Only Enchanting by Mary Balogh Page A

and forget about her. Maybe that was part of the attraction, was it? That she had never put herself forward to attract his notice? Other women did—except the ones who knew him or knew of him, though even some of the latter still pursued him. For some women there was an irresistible fascination about a dangerous man, though his reputation exceeded reality these days. At least he hoped it did.
    “Thank you.”
    She got to her feet and took his arm, the mere tips of her fingers touching the inner side of his sleeve. She really was rather tall. Perhaps that was why he had enjoyed dancing with her. She smelled of soap. Not perfume. Nothing either strong or expensive. Just soap. It occurred to him almost as a surprise that he would very much like to bed her.
    He never thought of beds and ladies in the same context. And he had better banish the thought now. Which was a pity, for he would not even be able to indulge in a mild flirtation with her if there was any danger that it might lead to bed.
    They were very sensible thoughts he was having and in no way explained why, when they entered the great hall from the west wing, he did not turn with her toward the staircase up to the drawing room. Instead he took a candle and its holder from a table, lit the candle from one that was already burning in a wall sconce, nodded to a footman who was on duty there, and was admitted to the east wing of the house.
    Most surprising, perhaps, was the fact that Mrs. Keeping went with him without a murmur of protest.
    The east wing, equal in size and length to the west wing, consisted almost entirely of the state apartments. They had been ablaze with light and splendor for the harvest ball back in October. They were dark now and echoed hollowly with their footfalls. They were also rather chilly.
    And what the devil had brought him here?
    “One tends to s-sit for too long in the evenings,” he said.
    “And it is too early in the year to walk outside much after dinner,” she said.
    Ah, they were agreed, then, were they, that they were merely seeking a bit of exercise after sitting so long listening to music? How long had they sat? An hour? Less for him.
    “I must not stroll here for too long, however,” she added when he did not leap into the conversational gap. “Dora will believe I have abandoned her.”
    “I believe M-Miss Debbins is being showered with attention,” he told her. “And deservedly s-so. She will not miss a mere s-sister.”
    “But a mere sister may miss her ,” she said.
    “You think I have b-brought you here for d-dalliance?” he asked.
    “Have you?” Her voice was soft.
    No one admitted to playing a game of dalliance. Well, almost no one.
    “I have, Mrs. Keeping,” he admitted. “In the ballroom where I first set eyes upon you. I have c-come to w-waltz with you again. To kiss you—again.”
    She did not haul on his arm and demand to be returned to her sister’s side immediately if not sooner.
    “I suppose we may see as much of the ballroom as will be visible in the light of a single candle,” she said. “We can hardly waltz—there is no music.”
    “Ah,” he said, “we will have to settle for the kiss, then.”
    “However,” she said, speaking deliberately over his last words, “I can hold a tune tolerably well, even if no one in his right mind would think of inviting me to sing a solo before an audience.”
    He slanted a smile in her direction, but she was gazing straight ahead.
    The ballroom was vast and empty, and indeed the light of the single candle did not penetrate very far into its darkness. It was cold. It was about as unromantic a setting as he could possibly have chosen for seduction, if that indeed was what his intention had been in coming here.
    He set down the candleholder on an ornate table just inside the tall double doors.
    “Ma’am,” he said, making her an elegant leg and a flourishing bow, “may I have the pleasure?”
    She curtsied with deep grace and placed her fingertips on