Until You by Jennifer McNare Page A

Viscount Huxley finally led her off the dance floor to where Madeline was seated in one of the many chairs set against the north wall, with several of her closest friends in attendance.  Ashleigh's toes were throbbing from being repeatedly trod upon by the young viscount's ungainly feet and she was tired of feigning laughter at his rather inept attempts at humor.  She knew she was not being entirely fair to the eager young lord, but it seemed that he, like the vast majority of gentlemen she had met that evening, came up sorely lacking when compared to Nicholas Leighton.
    Just as she was about to lower herself into one of the vacant chairs near the duchess, she felt her elbow grasped from behind.  Turning in surprise, a look of ill-disguised annoyance stamped clearly upon her features, Ashleigh was startled to see the man who had been standing in the alcove with Nicholas just moments before.
    “I believe this waltz is mine, Lady St. John,” he proclaimed smoothly.
    Before Ashleigh could utter a protest, she was led once again into the midst of swirling dancers.  “I do not recall promising you this dance, My Lord,” Ashleigh said, as they began to move in time to the music. 
    “You didn't.”
    A disarming smile accompanied his blunt statement and Ashleigh was sorely tempted to smile in return, then she noticed how his gaze strayed from her face to the exposed flesh of her bosom, where it lingered for just a moment too long.  She wasn't sure whether she should be insulted, flattered, or amused when he looked back up, met her knowing gaze, and then gave her an audacious wink.  As she studied the handsome face mere inches above her own, she realized that he was quite attractive.  His hair was light-brown and held the hint of a curl and his eyes were an arresting shade of grey, eyes that at present seemed almost devouring in their intensity.  Ashleigh knew without a doubt that she was being held in the arms of an unabashed rogue.
    Instantly the image of Milton's lustful, self-indulgent fallen angel came to mind and Ashleigh could not resist pricking the man’s arrogant, self-assured persona.  “If I didn't know any better, I might begin to think that I was being held in the arms of Belial himself, incarnated in human form.”  Her voice held the slightest degree of censure, and her eyebrows were raised as if she were seriously pondering the likelihood of such an implausible occurrence.
    “Belial eh?  An interesting theory, Lady St. John, however, most of my friends call me Alex,” he said, with a teasing grin.
    She laughed, unable to resist his playful tone and delightfully charming smile.  He was the first man all evening, aside from the duke of course, who had even come close to capturing her interest.
    “Lady St. John, may I be so bold as to say that you have by far, the most enchanting laugh I have ever heard?”
    “Why of course, My Lord, if I may be so bold as to say that you are by far the most charming rogue I have ever danced with.”  He moved with the easy grace of one who had danced a thousand times, and had not once trod upon her tender toes.
    Alex was about to reply when he was tapped none too lightly upon his left shoulder.  He stopped, turning to see Nicholas standing directly behind him, a scowl darkening his taut features. 
    “I think you have monopolized enough of Lady St. John's time.  The remainder of this dance is mine.”  Without giving either of them a chance to respond, Nicholas pulled Ashleigh into his arms and then swept her into the dance, leaving Alex to walk jauntily off the floor with a wide, knowing grin plastered across his face, and several nearby couples staring at him with their mouths hanging open in shock.  He barely noticed.  He had been watching them from across the room, his temper rising steadily, until he had no longer been able to stand the sight of Ashleigh held in Alex’s arms.  Like him, Alex was handsome, wealthy and titled, and had never had the