth are enough to overlook the dastardliness.”
A curious hunger rushed through her. “It is rumored ladies fall into your bed with just a smile from you, and you’ve left countless broken hearts behind.”
“It is a lovely smile,” he said drolly. “Very hard to resist.”
“Oh, it is more than lovely. Beautiful I would say, devilishly unfair.”
A hitch in his breath sounded, and it gladdened her that she had rattled a man so self-assured.
“I’ve never had a lady flatter my vanity so shamelessly,” he murmured.
Maryann snorted indelicately. “I am not one of those women silly enough to fall rapturously in love with you because you bared your teeth.”
“You exaggerate my abilities.”
Laughter and something unfathomably dark lurked in his tone. A warning that she played in a league she did not belong in slithered down her spine. “I was more in despair of those ladies’ mettle.”
Provocative silence fell between them, and Maryann peered up in the dark, trying to discern his expression.
“Did Stamford cancel the marriage offer?” he asked abruptly.
There was an undecipherable emotion in his voice.
“No.”
“It has been several days since you started the rumors.”
“Perhaps he only heard them tonight and chased me to offer his reprimand,” she replied lightly, though she felt uncertain about the earl’s reasoning.