“Do.” He caught her eyes as they revolved, and let his voice deepen. “The mind is the most powerful target for seduction, and the most potent weapon.”
She raised her brows. “A point you’d know.”
“Indeed.”
The music ended; he whirled her to a flourishing halt, then bowed.
Laughing, a touch breathless, Phoebe curtsied, then let him take her hand and lead her to where Audrey and Edith had commandeered a chaise. He didn’t need to return her to her aunt’s side; at her age that was no longer necessary. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him, but the combination of his words and him being near was a powerful distraction.
The mind is the most powerful target…and the most potent weapon.
Was it her imagination, or had there been a warning—an indication of what direction he intended to take—in those words?
She spent the next hour on tenterhooks, waiting—hoping—to find out.
He didn’t disappoint her. But…
“The morning room?”
“Strange to tell, it’s the one room in any house almost always overlooked, and never ventured into by anyone during a ball.”
He spoke with authority distilled, she presumed, from extensive experience, but as he ushered her through the door, she discovered he was right; the room was empty.
The curtains hadn’t been drawn. Moonlight washed through the long windows, providing enough light to navigate by, but not enough to see subtle variations in colors or fine detail. As the room hadn’t been prepared for use that evening, no lamps were lit.
Phoebe was relieved. Dealing with Deverell on this plane was difficult enough in the dark; she didn’t need to see him, didn’t need any visual reminder of his strength, that hers was so much less.
That, as usual, she was in his control.
Behind her, he closed the door. She heard the lock snib. A moment passed in which he studied her—she could feel his gaze on her back—then he pushed away from the door; she sensed him approaching.
She whirled. “I wanted to ask—”
Her breath suspended. He looked into her eyes from a distance of mere inches.
Then he reached for her; his arms slowly, gently surrounded her, and he eased her toward him. “What?”
She blinked and struggled to remember. “Ah…”
Above their heads, music played; the ball was in full swing, the dancers whirling to the strains of the first waltz after supper. On leaving the supper room, together and briefly alone, he’d led her into the house rather than back to the ball; no one had seen them disappear; no one knew where they were.
Her gaze had fixed on his lips.
They curved. One hand rising to cradle her face, he murmured, “Is it urgent?”
Amusement laced his tone; it, and his touch, made her shiver.
She lifted her gaze to his eyes. “What are you thinking of?” Perhaps that would give her some clue as to what he intended.
He held her gaze for an instant, then replied, “You.”
The arm about her waist tightened; he drew her fractionally closer. She spread her palms on his chest, fought down an urge to slide them further. She cleared her throat, hurriedly asked, “What about me?”
His devilish smile deepened. He leaned nearer; his lips brushed the corner of hers. “About what I want to do to you. With you.”
Her lips throbbed, hungry for his, but she swallowed and whispered, “What?”
“This.” His tone suggested she’d teased him far enough, that he’d reached the end of his patience. He kissed her, took her mouth, not forcefully, yet she couldn’t have resisted, couldn’t have denied him had she so wished.