And if the look in Lady Hexham’s eyes—let alone Melissa’s—was anything to judge by, he was going to be in deep trouble.
Hounded. Hunted.
With a charming smile, he left her ladyship; immediately he turned his back, he replaced the smile with an aggravated frown. Never mind his potential pursuers, where the hell was Anne?
“I would be very much obliged if you could spare me a few minutes of your time, my lord.” Anne smiled evenly at Lord Thomas Caverlock. “In private.”
Thomas, a handsome devil of a rake who showed no sign of succumbing to any of the highly respectable lures constantly thrown his way, looked down at her, an unreadable expression in his changeable blue-gray eyes. “What a very…tantalizing request, my dear.”
He studied her face for an instant longer, then glanced around. The card room was full, the tables host to a goodly throng, both male and female, most engrossed with the play. “Come.” He offered his arm. “Let’s stroll through the ballroom and see if we can find a quiet corner.”
Anne inclined her head and set her fingers on his sleeve. Despite her brave words, she was relieved he’d fixed on a corner of the ballroom, and not on some more deserted spot.
As they walked through the crowd, Thomas quizzed her—on her penchant for avoiding the ton, on her thoughts on society, on her family. Not once did he touch on her reason for seeking him out. Anne parried his queries easily enough, but wondered…
Abruptly Thomas changed tack and steered her through an archway into the corridor beyond. Her suspicions leapt to life, but before she could collect herself enough to protest, he threw open another door, and she found herself deftly swept into a small parlor.
She had to scuttle quickly forward or Thomas would have been on her heels—far too close. The door clicked shut in the instant she realized the parlor was quite deserted. It had been years since she’d graced tonnish entertainments— years since she’d worried about such things as compromising situations.
With a jolt of unwelcome surprise, she realized she was in one.
Lips parting in complaint, she swung to face Thomas—
Only to find him much closer than she’d expected.
His arm locked about her waist; smoothly he drew her to him.
It wasn’t the gentle laughter in his eyes, but the intent she sensed behind it—an intent she’d never before been the focus of but recognized instinctively—that frightened her; she braced her hands on his chest and pushed back. “My lord—Thomas! Release me at once!”
He chuckled and drew her closer.
She tried to struggle, but his arms were fully around her. “No! You don’t understand!”
“Oh, but I do, sweet Anne—most assuredly I do. You’ve hidden yourself away for years, but now you’ve decided to enjoy the fruits of life, and I’m flattered, believe me, quite flattered, that you’ve chosen me—”
“I haven’t!” Anne kept her voice down with an effort, assisted by the fact that Thomas had at least stopped drawing her closer. “Good heavens! As if I would…I mean—” She broke off, painfully aware his misunderstanding was at least partly her fault. “I wanted to talk to you. To tell you something!”
The laughter in Thomas’s eyes faded, to be replaced by wariness. “What?”
He didn’t release her; he was still too close— she could barely breathe. It wasn’t fear she felt— she wasn’t a ninny; she knew Thomas wouldn’t force her—but the feeling of being restrained wasn’t pleasant; if she thought about it too much, she might swoon. “Let me go, and I’ll tell you.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed.
From the door came a sigh. “Let her go, Thomas.”
His arms still around her, Thomas turned, allowing Anne to peer past his shoulder.
Reggie stood inside the room, leaning back, nonchalantly graceful, his shoulders against the closed door.
Neither of them had heard him come in.
Reggie’s gaze, exceedingly level, was fixed on Thomas. Thomas met it. For one instant, Anne could have sworn some intrinsically masculine communication took place, then Thomas’s arms slowly fell from her, and he took a step back, putting an acceptable distance between them.
He frowned, first at Reggie, then, more definitely, at her. “What’s going on?”
She straightened, clasping her hands before her, drawing in a deep breath. “I—”
“If you have the slightest sense of self-preservation, you will keep your lips shut.”