Sarani opened her mouth and shut it, incredulity filling her gaze. “You…you…”
“Yes, yes, I’m unspeakable. Saying it more won’t make it any less true. Stop stalling. What do you choose as your prize?”
“It is truly a wonder that you aren’t married with all that conceit.”
He winked and leaned in. “You adore me.”
She shook her head in wary disbelief as though he’d transformed into a stranger before her eyes. Rhystan supposed he had. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages. Not since…well, five years ago.
Sarani narrowed her eyes at him. “Somehow I do not remember you being this vexing.”
“In my defense, I was trying to impress you back then.”
“And now?”
“Now I intend to trounce you soundly.” He pasted on a determined expression. “I’ll have you know, I take my kisses very seriously.”
She rolled her plump lips between her teeth as though not to smile and studied him, resolve firming her jaw before she nodded. “If I win, you’ll escort Ravenna to the next three balls of her choosing, including the one at Lady Windmere’s.”
Lady Windmere? He blinked, his brain cataloging the endless procession of eligible ladies who had been thrust upon him in the past week. A voice like razors on glass came to him, followed by roving hands better suited to a flash thief in St. Giles than a lady in Mayfair. The Duchess of Windmere was none other than the mother of Lady Penelope. The girl was tenacious and bold in an entirely unattractive way. How his own mother thought he would ever be inclined to marry a chit like that was beyond him. It was nearly enough to drain the lust from him.
He almost groaned and peered at Sarani, but her face gave nothing away. “That’s three things. Do I get three kisses?”
“Stop stalling,” she mocked. “Deal or no deal, Your Grace?” One slim, ebony brow arched, her horse prancing beneath her as amusement flashed in those autumn-colored eyes. God, she was beautiful. He wanted to lean over and claim that tart tongue right then.
Good thing he had no intention of losing. “Deal.”
Seventeen
The Duke of Embry seemed to be going a bit green in the gills. Sarani grinned. He looked like he’d eaten a bowlful of crow and was going to cast his accounts all over the ballroom. But the greenish tinge to his features was worth the look on his sister’s face when they’d been announced together by the majordomo at the entrance to the Duchess of Windmere’s midseason ball.
Lady Ravenna Huntley, accompanied by His Grace, the Duke of Embry.
Etiquette dictated that the duke be announced first, but Rhystan must have instructed the majordomo otherwise. Sarani had to admit it was a nice touch. Every eye in the room had turned to them, and even the grim dowager duchess—whom Sarani had arrived with earlier and, by some miracle, had not throttled in the carriage—had cracked a proud smile. Ravenna had not had her own coming-out ball after her presentation at court, given her brother’s absence, and this was the next best thing: a public presentation at the most popular ball of the season.
As Sarani had hoped, within moments, every single dance on Ravenna’s dance card had been claimed. Every bachelor in attendance longed for a connection, even through marriage, with the wealthy, elusive, and powerful Duke of Embry. As Sarani had also expected but wasn’t sure she liked, the duke had not been able to escape the clutches of Lady Penelope all evening.
The girl was relentless. Though she had ignored Sarani after that first soiree, deeming her of no consequence, once word of their engagement got out, Sarani knew things would take a turn for the worse. She recognized the type—the entitled girl who felt everything was her due. Including men.
Watching Rhystan surrounded by twittering debutantes, Sarani attempted to hide her grin behind her fan. She’d beaten him soundly in the horse race down Rotten Row, despite the challenges he’d enumerated, the least of which had been her scorching desire to be kissed. What an arrogant rotter! The thought of it still heated her insides to mortifying levels.
Because she had wanted it. She’d wanted him to kiss her. Hard. Deep. Soundly.
She’d wanted so much more than a kiss.
The way he’d looked at her when he’d teased of going to his knees… Intimate, wicked visions of him doing exactly that had crowded her brain. Even now, her body tingled with desire, her nipples pebbling beneath her bodice at the mere thought of being seduced by such a fit, virile man. She’d had such scandalous thoughts before, of course, but years ago, when her chaste fantasies had been those of a young girl.
Now, they were much less chaste.
Memories of Rhystan lying half-naked on his cot when she’d first climbed aboard his ship burst into life in her head. They were quickly followed by flashes of him in his copper tub—large, wet, and glistening—and then him on his knees before her again… She lifted her fan, employing it briskly to ward off the sudden flare of heat. Oh, her thoughts were ungovernable!
Air, she needed air.
Hurrying toward the balcony along the border of the ballroom, Sarani slipped outside to the less-crowded terrace. The change in location didn’t make her imaginings any less filthy, but the cool evening breeze helped.
She needed to stop thinking about him.
It wasn’t as though she intended to have any husbandly prospects after she and the duke went their separate ways, and Sarani still had an assassin to contend with, though as the days went by, she was less and less sure that they had been followed on the high seas. Perhaps it had been a coincidence. Perhaps Vikram had given up and let her go.
“Pardon the intrusion, my lady,” a quiet male voice said, a glass of champagne appearing before her. It was attached to a man she did not immediately recognize, though he was well heeled and undoubtedly titled. One had to have been invited to this particular ball.
Sarani was desperately parched, but she knew better than to accept drinks from strangers, even at exclusive parties, and he was breaching decorum in the worst way by approaching her without an introduction. She shot him a pointed look. “We have not been introduced, sir.”
He gave a slow nod. “Forgive my trespass, then. I’m quite new to town, you see. New to all this, really. We rarely come to London for the season as my wife prefers the country.”
Sarani stared at him, at a loss for words. “Is there something I can help you with, Lord…”
“Beckforth.”
Heart in her throat, she turned to stare at him more fully, but nothing registered beyond the fact that he was about a decade older than she was and had a stern if handsome face.
He bowed. “The Earl of Beckforth at your service, my lady.”