"Is that a yes or a no?"
She was feeling rather aggravated by his blatant cheekiness. "No to everything."
"Delighted to hear it."
Not quite sure what had just happened, she somehow managed to make light conversation for the rest of the dance, and when it ended, they stepped apart and he offered her an arm to escort her off the floor.
As the crowd cleared in front of them, dispersing in all directions, Rebecca spotted her aunt in the very place she had left her, but she was not alone. Beside her, watching attentively from the edge of the ballroom, was Lord Hawthorne.
His strength and power seemed to fill the room-and to fill Rebecca simultaneously with the exhilarating notion that he had been watching her. Her intuition told her he'd been making sure his presumptuous younger brother was not overstepping those battle lines-whatever and wherever they might be.
Lord Vincent halted, forcing Rebecca to halt as well. She glanced up at him. His face had gone pale. He did not seem quite so confident now. He appeared rather shaken in fact.
Lord Hawthorne on the other hand, stood with one hand behind his back, the other at his side, his eyes beneath the black mask fixed upon Rebecca. It felt as if they were the only two people in the room.
She and Lord Vincent started off again.
"Lady Rebecca," Hawthorne said when they reached him, and though he did not say it out loud, there was a question in his eyes. Is everything satisfactory?
She had never spoken to anyone without words before, but believed she succeeded in assuring him that all was well.
He bowed to her, then directed his gaze at his brother. "Vincent, it is good to see you."
"And you."
A long, uncomfortable silence weighed heavily upon them. Rebecca glanced at her aunt who watched the exchange with some dismay.
Lord Hawthorne asked, "How is London these days?"
"It is the same as it was before you left," Vincent replied. "Only wetter."
The brothers continued to stare heatedly at each other, until Lord Hawthorne turned to Rebecca and her aunt. "Pardon me, ladies, but if I recall, I promised you both a guided tour of the dessert table, did I not? Shall we see what delectable treats await us?"
The tension in the air drained away with the pleasant tone of his voice, and Rebecca let out a deep breath.
"That would be lovely," Aunt Grace said, accepting the arm he offered with a flirtatious smile of her own. It appeared Aunt Grace was not immune to Lord Hawthorne's charms, either.
Rebecca took his other arm and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder at Lord Vincent, when she could feel the heat of his scorching gaze upon their backs.
They left the ballroom and reached the dessert table, which was adorned in lace and covered with gleaming silver platters covered in cream cakes and sugared fruit in every color of the rainbow.
Rebecca wandered around the table, eyeing everything before she removed her gloves and tasted a raspberry bonbon, then a chocolate tart with whipped cream on top. She was licking the cream off the tip of her baby finger when she noticed Lord Hawthorne was not enjoying any of the sweets. He was merely watching her with heavy lidded eyes from the opposite side of the table.
She felt a quivering thrill in the pit of her belly and stopped what she was doing, for she knew these moments at the dessert table were pivotal. Her instincts were telling her to do something in order to capture and hold his attention. She had to tempt him, beguile him, perhaps even seduce him, but for the life of her, she had no idea how to do it.
He turned to converse with her aunt. A moment later, Aunt Grace left to go and speak with an acquaintance who was sipping champagne on the other side of the dessert room.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow at him, encouraging his approach. Virile and striking in his black costume, he came around the table to stand before her.
"So you met my brother," he said matter-of-factly.
A footman appeared beside them with a tray of champagne, and they each helped themselves to a glass. Rebecca took a sip. "Yes, my lord, and he is very different from you."
"In what way?"
She pondered the question, not quite sure how to articulate what she meant. "You make people feel safe. He has quite the opposite effect."
Lord Hawthorne's pale blue eyes became expressionless as stone, then he bent forward slightly and spoke with a hush that sent a shiver of awareness through her. "What makes you think you are safe with me?"
Her body trembled, and she marveled at the peculiar panic he evoked in her. Then he turned and casually strolled around the dessert table, looking at everything but sampling nothing. Rebecca followed him and tasted a lemon jelly candy, then a sweet red grape.
When he came around again, having circled the table, he faced her, hands clasped behind his back. He couldn't have looked more relaxed if he were basking in the sun.
"So tell me," he said, "what did you and my brother speak about?"
"He asked if I was betrothed."
"Did he, indeed? And what was your reply?"
"That I am not, of course." She paused, watching his reaction, then continued. "He also asked if I was in love."
Lord Hawthorne shook his head with disapproval. "Tsk, tsk, Vincent. Such bold questions. And what was your reply to that?"
"No again. But the night is still young."
She wasn't quite sure where that clever but risky response had come from. She could only credit it to her provocative reading of late.
His smiling eyes glanced down at her body. "Did you enjoy dancing with him?"
"He is an excellent dancer."
"That's not what I asked."
She recognized a fire in his eyes-was it jealousy? — and decided not to answer the question. She simply took another sip of champagne and strolled to the other side of the table.
"Is that why you were waiting for me after I danced with him?" she asked. "And why you escorted me here to the dessert table? To protect me from your brother, the alleged scoundrel?"
"Yes."
Her view of him was briefly obstructed by the tower of lemon cakes. She tilted her head to the side. "It seems you are always coming to my rescue, Lord Hawthorne. First a runaway coach, now a scoundrel of a brother. What next, I ask you?"
The corner of his mouth curled up in a grin, and when he spoke, the whispery quality of his voice tingled across her body, as if he had stroked her with a feather. "I suspect there will have to be something, Lady Rebecca. Any chance there might be a monster under your bed tonight that I can save you from?"
The implications of that question shocked her to her core, and she felt quite decidedly out of her depth. "Are you sure it is your brother who is the scoundrel?" she asked. "Perhaps I should be warned about the masked highwayman before me, who wants to peek under my bed."
He watched her turn and stroll to the end of the table. She reached for another grape, but did not eat it right away.
"What a night," she said. "I've danced with two scoundrels, and now I've been scandalized by a shocking comment about a monster under my bed. Lord Hawthorne, you are a very, very bad man."
And he excited her to the depths of her soul.
She popped the grape into her mouth, and something in his eyes changed. His searing gaze swept down her body again.
"You must come and stay in the palace with the other out-of-town guests," he said. "They are all staying until Friday."
The very air around them seemed to snap with electricity, and she began to believe that whatever she had said or done during these crucial moments around the table had worked. "But we have already unpacked at the inn," she explained.
"Tomorrow, then. My mother will speak to your aunt tonight before you leave."
Rebecca could not smother the great fire of triumph now burning inside her. "You have everything worked out, I see."