Page 52 of The Danger of Desire

Lord Blakeborough said, “You know, old boy, if you didn’t always sleep until noon, even in the country, you wouldn’t be late to everything. But given that you stayed up drinking with Jeremy until the wee hours of the morning, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Have you ever known me to go to bed before dawn?” Warren quipped.

“Can’t say I have.”

It occurred to Delia how odd that was. Plenty of gentlemen stayed out all hours during the Season in town, but in the country? At a house party? Wasn’t it odd that Warren kept such late hourshere?

She had no time to contemplate that anomaly before he spotted her and headed her way.

“Good morning, Miss Trevor,” he said as he approached. “You’re looking quite fetching in your costume.”

Unlike some of the other women, she wore her sleek, floor-length tunic without petticoats. And she was rather glad she’d left them off when Warren skimmed her with a heated look that sent her pulse into triple time.

The man had certainly perfected the rakehell stare. With any other man she would have laughed, buthisstare sparked fires in the most intriguing parts of her body, which made it hard to resist swooning.

Lord save her. Swooning, indeed. “You look rather well yourself,” she murmured, treating him to a similar assessment. “I see that you chose the short toga after all.”

“I always live dangerously.”

“You do indeed.” She sighed. “And lately so do I.”

“I know.” He leaned close. “That’s what I like about you.”

She fought a blush. This... thing between them was insane. Whenever she was near him, she lost all common sense. He had this odd effect on her that would surely prove unwise in the end.

“It’s not by choice, you know,” she said.

“Isn’t it? You could marry, yet you’ve discarded that possibility for the dubious chance of paying off your estate with your winnings.”

“If I must choose between servitude to a man or servitude to Camden Hall, I choose the latter. It’s more predictable.”

“As the owner of several properties, I can assure you that running an estate is not predictable. One bad harvest, and you’ll realize that.”

She made a face at him. “Why must you depress my spirits? And just when I was beginning to enjoy myself.”

“Were you? Then I suppose I shouldn’t show you this.” He brandished his arms for her inspection. “No tattoos. Did you notice?”

“Of course,” she said, though she hadn’t. She’d never really thought him a possibility for her quarry.

“Which gives you one more reason to trust me.”

She glanced around, spotted a door leading out to the conservatory, and tugged him through it. As soon as they were at least partly alone, she said, “It doesn’t rule you out as the friend of the man I seek.”

“I would tell you if I were.”

“No, you wouldn’t. A man like you, with lifelong ties to men of high rank, wouldn’t betray them to a woman like me.”

He bent to whisper, “You’d be surprised what I would do for a pretty woman.”

“Stop that,” she whispered back. “I know quite well that you say such things to every female you meet.”

To her surprise, vexation tightened the corners of his lips. “Not exactly,” he said tersely.

“You can’t blame me for thinking so. I’m not the one spending my nights in the stews.”

“No. That’s Jack Jones.”

“That’s different.”