To Seduce a Scoundrel by Darcy Burke Page A

evening,” Olivia said with a bright smile. Though she’d been raised by one of London’s most notorious courtesans, Saxton’s bride was the epitome of charm and grace. Saxton didn’t deserve her, but then scoundrels like them rarely did.
    Philippa paused, her hand curled annoyingly around the arm of that moon-faced boy. “Lady Saxton, what a pleasure to see you. May I present Lord von Egmont from Amsterdam?”
    The boy bowed and lightly took Olivia’s hand. Ambrose dared to look at Philippa and was surprised—pleasantly so—to find her studying him with her delicious ale-colored gaze. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
    Olivia turned her head and gestured for her husband and Ambrose to step forward. “Saxton, meet Lord von Egmont.” The two men nodded in greeting. “And this is our dear friend, Lord Sevrin.” Olivia turned to Philippa with just the right amount of innocent curiosity. “Lady Philippa, have you met Lord Sevrin?”
    Philippa’s gaze widened just slightly, but probably only Ambrose caught it. “I have not.” She dipped into a curtsey and lowered her gaze. The submissive gesture stoked a primal, lustful, thoroughly inappropriate reaction. Ambrose shifted his weight and prayed for a cool breeze from the open doors, which were much too far away.
    He forced himself to take her hand though he knew touching her was bound to increase his discomfort. He was not mistaken. Though their hands were gloved, the spark that leapt between them was both palpable and disconcerting. Her gaze came up too quickly, and her lips parted in response.
    Hell, hell, hell . He said the next stupid thing that came to mind. “May I claim this dance?”
    Of all the foolish, disastrous, wrong-headed things to do. But he couldn’t take it back now. He could only pray they wouldn’t become the most talked about thing in the ballroom. Though he suspected he had a better chance of obtaining eternal salvation, which was to say nil.
    If Philippa registered any of the shock he felt at his outrageous question, she didn’t show it. “Yes, you may.”
    She withdrew her arm from the boy with a smile. “Thank you for the dance.” A warm, genuine smile that made Ambrose perversely jealous. Which was absurd since he didn’t want such affection from a woman.
    The boy nodded at her. “My pleasure.”
    Ambrose resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Surely Philippa could do better than that green lad. More absurdity. He shouldn’t care who Philippa danced with and resolved at that moment not to.
    After the boy left, Ambrose presented his arm as the music started. He shot a glance at Saxton whose gaze held a smidgeon of glower. Just the right amount to remind Ambrose of his place—far beneath that of his dance partner.
    He swept her onto the dance floor, ignoring the enticing heat that radiated from her palm clutching his sleeve. “A minuet? I hope I can recall the steps.” It was the sort of self-deprecating comment he made without thinking, but he actually nursed a touch of anxiety. He hadn’t danced in years. Five, to be precise.
    Philippa’s brow creased. “Lady Dunwoody always includes a minuet—it’s her favorite dance. Would you prefer to leave the dance floor?”
    “Not at all. I shan’t embarrass you.” He winked at her to let her know he was jesting, but by the twinkle in her eye, she already knew. How could she know him after just one—albeit long—night?
    She looked at him closely. “Are you wearing cosmetics?” Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Yes, you’re wearing face powder. To cover the remains of your bruises. Were you terribly hurt?” She raised her hand as if she meant to touch his face then dropped it quickly as she realized she couldn’t. Not here. And the fact that he wanted her to made her the most dangerous woman of his acquaintance.
    His mouth curved up. “Your ability to see right through my façade is more than a bit unnerving.” In so many ways.
    As they moved into position, she