A Regency Earl's Pleasure: The Earl Plays With Fire / Society's Most Scandalous Rake. Isabelle Goddard

into the wall sconces. People looked curiously at the small party, finding it difficult to believe that this new young woman was Christabel’s sister. There could be no greater contrast, one tall, willowy, an ice maiden with flaming hair, the other shorter, rounded and an undistinguished brunette. No wonder the gown had to be magenta. It was Sophia’s way of seizing some of the attention that always fell so unfairly to her sister.

      In the event neither girl lacked for partners. For some Sophia’s was a new face and a likely diversion while for others she promised to be the means of an introduction to the peerless Christabel. Happily she had no notion of this and smiled benignly on the world as she passed down the rows of the country dance on the arm of one partner after another. Benedict had discovered a few choice spirits who had also been coerced into escorting family members and was content for the moment to bide his time. The evening was young and he felt sure that it could only get better.

      Only Christabel felt depressed. This night was one like so many others. She smiled gracefully at her partners and diligently performed each dance. Between cotillions and quadrilles she sipped lemonade and made kind conversation with those young damsels sheltering by the wall and too shy to talk to anyone else. But there was emptiness in her heart. Soon it would be time to call the carriage and return home, but for what? In two days’ time Sir Julian would return and her future would be decided for ever. If she accepted him, this was one engagement that would have to stick.

      A sudden flurry at the top of the stairs made her look up. A small brunette, her dark curls glistening in the candlelight, had just made it through the doors before they were locked. The girl looked around her with animation and then turned to her companion, grasping his arm and pointing out the glittering chandeliers and frescoed ceilings. Christabel drew a sharp intake of breath. It was Richard, of course. Richard, who had never before set foot in this hallowed place, now dancing attendance on the little Spaniard. She watched as though in a dream as he presented Domino first to Lady Sefton, one of the patronesses present that night, and then on to Mr Davenant, Lord and Lady Wivenhoe and the Misses Newcombe. The girl had an entrancing smile, Christabel thought, and though she beamed happily on everyone she met, it was clear that she smiled for Richard alone. She loves him—the thought struck her with explosive force. Her stomach began to churn sickeningly, but why she could not understand. Richard had been dead to her for six years. Why should it matter who his fancy now alighted on?

      At that moment she was claimed for a country dance. Somehow she managed mechanically to perform the steps without making a mistake. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Richard and Domino take the floor. He’d always been a graceful dancer and she noticed that in this respect he hadn’t changed. Throughout he kept up a lively conversation with his partner and it was evident that he was delighted to be with her. Social rules dictated that they could not stand up together for more than two dances, but when they were not on the floor he talked to her; when she partnered other men, his gaze was never far away. And so it went on, dance after dance, while Christabel watched the clock and prayed for the carriage to arrive. She felt she could not bear to look at them a minute longer and yet her eyes were instinctively drawn in their direction. They made a handsome couple and it was clear that others thought so too. There were many admiring glances and much chatter behind opened fans.

      When the orchestra struck up for a waltz she was relieved to be sitting out the dance. For some years she’d been permitted by the patronesses to waltz at Almack’s, but Sophia was not in that fortunate position and she had no desire to irritate her sister any further. She had deliberately kept her dance card free so that she could keep Sophia company.

      ‘Miss Tallis, I believe you waltz?’

      Richard Veryan stood before her, immaculate in white ruffled shirt and black long-tailed coat. The crisp white folds of his silk neckcloth were tied in a perfect trône d’amour. Well-fitting black-satin knee breeches did nothing to disguise the muscular thighs beneath. His attire was that of the most fashionable of London gentlemen, but the lean, tanned face hinted at another story.

      Christabel found herself once again struggling to maintain her composure.

      His grey eyes, flecked with flint, were fixed penetratingly on her and without speaking he held out a hand and with the other gestured to the dance floor.

      ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, recovering her wits a little, ‘but I do not care to waltz while my sister does not dance.’

      Richard glanced indifferently at Sophia, who stared haughtily back at him.

      ‘I’m sure Miss Sophia Tallis would not wish to keep you from enjoying a dance she must know you love.’

      It was true. Ever since she’d learned to waltz, she’d treasured the joy of floating light as thistledown across the ballroom, her feet skimming the floor and her whole body responding to the rhythm of the music. Her sister pursed her lips angrily, but said nothing. Richard was still holding out his hand, his cold eyes seeming now to blaze with something akin to fire. Christabel could not understand his persistence, but found herself mesmerised into accepting his invitation.

      A slight pressure on her waist and he had led her into the dance. His arms encircled her body lightly at first, as, twisting and pirouetting, they became familiar with each other’s paces. They had always danced well together and soon they were in tune, step by step, movement by movement. The music’s lush strains trembled through her limbs and she lost herself to its rhythms.

      Gradually his arms tightened around her and she was acutely aware of the warmth of his body pressing her close. The heady smell of his scent enveloped her as she was held ever more nearly, his face almost bruising her cheek. Carelessly his mouth brushed the top of her hair and without thinking she melted more closely into his embrace. They were dancing now as one, their bodies a rhythmical caress which shocked those who witnessed it. Yet the power of Christabel’s beauty held them spellbound. She looked magnificent, almost otherworldly in her splendour, the green silk of her dress swishing across the floor, little emerald slippers on her feet and that haze of red curls cascading downwards to meet her wonderful white skin.

      Her mother, sitting on one of the small gilded chairs reserved for chaperons, looked up and caught her breath in distress. That was surely Richard Veryan!

      She had no idea he had returned to England. And Christabel was dancing with him and in a fashion that could only be described as provocative! Richard’s hand was curved around Christabel’s waist and his face so close to hers that he could, if he’d wished, nuzzle and caress the soft skin almost touching his.

      And he did wish. He felt his body hard against this woman he’d loved so well. He felt her soft pliable form fusing with his and rejoiced in the sheer physical exultation that was pulsating through him. He could have danced with her all night and then—no, he could not think like that. It was his mission to entice her and the dance must be part of that. His delight in her proximity was something he must not acknowledge.

      The music stopped and for a moment they stood dazed. Then he led her back to the row of chairs, every eye in the room upon them.

      ‘Thank you, Miss Tallis, for a most enjoyable dance,’ he said formally.

      ‘It was a pleasure, my lord,’ she replied, equally formal.

      ‘We must waltz more—I hope to see you at Almack’s again very soon.’

      ‘I fear that is unlikely. I shall not be in London long and I imagine that you will be leaving shortly yourself.’

      ‘Why are you so sure?’ and he looked over to where Domino was standing, wide-eyed and apprehensive.

      ‘I beg your pardon, but I thought you would be returning to Cornwall to be with your mother.’ Christabel sounded puzzled.

      ‘One can return, and return again—if one has something worth coming back for,’ he replied smoothly.

      Once more he looked meaningfully across the room at the young girl waiting patiently for his return. Christabel was bewildered. Seemingly he wished her to understand that Domino de Silva was the woman who held his heart, yet just seconds ago he had been dancing with her in so intimate a manner that together