Chapter 90: Into My Welcoming Hand

Lifting Meralee’s hand, Anna stuck it firmly in his while she was distracted. While, Mera was still too stunned to react Anna spoke for her. “She’d love to dance, My Lord. She just mentioned how she’d hoped you’d ask.” Giving her a pointed look, Anna finished. “Forgive her My Lord. She’s dreadfully shy. Always struggling to say what she really means.”

Mera gasped. “Valentine!”

“Truly? She seemed quite fluent but a moment ago.” Lucien commented dryly.

Mera was still sputtering in outrage at Anna as Lord Lucien abruptly yanked her onto the floor.

Anna beamed. Hands clasped before her giddily.

Mera stared her down with a look that could’ve melted stone.

Lucien turned her into his arms. Studying her from behind his mask, he let the warmth of his gaze unnerve her.

She looked side to side.

Everywhere but at me.

“It’s quite rude not to look at the man you dance with.”

A short distance from not looking at the man making love to you. He mentally compared. And it would be absolutely essential for you to look at me.

Her eyes flitted to him and she shrugged. “I’ve never cared a wit for convention.”

“Perhaps on occasion, you should.”

Though you’d be far less interesting, if you did.

“Perhaps I should obey a rich Lord as well?” She lashed out.

“Only if that Lord is me.” He said.

Purely to goad her.

“I believe it’d serve you well to be snubbed for once in your life!” She said exasperated. “You’re lucky I’m trying to check my tongue for Anna’s sake.” She tossed her mane of mahogany tresses.

“So, you’re capable of checking your tongue, at least to some extent?” He gave her a skeptical half-smile.

I doubt that.

Chocolate colored eyes landed on him. “Capable perhaps. But I don’t choose to.”

He quietly turned her a few times before bluntly questioning. “Why do you harbor such ill toward me?”

“Don’t feign offense, My Lord. If you paid a wit of attention to anything other than yourself, you’d be fully aware of the fact that I dislike most people.”

“Though you make a fair point, you fail to answer the question.”

She arched a delicate brow above the dark feathered trim of her mask.

“Come now, My Lady. Let’s not pretend I’m a fool. We’ve not met, not in truth, yet you seem hell bent on hating me. Why?”

Her jaw dropped. “You chastise me for rudeness but then use vulgarity on the middle of a dance floor?”

I did say hell.

Clearly I’m more used to the company of men.

“Thought you didn’t care a wit for convention?” He retorted.

Her jaw snapped shut and face relaxed. Revealing she wasn’t truly offended at all.

Merely avoiding the subject.

“Clever, one. Aren’t you?” Her brows lifted in surprise, but something flickered over her eyes that could’ve been admiration.

You’ve no idea.

“So, showing you my skills as a gentleman certainly won’t impress you.”

“If you must know, I’ve seen the hearts you’ve crushed in your wake. Caring for no one save yourself. No manner of man I’d care to know.” Her voice rose. “Don’t think I’m not aware of why you’re dancing with me.”

“What reason would that be?”

“You’re well aware of what the gossips say about me, I’ve no doubt.” She sputtered. “You merely wish to hear the words from my lips.”

That she’s a lady of loose skirts. Clearly untrue since it’s unlikely any man could get close enough to find out…

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth lifted wryly.

She glowered.

“Since I’m a study of my own indulgence and you’re a lady of keen observance, tell me what it is about my character, rather than behavior, you abhor so much?”

She arched that delicate brow a second time at his challenge. “Very well.”

And here it comes.

“You’re conceited and selfish. Cold and unemotional. Worse yet, I’ve never seen you smile. You’re an angry bitter man despite that you’re gloriously wealthy and sought-after by-” She gestured dismissively over her shoulder to the women behind her. Delicately gloved hand fluttering.

“Perhaps that’s so.” He offered a grudging head tilt. “But how do you know it’s not merely my misery for being here that makes me such a bitter fool?”