A Thoroughly Compromised Lady. Bronwyn Scott

want more than dancing from me, I assure you. You noticed my following? It is quite considerable.’

      Dulci blushed as he intended.

      ‘What? There’s nothing wrong with the words “following” or “considerable”.’ Jack feigned ignorance of his innuendo.

      ‘Except when you say them. I can’t say I have noticed your “following”, but I’ve noticed you’re still as conceited as I remember in the orangery.’

      Jack laughed at Dulci’s pique, the familiar longings starting to stir. He was enjoying this: his hand at her back, the warmth of her body through the thin silk of her gown, his mind taking pleasure in the mental exercise of parrying her comments.

      ‘It’s the truth.’ Jack swung them into the opening patterns of the waltz. He was starting to wonder if his emotional distance could be challenged tonight. He’d like nothing more than to try his luck at stealing a few kisses.

      ‘That all women are dying of love for you?’

      ‘No need to be envious. It’s not as if you don’t have the other half of London at your feet.’ Jack shot a look at the jilted heir on the sidelines. ‘I would have thought women found him rather handsome. He’s tall, muscular in a beefy sort of way. Quite the pride of English manhood.’

      ‘It will all run to fat in ten years,’ Dulci said matter of factly. ‘I prefer a leaner sort of man. Big men don’t tend to dance well.’

      ‘Your brother’s tall,’ Jack argued for the sake of disagreement. With Dulci, anything was fair game for an argument. ‘The ladies love dancing with him whenever Nora gives them a chance.’

      ‘Brandon’s an exception.’

      ‘Speaking of Brandon, I had a note from your brother a month ago. He and Nora are doing well.’ Brandon was the one safe topic of conversation they had between them. ‘I gathered they aren’t coming up to town because of the new baby.’

      ‘No, they won’t be coming up. It’s to be expected. They are the most doting of parents.’ A small smile played across Dulci’s lips at the mention of her new nephew, giving her features a rare soft look. It occurred to Jack that Dulci’s long-standing reign as an Incomparable might indeed be a lonely one. The girlfriends who had débuted with her eight years ago would have long since married and started their own families. He had not thought of it in that way before—a price to be paid for her determination to remain unattached. Much in the same way he paid for the lifestyle he achieved. It had been quite unintentional on his part. Was that true for her as well?

      It was also a stark reminder that he didn’t know Dulci Wycroft all that well, all the ways she’d changed in the years of his absence. She’d come of age and entered society while he’d been off performing the various commissions that had eventually landed him his viscountcy.

      Much of his adult life had been spent away from England doing things for the empire he couldn’t share with another. The result was that he knew very little about the woman she’d become. Good God, when he’d left England she’d been sixteen, and he a mere twenty-four. Those intervening years were a blank. He knew only that her beauty, her wit, her innate fire for life and the wild side she strove to keep hidden drew him irrevocably despite his better intentions. Jack didn’t dare contemplate too deeply the reasons for his inexplicable attraction. Those reasons were best left unexplored for fear of uncovering longings and truths that couldn’t be answered or tolerated. He could not afford to fall in love with anyone, especially not Dulci. He’d have a hard time explaining that to Brandon.

      Dulci cocked her head, studying him with her sharp gaze. ‘What are you up to tonight, Jack? It must be important if it meant seeking me out. For the record, I was not fooled about your reasons for approaching me. You wanted that introduction.’

      Jack executed a tight turn to avoid a collision with the less observant Earl of Hertfordshire. ‘Do I have to be up to anything? Perhaps I just wanted to dance with the loveliest girl in the room?’

      ‘Doubtful. The last time you saw me, I broke a pottery bowl over your head.’ Dulci’s eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘You won’t tell me what you’re really doing here, will you?’ she accused.

      This was old ground. Old ground, old wound. It went beyond the quarrel in the orangery. He’d had this discussion before with other women. He was not at liberty to discuss his business with her or with anyone else. It was rather ironic that while achieving a title had made him socially acceptable and available, he was not at liberty to act on that availability. A woman was only entitled to part of him. The Crown got the other part without question or consideration.

      Such a condition was not acceptable with Dulci. Her unattached status was proof of that. If she tolerated half-measures, she would have settled for a convenient tonnish marriage by now. But half-measures were all he could give. What he did for the king was of the utmost secrecy and not necessarily ‘appreciated’ in finer circles. He knew in the absence of such disclosures on his part that Dulci had her own theories about his actions, none of which showed him in a favourable light.

      ‘You’re not going to set up any kind of scheme, are you, such as the time you fleeced Wembley out of his thoroughbred over a game of Commerce?’ She gave him a stern look and Jack could not hold back his laughter.

      ‘What a little hypocrite you are, m’dear. Why should you have all the fun? Besides, Wembley deserved it.’ Jack leaned close to her ear, inhaling the light scent of lavender, fresh and beguiling like the temptress who wore it. ‘I heard you won a racing dare in Richmond last week.’

      Dulci looked momentarily alarmed. ‘No one is supposed to know. Who told you?’ She stopped herself in mid-question and shook her head. ‘Never mind, there were only two of us who knew. I know very well who told you.’ She made a pretty pout. ‘I thought Lord Amberston would know better.’

      Jack laughed. ‘Don’t worry, your reputation is intact. However, it does occur to me that you play awfully close to the fire—does society know their darling Incomparable dabbles in scandal on a regular basis?’

      Dulci would not be diverted. ‘This is not about me, Jack. I want your word. I don’t want you playing cards with Señor Ortiz.’

      Jack was all mock solemnity. ‘I promise you, this is not about cards.’ Such a suggestion was almost laughable if the situation wasn’t so serious. She could no more conceive of stopping a war before it started than he could conceive of having nothing more serious to worry about than a card game. The damnable thing was, he could not tell her otherwise.

      ‘Do you promise?’ Dulci was sceptical of his easy acquiescence.

      ‘You have my word, Dulci. In exchange, I want yours that there will be no more moonlight horse racing in Richmond. That’s dangerous. You should know better than to risk your neck and your horse’s.’

      ‘Now who’s the hypocrite?’ Dulci flashed a teasing smile that showed off the dimple in her cheek. ‘You’re hardly the arbiter of moral fashion. I remember a few years ago when you masqueraded as a fop to help Brandon catch the Cat of Manchester. That escapade ran fairly close to outright law breaking. My horse race was merely ill advised.’

      Jack managed a smile at the memory. ‘That’s the best service I’ve ever rendered your brother. I got him a wife in the bargain and he’s been happy ever since.’

      Dulci held his gaze, returning his smile. Something warm flickered to life in those blue eyes of hers. Jack moved her close to him as they turned. She did not resist his subtle possession. Jack gave her a private, knowing look. He knew she was remembering the thrill of their exploits to save Nora, the midnight wedding ceremony where Brandon, the earl, had married the notorious Cat. Perhaps she was remembering the dangerous sparks of desire that had risen suddenly and unbidden in the orangery at Christmas.

      ‘Don’t, Jack,’ Dulci cautioned him softly.

      ‘Don’t what, Dulci?’ Jack prodded with a whisper,