Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel by Lorraine Heath Page B

possessed such confidence. He might have been disgusted by his origins, but tonight they were nowhere to be seen. Standing before her was a man who’d risen from the gutter, and nothing on earth would ever send him back to the filth. And judging by the heat smoldering in his beautiful green eyes, he wanted her desperately. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him in equal measure.
    “Oh, I say, you look lovely,” Mrs. Potter said, breaking the spell. She felt the heat creep along her cheeks, but her eyes never left him. “Thank you.”
    “I have something for you,” he rasped, his voice husky, the way she imagined a man who’d only just awakened from a night of passionate lovemaking might sound. He extended a velvet box toward her.
    Without even opening it, she said, “Oh, I can’t accept something like that.”
    “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
    “It looks to be jewelry. It would be improper.”
    “It’s not for you to keep, only for you to borrow.”
    “Is it from the Duchess of Greystone?”
    His mouth curled up into a teasing smile. “It can be if it’ll make it easier for you to open.”
    Laughter almost erupted from her, because she could tell that he thought she was being silly. What did it matter who it came from? Only it did. Especially if it came from him, if it was his thoughtfulness. Her hand was trembling as she took the box, opened the lid, and stared at the beautiful string of pearls.
    “I thought it possible that you might not have jewelry to wear tonight,” he said quietly.
    “I can’t accept this,” she repeated.
    “As I said, it’s only a loan. A lady shouldn’t attend a ball without her pearls, should she, Mrs. Potter?”
    “I daresay she should not.” Her landlady stepped forward and smiled kindly. “It’s a special night, Miss Watkins. I can see no harm in it.”
    Before she’d even agreed, James was taking the necklace from the box. His hands were bare, no doubt so his fingers could better control the clasp. His warm flesh brushed along her sensitive neck, causing heated desire to pool throughout her. She thought if she were a candle, she’d most assuredly melt into a molten pool of wax.
    He withdrew his hands and said, “Just as I thought. They’re as perfect as you are.”
    Sidestepping around him, she went to the mirror in the entryway. They were perfect, resting just above the hollow at her throat. She had this absurd need to weep. “I feel like a princess.”
    “Perhaps you are.”
    “I never pictured you as the fanciful sort, Mr. Swindler. I hardly know what to say for so precious a gift, even if it will only be mine for a few hours.”
    Suddenly, without making a sound, he was standing behind her, locking his gaze with hers in the mirror. “Reserve a dance for me.”
    “You may have them all.”
    “That, sweetheart, would create a scandal.”
    An emotion flickered over his face too quickly for her to accurately read it, but if she had to guess, it seemed something about his words bothered him, and she wondered if it was the endearment, if it had slipped out with his giving it no thought, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.
    “We should be off,” he said, as though he’d decided he needed to put distance between them.
    “Enjoy yourself, Miss Watkins,” Mrs. Potter said. “And Mr. Swindler, tell your sister that next time she simply must come in as well.”
    As he ushered her through the door, he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Potter, I will. As I said, she’s a bit shy.”
    Once they were outside, she said, “I didn’t realize you had a sister.”
    “I don’t. But neither did I want Mrs. Potter to think you were traveling in the carriage without a chaperone.”
    “What will you tell people at the ball?”
    “I don’t think anyone will ask. Frannie is taking you under her wing, and she’s married to one of the most powerful lords in Great Britain. You could walk in wearing not a stitch of clothing and they’d all compliment you on