How I Married a Marquess (4 page)

Oh, she was fooling herself! A gentleman like that wouldn't pay her any attention once he discovered she was an orphan. Or worse, he would pay her the wrong kind of attention, thinking her past entitled him to take liberties with her that he'd never dare take with any other unmarried lady.

And yet…Oh, wouldn't it be lovely, for a few minutes at least, to be able to pretend she was someone else? To believe she could capture the attentions of a man like him?

So if all she had was a few minutes when she could be an ordinary young lady and pretend she had a normal future, why squander any of them?

With determination, she snatched a glass of punch from a passing footman and wove her way across the room, unable to tamp down her growing curiosity about him and the undeniable yearning to meet him that he roused inside her. Would those midnight-blue eyes be just as intriguing up close? Would that mouth be just as sensuous?

Sighing at her own foolishness, she slipped through the crowd like a moth drawn toward a flame. She should have been watching her brothers. At the very least, she should have been watching Miranda Hodgkins. Instead she was stalking a handsome stranger, lifting her glass ever so slightly as she glided toward him, bumping her arm against his—

And spilling punch across his jacket sleeve.

Bull's-eye!

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” she gasped as his hand immediately took her elbow to steady her…or to keep her from spilling the rest of the punch, she wasn't certain which. But when she glanced up at those sapphire eyes and a warmth stirred low in her belly, she simply didn't care.

Oh yes. Those eyes were just as intriguing up close.

With a shake, she collected herself. “How awful of me!” she exclaimed, and brushed her fingertips at the few droplets of punch still clinging to his sleeve.

The two Sinclair ladies excused themselves with a touch of embarrassment for her, which Josie didn't give one whit about. Especially when the corners of his mouth curled sensuously at her in amusement.

“No harm, I assure you.” His voice came as a deep purr.

She cleared her throat at the responding shiver that scattered through her like warm rain. “I'm so terribly clumsy.” She continued to brush at his sleeve long after the punch had been cleared away, inexplicably unable to stop herself from touching him. “Everyone's always saying, ‘Josephine Carlisle, how absolutely clumsy you are!'”

She thought she saw knowing laughter sparkle in his eyes before he sketched her a shallow bow. “Miss Carlisle, something tells me you're not truly as clumsy as you protest.”

His words were just cryptic enough to give her pause and make her wonder again who this man was and why he was at the earl's party when men of his caliber
never
came to Blackwood Hall. But at least they were now engaged in conversation, and she had managed to accomplish the meeting—albeit by the most wretched self-introduction in history—without having to seek out someone to do the honors for her. And she didn't feel the least bit guilty at her subterfuge. Just hearing that rumbling voice had been worth it, no matter how briefly the meeting might last.

Deep in her heart, she wished it would last a good long while.

She smiled apologetically. “I do hope I haven't ruined your jacket.”

“It's fine.” His eyes swept deliberately over her as he murmured, “Very fine.”

Her heart skittered. Good Lord, was he flirting? With
her
? Despite her uncertainty, she blushed like a debutante at her first ball.
Goodness
.

“You're not dancing.”

“Pardon?” she breathed, her foolish heart daring to hope that he might be asking…but no. His words were only an observation, not a request, and her stomach plummeted with disappointment.

Of course he wasn't asking her to dance. Why on earth would he make such a request of the clumsy woman who'd just doused him with punch? As if this man ever had to request a dance in the first place. Most likely the London ladies would have all sought out
his
dance card if men possessed such things. And then her pride sank even lower as she realized she'd done exactly that herself by approaching him with such a pathetic ruse.

He nodded past her toward the dance floor, where couples twirled in the roiling knots of a quadrille. “You're not dancing,” he repeated.

“I'm saving my toes for the waltzes,” she offered, curious to see how he would respond to that.

“Ah, toe preservation,” he replied with mock gravity, his eyes gleaming. “A noble cause.”

She smiled, strangely satisfied at his answer. Truly, she would have been disappointed had his response been anything less entertaining. “Indeed, sir, but perhaps I'm biased
since I have a personal interest in the matter.” She gave a small laugh. “Ten, to be exact.”

When he followed the dart of her eyes to her slippers, which she wiggled beneath the hem of her gown, he slid her a charming grin that trickled its way down her spine with a languid warmth.

The laughter caught in her throat.
Entertaining?
Well,
that
was the understatement of the year. This man was utterly captivating. And for one shameless moment, bewildered at how he could draw such an unusual reaction from her so immediately, she wanted very much to become his captive.

“And you?” She cleared her suddenly tight throat and hoped her voice sounded much steadier than she felt. “Why are you not dancing?”

“I prefer the side of the room.” Then he leaned in slightly as he admitted in a low voice, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “So much easier that way for beautiful ladies to purposefully spill punch on my sleeve to gain my attention.”

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped at him. Speechless. At his audacity both in calling her out for her ruse and in claiming she was beautiful. And at her reckless desire to hear him say it again.

“I suppose I should offer to fetch you another glass of punch,” he continued, rocking back onto his heels. From the teasing gleam in his eyes, he was obviously enjoying her embarrassment. “But I'm wary about where that one might land.”

Her mouth snapped shut. Yes, he
should
be worried. He might be tall, dark, and handsome, but now that she'd met him, he was clearly no gentleman. A man with manners wouldn't have called her out so blatantly on her trick…although the compliment about being beautiful she was willing to forgive. Still, as an embarrassed blush rose from the back of her neck, the undeniable desire she'd felt to meet him evaporated beneath a cold dose of reality. She'd suspected the meeting wouldn't end well, given her past encounters with eligible male guests at Blackwood, but she hadn't expected it to sour so quickly. It was a new record, even for her.

“As I told you, only clumsiness on my part.” She feigned an innocent expression rather than let him see her true disappointment that he should have proven a cad after all, then retreated a step to put distance between them while she thought of a polite way to excuse herself. “No need to assume more.”

“Then I should be greatly disappointed,” he murmured, and advanced slowly to close the gap she'd created.

The tiny hairs on her arms tingled in warning. Was he…pursuing her?

Impossible
.
Not someone like him. Yet he matched her step for step as she slowly backed away. She couldn't decide if he wanted to flirt with her or drive her away, but whatever his goal, he definitely set her off-balance.

Drawing a breath for courage, she stood her ground and tilted her head in challenge. “Perhaps you should fetch me that punch after all.”

That
stopped him. He quirked a questioning brow.

“Then we could reenact the spill and know for certain whether it was an ill-conceived attempt on my part to get your attention or an ill-executed attempt on yours to move out of the way.” She forced a saccharine smile meant to send him scurrying away. “After all, I wouldn't want you to be unnecessarily disappointed.”

At her sassiness he laughed—the devil had the nerve to
laugh
at her! And not just any laugh, but a low and rich rumble that sank through her and filled her up. Yet something rusty resonated in the sound, as if he hadn't laughed in a very long time.

She trembled. Her attempt at pushing him away was failing miserably. And now she didn't know what to do with him. Heavens, she was in over her head, and a quick glance at her preoccupied brothers across the ballroom told her there would be no help from shore.

He dared to take another step until they stood shoulder to shoulder, facing in opposite directions. When he lowered his head to bring his mouth close to her ear, anyone watching would have assumed he did so only to be heard over the music. Yet the sudden realization struck her of how expert he was at creating a sense of privacy and physical closeness in the midst of a crowded room. And what a smooth rakehell existed behind those sultry eyes. She shivered at the heat he spiked inside her, this man who seemed nothing like the sort she should associate with yet who enigmatically drew her more than any she'd ever met before in her life.

“Be honest, then, Miss Carlisle,” he drawled, amusement lacing that masculine purr of a voice. As if he knew exactly what effect he had on her. “Clumsiness or a bid for attention?” His fingers brushed unseen against hers at her side as they dangled hidden against the fullness of her skirt. He teasingly accused, “I don't like deception.”

Deception
.
Stifling a surprised gasp, she yanked her hand away.

As she stared up at him, sudden fear sped through her. Her heart thudded so hard that the rush of blood through her ears drowned out the orchestra, and she thought her knees might buckle and send her to the floor right there at his feet. But somehow she remained standing, and with every ounce of willpower she possessed, she forced herself not to pale. Not in front of those remarkable eyes that seemed to notice everything.

But how could he possibly know about her? And how much,
exactly
, did he know? He was a stranger here. For God's sake, he hadn't even known her name until she'd walked up to him and told him! Unease knotted sickeningly in her stomach. However much she'd wanted to meet him just a few minutes before, she now knew it was time to take her leave before he learned even more that he shouldn't. Yet the thought of saying good-bye when she'd only barely met him inexplicably ripped a small tear into her heart.

“A misplaced attempt to garner your attention, then,” she answered tightly, admitting to her folly and stepping away from him with a curt nod. “My apologies.”

His hand closed around her elbow and stopped her. “Don't go,” he entreated quietly, his face suddenly somber. “Please. I was merely teasing. I didn't mean to offend—”

“Josie.” A large hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Is this man bothering you?”

Thomas tensed, every muscle in his body tightening as two mountains of men appeared beside him, flanking either side. But he gave no outward reaction to their presence except to release her arm as she stepped away. He looked at the intriguing woman in front of him and waited breathlessly for her answer, knowing it could mean the difference between being pummeled and being allowed to remain standing on two unbroken legs.

Yet she hesitated to answer, and indecision flickered in her green eyes as she bit her bottom lip.

From her body language, she clearly wanted away from him, but she also didn't want to cause the scene the two men would undoubtedly unleash when they beat him senseless. He had no idea what thoughts played through that sharp mind of hers as she searched his face for answers, but he desperately hoped she found them, both to appease the two men and because he found himself not wanting to part from her. Something about her put him at ease. Something he couldn't put his finger on but that he wasn't willing to let go so soon.

Her shoulders lowered as she made her decision. “He isn't bothering me.”

But the way she crossed her arms and hardened her eyes told him he'd won a grudging victory.

“Good,” the mountain at his left shoulder drawled, “because I'd hate to think someone was bothering my baby sister.”

“Me, too,” the right mountain affirmed.

Baby sister. Bloody hell.
This
was why he detested house parties. Far too easy to be killed at one.

“My brothers.” Rolling her eyes, now as annoyed at them as she was at him, she waved her hand toward the mountain on the left. “Robert Carlisle.” Then she gestured at the other hulking man. “Quinton. And somewhere in this crush is my eldest brother Sebastian.”

Three brothers. He
was
going to be killed. And sadly, before he'd gotten even a single taste of her.

“Gentlemen, a pleasure to meet you,” he commented to neither brother in particular, his eyes never leaving Josephine's face. She resembled her brothers not at all, who were twice her pixie size and golden to her chestnut hair. Not in the slightly upturned tip of her pert nose, the set of her green eyes, the fullness of her lips that now pressed into a tight line…
Interesting
.
“I was just escorting your sister to the floor for our dance.”

He noticed the surprised flare of her eyes and wondered if her brothers had seen it, too. At that moment he was literally flirting with danger. And enjoying it immensely.

In the past year, he'd attended too many soirees to count and had met all kinds of women, but not one had captured his attention the way this little bit of a country gel had. Not one of them had looked at him with such hope and expectation, with a combination of bemusement and daring that left his head spinning. They certainly hadn't challenged him in conversation the way she had. Good Lord, she'd even made him laugh! He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually
laughed
. And while that was a damnable surprise, even more stunning was the lightness that had filled his chest during the past few minutes since he looked up and caught her staring at him. For the first time in a year, the shooting and its aftermath hadn't been foremost in his mind.