The Husband List -2 by Victoria Alexander Page A

of art and would no doubt enjoy meeting the man. Still, some cautious voice inside her urged restraint.
    “A waiter?” He raised a brow.
    She took a long sip. “Um-hum.”
    “Odd. I hadn’t noticed any of the waiters going into the gardens.”
    “This one did,” she said brightly.
    “A stroke of luck then.” He drew a long swallow of his wine. “Interesting how Lady Forester has them all attired as dominoes. It’s impossible to tell one from another.”
    “I hadn’t noticed,” she murmured.
    “Indeed. Why, anyone could be hiding behind those masks.” He considered her for a moment. “A pauper. A prince.”
    “Perhaps.” She cast him a sharp look. He couldn’t possibly know. “But more than likely simply a servant.”
    “More than likely.” He shrugged in dismissal. “Would you care to dance?”
    Her heart raced at the thought of being in his arms. She forced a lighthearted note to her voice. “Why, my lord, a dance following our sojourn in the gardens? What will people say?”
    “A great deal, I suspect. Especially since I plan on more than one dance, and, furthermore, I firmly intend to occupy your attention for the remainder of the evening.”
    She studied him for a moment. “You realize that will be tantamount to declaring your intentions?”
    “I do.” He stared down at her and held out his hand. She drew a deep breath and placed hers in his.
    A moment later they entered the ballroom and crossed to the dance floor. She was acutely aware of the speculative stares that followed their progress. A waltz began, and he took her in his arms. Strong and hard and unyielding.
    He held her no closer than propriety dictated, yet she was engulfed by his presence, his warmth. His gaze locked on hers and all else faded away. They whirled across the floor, her steps in perfect harmony with his. As if they had danced together before. As if they had danced together always. As if they were one.
    She was aware of the music, aware of their movement, but dimly, as if in a dream. She existed only in the reality of his embrace, the intensity of his dark eyes. Her blood pulsed, her breath caught, and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. And she didn’t want to. There was nothing in her world save him and her, and she lost herself to the emotion sweeping through her. Desire? Need? Fear?
    Whatever was happening between her and this reformed rake was as foreign to her as a gentle stream was to a raging, flood-swollen river. It had been so very long since any man had made her feel anything, let alone filled her with conflicts and terror and... anticipation? At once frightening and delicious.
    She was scared of him, of herself, of the two of them together and what the future could hold. She’d admitted as much, accepted her fears and doubts. And in his arms, she realized acknowledging the truth wasn’t enough.
    Now, she had to face it.
    Chapter 7
    Richard’s horse gingerly picked his way up the gravel drive, in truth more rut than rock these days. Pristine lawns long gone to seed encroached on the edges of the lane as if to swallow it whole. Gardens that had welcomed visitors in years past now sported only weeds and the occasional blossom too stubborn to give way to neglect and the passage of time.
    In better days, an enterprising gardener in the employ of a far more prosperous Earl of Shelbrooke had laid out the grounds to draw the eye upward to the top of a slight rise and Shelbrooke Manor. The grand house had overlooked the countryside in the manner of a benevolent stone queen surveying her domain. Now, she was as run-down as her surroundings, an old lady weary of struggle with little more than pride keeping her upright.
    Richard clenched his jaw, anger firing his blood as it always did on this first sight of the manor. He remembered it from his childhood before he had left for school. Before his mother’s death. Before his father’s passion for drink and gaming had very nearly lost it all.
    As always, his fury