The Season for Suitors...
From Chapter 3
Until that moment, he had promised himself that he
would walk away. Clara Davencourt was not for him and in the thinking
part of his anatomy he knew it. He was full of good intentions. And
then she gave her hand to Lord Elton to lead her into the dance, and a
powerful wash of possessiveness swept through Fleet and he started to
walk towards her.
One kiss. He would take one kiss and then he would
leave her alone forever. He promised himself that.
He noted the precise moment that she saw his approach.
Her blue eyes narrowed with a disbelief she could not quite conceal. She
caught her full lower lip between her teeth for a second before she turned
aside to respond to something that Elton was saying. The same honey
coloured curl that he had touched earlier in the darkness now curled in the
hollow of her throat. She looked both fragile and formidably determined. He
could see defiance radiating from every inch of her body...
Clara gave him a speaking look and flounced off the
floor. Her back was ramrod straight, her entire figure stiff with outrage.
She ignored the raised brows and titters of amusement with the disdain of an
Archduchess.
Fleet followed. Clara was standing with her back to
him, daring him to speak to her. He put a hand on her arm, leaned closer and
spoke for her ears only.
“Do not be too complacent about escaping me earlier. I
shall kiss you before the night is out. I swear it.”
He felt her tremble. She spun around. Her gaze was
uncertain now, but behind her eyes he saw the flicker of something else; she
was intrigued against her will, unwillingly fascinated, tempted… His blood
leapt at the thought.
“I do not believe you,” she said, still fighting them
both. “I cannot see you as a Romeo, your grace. Were you to attempt to climb
the ivy to my chamber it would surely break under the weight!”
“Believe me,” Fleet said.
