Page 3 of The Rogue’s Offer

“Viscountess Havenstock,” the earl said in a voice that was as silky and sinful as one of the rich chocolate truffles she indulged in far too frequently. “I had hoped you would be here this evening.”’

Speechless that he knew her name, she trembled and slowly extended her hand in a silent greeting. She’d forgone wearing gloves this evening, and his mouth singed her skin in a way that sent a shockwave through her. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? She’d never experienced this type of reaction to a man before, and it left her feeling completely out of control. The earl raised his head with his gaze never leaving her face.

“Louisa, I hope you don’t mind, but Lady Havenstock promised me a dance, and I am here to collect.”

“But of course, Mathias,” Louisa said with a surprised smile as she looked at Ophelia with avid curiosity.

Still unable to utter a word, Ophelia found her hand clasped in the earl’s firm hand as he guided her out onto the dance floor. Her brain sluggish, she didn’t even have the wherewithal to protest as he swung her into her arms. The soft, subtle scent of spice and pine swept across her senses, causing her heart to pound a fierce rhythm in her ears. It was a reaction that set her on edge.

She and Lizzie rarely moved in the same exalted circles as the Earl of Thornbury, but tonight had proven an exception. The moment Ophelia had learned the earl might be in attendance, she’d braced herself to do whatever was necessary to capture the man’s attention. But her determination had not prepared her for the earl’s magnetic presence or the way it affected her equilibrium.

A pulse of panic threaded its way through her. Now that she’d managed to capture the man’s attention, every plea she’d rehearsed had fled her brain. Averting her gaze away from his face, Ophelia remained silent as the earl danced her around the floor.

A low laugh whispered its way past her ear. She immediately glanced up at his handsome face, and the wicked smile twisting his lips caused her to stumble slightly. The powerful strength she’d noted earlier allowed him to pull her tight against him. Heat suffused her skin the instant her body pressed even more intimately into his chest, and he skillfully whirled her around the dance floor as if she’d not faltered at all.

“Shall I confess something, my lady?” The deep melodious sound of his voice held her spellbound.

“Confess?” she replied breathlessly. Ophelia swallowed hard as she met his gaze. Amusement mixed with something far more dangerous glittered in his green eyes.

“You intrigue me.”

“Intrigue you?”

“Yes,” he said with another soft laugh. “I think I surprised you when I asked you to dance with me.”

“Asked me?” she snapped as she remembered her inability to speak one word to the man. “You didn’t give me the opportunity to say no.”

“You object?” Curiosity echoed in his voice as he arrogantly arched his eyebrows. “From our silent exchange earlier, I was under the impression you wouldn’t reject my offer of attention.”

“I did not…I was…” Ophelia’s voice trailed off at the abrupt tension filling the air between them. Her disdain irritated him, which jeopardized the possibility of Marymont being returned. “Objecting isn’t an option for me where you’re concerned.”

“Once again, I’m intrigued,” he said as he whirled her around several quick turns to dodge another couple, and Ophelia experienced a pleasant, yet slightly dizzy sensation. “Explain.”

“I’m uncertain how to broach the subject.”

“Intrigued is becoming an overused word where you’re concerned, my lady, fascinated seems far more appropriate.”

The scintillating flash of humor in his eyes unnerved her. She hadn’t expected to find the man devastating to her senses. But then she’d not anticipated feeling anything at all. All she’d ever experienced where men were concerned was either antipathy or friendship. A knot formed in her throat. Perhaps the bargain she’d thought to strike with this man was a foolish one.

It unnerved her to think he might actually be able to awaken something inside her contrary to established fact. Ophelia quickly dismissed the thought. She was incapable of passion or stirring a similar sensation in a man. George had taught her that. The question was how far she was willing to go to save her childhood home. She’d never been able to bear George touching her, and she wasn’t sure whether she was capable of bartering herself. In the back of her head, a small voice taunted her with the fact that she’d chosen her path the moment her gaze had met the earl’s across the ballroom floor. She drew in a shallow breath.

“You have something that belongs to me, or rather my family, Lord Thornbury.”

“Indeed,” he murmured as an odd look crossed his features. “What might that be?

“My home.”

“Your home,” he exclaimed softly as puzzlement crossed his face.

“Marymont. My father lost it in a wager to you several nights ago,” she said as her voice dropped slightly. “I would like it back, and I am willing…I think I have something to offer in exchange.”

“And the currency you’re referring to?” A glitter of cold calculation darkened his jade eyes as he narrowed his gaze at her.

“Me.”

“Ahh, a proposition of the intimate kind.” Boredom settled on his features, but his eyes had hardened with something approaching contempt or pity. She was unable to discern which, and it heightened her sense of desperation.

“I do not offer myself up lightly, my lord,” she choked out with great effort. “But I believe I am unique enough that I would be unlike other…other women with whom you enter liaisons.”