diversion. Max was used to glamorous high flyers and only flirted with her out of mischief, or out of habit, or possibly because Fanny asked him to do so. In any case, it meant nothing. Rosie was quite certain, however, she could entice one of the other gentlemen into kissing her. Lord Radcliffe, perhaps?
"Such as?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You were woolgathering, minx. I asked what sort of items on your list will get checked off tonight?"
"Oh. Well, besides this waltz—you were correct, it is on my list—I have engaged in a flirtation with a full-fledged rake. Lord Overton."
She had, of course, checked off that item some time ago, but she would not give Max the pleasure of knowing he had helped her do so.
His brows rose in surprise. "And what am I, pray tell?"
"Practically family."
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "You delight in throwing those words back at me, do you not? I'll have you know I can flirt circles around Overton."
"Oh? Show me."
"Well, now you have put me on the spot, minx."
"Show me."
"All right, then. I suppose Overton filled your head with compliments? Give me an example, if you please."
"He said I looked beautiful in red."
"Just like that? 'You look beautiful in red?'"
"I believe that was how he said it."
"Amateur. The man has no finesse."
"Are you saying I do not look beautiful in red?"
"Quite the contrary, my minx. But if I were going to seriously flirt with you, I would tell you how the crimson of your gown merely reflects the vitality of your spirit, a vitality that burns like a blazing fire to singe a man's soul."
"Oh."
"But I would not stop there." His voice dropped to a husky whisper so low Rosie had to lean closer to catch every word. "I would tell you how the soft red silk enhances the natural flush of your perfectly sculpted cheeks—cheeks softer even than the silk, petal-soft, beckoning one to touch, to stroke, to caress. And how the fiery color echoes the tantalizing hints of auburn caught by the candlelight in your glorious hair—thick, luxurious hair such as a man craves to run his fingers through. And how the deep red hue is reminiscent of the damask rose, though its fragrance is no match for the intoxicating scent of you, a scent that takes a man's breath away and makes him want to bury his face against your long white neck and breathe deeply of it. And how the rich color emulates the sweet tint of your lips—full, lush, sensual lips ripe for a man to kiss, very gently, very softly, tasting, exploring, savoring, and finally devouring with the full force of his desire. Yes, you look very beautiful in red, minx."
"Oh, my." The room had suddenly grown quite warm.
* * *
"Do they not make a splendid couple, Jonathan?"
"They make a splendid scandal," he replied. "Only see how that devil is holding her too close. By Jove, it looks as if he means to kiss her, right here in public. And look how everyone is tittering and gaping. You ought to have known what would happen, Fanny. Rosalind's reputation will be in tatters. Doors will close in her face. She will endure cut after cut."
"Then it is well I am here to guide her," Fanny said, "for I know a thing or two about being cut. Besides, darling, the girl is irrepressible. Do you think I can stop her from doing anything she pleases?"
"Possibly not. It seems a shame, though. I like her, Fanny."
"So do I." Fanny smiled wistfully. "She so much reminds me of myself when I was young."
She watched her niece, as did everyone else in the room, gazing dreamily up at Max while he pulled her slightly closer. From the look in Rosalind's eyes, Max must be using all his considerable wiles upon her, filling her head with outrageous flattery and sweet lies. And barely a breath away from kissing her. Incorrigible boy!
Would it not be lovely, she thought, if Rosalind and Max became lovers? Just like Fanny and Basil Davenant so many years before. If her niece found half the pleasure with Max
"Such as?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You were woolgathering, minx. I asked what sort of items on your list will get checked off tonight?"
"Oh. Well, besides this waltz—you were correct, it is on my list—I have engaged in a flirtation with a full-fledged rake. Lord Overton."
She had, of course, checked off that item some time ago, but she would not give Max the pleasure of knowing he had helped her do so.
His brows rose in surprise. "And what am I, pray tell?"
"Practically family."
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "You delight in throwing those words back at me, do you not? I'll have you know I can flirt circles around Overton."
"Oh? Show me."
"Well, now you have put me on the spot, minx."
"Show me."
"All right, then. I suppose Overton filled your head with compliments? Give me an example, if you please."
"He said I looked beautiful in red."
"Just like that? 'You look beautiful in red?'"
"I believe that was how he said it."
"Amateur. The man has no finesse."
"Are you saying I do not look beautiful in red?"
"Quite the contrary, my minx. But if I were going to seriously flirt with you, I would tell you how the crimson of your gown merely reflects the vitality of your spirit, a vitality that burns like a blazing fire to singe a man's soul."
"Oh."
"But I would not stop there." His voice dropped to a husky whisper so low Rosie had to lean closer to catch every word. "I would tell you how the soft red silk enhances the natural flush of your perfectly sculpted cheeks—cheeks softer even than the silk, petal-soft, beckoning one to touch, to stroke, to caress. And how the fiery color echoes the tantalizing hints of auburn caught by the candlelight in your glorious hair—thick, luxurious hair such as a man craves to run his fingers through. And how the deep red hue is reminiscent of the damask rose, though its fragrance is no match for the intoxicating scent of you, a scent that takes a man's breath away and makes him want to bury his face against your long white neck and breathe deeply of it. And how the rich color emulates the sweet tint of your lips—full, lush, sensual lips ripe for a man to kiss, very gently, very softly, tasting, exploring, savoring, and finally devouring with the full force of his desire. Yes, you look very beautiful in red, minx."
"Oh, my." The room had suddenly grown quite warm.
* * *
"Do they not make a splendid couple, Jonathan?"
"They make a splendid scandal," he replied. "Only see how that devil is holding her too close. By Jove, it looks as if he means to kiss her, right here in public. And look how everyone is tittering and gaping. You ought to have known what would happen, Fanny. Rosalind's reputation will be in tatters. Doors will close in her face. She will endure cut after cut."
"Then it is well I am here to guide her," Fanny said, "for I know a thing or two about being cut. Besides, darling, the girl is irrepressible. Do you think I can stop her from doing anything she pleases?"
"Possibly not. It seems a shame, though. I like her, Fanny."
"So do I." Fanny smiled wistfully. "She so much reminds me of myself when I was young."
She watched her niece, as did everyone else in the room, gazing dreamily up at Max while he pulled her slightly closer. From the look in Rosalind's eyes, Max must be using all his considerable wiles upon her, filling her head with outrageous flattery and sweet lies. And barely a breath away from kissing her. Incorrigible boy!
Would it not be lovely, she thought, if Rosalind and Max became lovers? Just like Fanny and Basil Davenant so many years before. If her niece found half the pleasure with Max
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