Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss. Bronwyn Scott

rendezvous with the portrait and what lay behind it.

      Julian raised his dark head over the back of the sofa where he’d taken refuge. “A thousand pardons, mademoiselle. It seems this room is indeed occupied.”

      Recognition hit him as soon as the glib words were out of his mouth. What was she doing here? She couldn’t possibly have followed him. She’d been gone when he’d returned to the veranda. In fact, if this was her destination, he was lucky to have gotten here beforehand. She must have gone through the ballroom, which would have slowed her down quite a bit. Still, such conjecture didn’t explain what she was doing here to start with. This wasn’t exactly a room one deliberately sought out.

      Her eyes followed the sound of his voice until they found him rising from the sofa. She masked her own surprise quite well. “Is this where they’re keeping the champagne these days?”

      “I brought the champagne. You were gone,” Julian replied tersely. He stepped around the sofa and moved closer. “Have you gotten lost? I’d be glad to escort you back to the ball.”

      “Oh no, I’m not ready to go back to the ball,” she demurred politely, moving to take a chair near the sofa he’d just vacated. “In truth, Mr. Burke, I am hiding from someone. It’s why I had to slip off and leave you, much to my regret.” She shook her head most convincingly. “When I saw this dreadful person, I couldn’t bear the thought of being discovered by him. He’s quite odious in his attentions. I think I shall rest here a bit. You don’t need to wait for me if you wish to return downstairs. I doubt anyone will find me here.”

      Julian crossed his arms. “True enough. It’s amazing you found your way here, so far from the ballroom.” Her answer was not conducive to his plans. He needed her out of this room. He’d spent months planning this. He would not be subdued at the end by a pretty, nameless chit. But she showed no signs of moving from the chair.

      “It could be compromising for the two of us to be found in this room alone together,” Julian pressed, finding his patience quickly waning. She had deserted him on the veranda and now she had suddenly appeared again with no intentions of leaving in the near future.

      “As you said, this room is not on the common path. It’s doubtful anyone will come across us,” she said confidently, then added coyly, “If you’re worried for your reputation or mine, you could always leave.”

      The pretty minx was getting on his nerves. Julian decided to be blunt. “On principle, you should leave. I was here first.”

      “On principle, you, as the gentleman in this scenario, should leave and accede to a lady’s wishes,” she said sweetly before adding, “But principles and reputations are moot issues really after our earlier discussion. Unless I misunderstood you in the ballroom? Was all that talk of strawberries and wool blankets just a gentleman’s daydream?” She dropped her eyes to a place a lady was never supposed to look on a man while managing to give the impression of demureness. “I thought you were going to try to seduce me and I was going to try to resist.”

      Julian’s jaw clenched. It was time to test this dichotomous angel’s mettle. Was she as innocent as she looked, or was she the adventuress her dancing eyes and wicked challenges suggested? He stepped toward the chair she occupied and bent forward, a hand resting on each arm of the chair, effectively trapping her. She caught her breath.

      “You are a master flirt, my pretty vixen. I would be happy to seduce you if you think you’re up to it.” He expected her to push at him. It was what he wanted. He’d let her succeed and race toward the door. No self-respecting society miss would countenance such a naked invitation. It might be one thing to tease a man so avidly on a dance floor surrounded by hundreds of others. It was a far riskier proposition to flaunt those wiles in private with no one to interfere. Here in the dark, the proverbial safety net was gone.

      Instead, she propelled herself into his arms with three little words he’d have loved to hear if circumstances had been different: “The sofa, quickly.”