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she could look over his shoulder and see her surroundings.
    She had not enjoyed the evening so far—and that was an understatement. But she had consoled herself with the knowledge that her appearance at such a squeeze had served a useful function. Now, suddenly, unexpectedly, she
was
enjoying herself. The lavish floral displays and the gowns of the other lady guests all merged into a glorious kaleidoscope of color. The candles in the chandeliers became swirling bands of light. And there was something undeniably exhilarating about waltzing with a man who not only knew the steps but also surely felt the magic of the dance as she did.
    But that thought brought Lauren firmly back to reality after several minutes. She was dancing about Lady Mannering’s ballroom in the arms of a stranger whom she had first seen just a week ago in shocking, scandalous circumstances. Joseph had tried to prevent her from dancing with him this evening. Was the viscount not respectable, then, despite his title and his presence at a
ton
ball? Had her first instinct about him been correct? Was he a rake?
    Part of her did not care, was even surprisingly titillated by the possibility, in fact. But it was a part of herself with which she was thoroughly unfamiliar, a part of herself that must be reined in.
    “Do you attend many balls, my lord?” She concentrated her mind upon making polite conversation and setting some sort of safe social distance between them. “I must confess this is my first this year.”
    “No, I do not,” he replied. “And yes, I know.”
    She was indignant at the brevity of his answer. Did he know nothing about polite conversation? And then she was struck by its oddity. What did he mean—
yes, I know.
If he did not attend many balls himself, how did he know that she had attended none?
    “It is a grand squeeze,” she said, trying again, clinging to cliché. “Lady Mannering must be well pleased with the success of all her efforts.”
    “Successful indeed.” His laughing eyes did not waver from hers.
    “The flowers and other decorations are both lovely and tasteful,” she said, laboring onward. “Do you not agree, my lord?”
    “I have not looked to see, but I will take your word for it.”
    He was
flirting
with her, she realized in sudden shock. He was implying that he had eyes for no one but her. And indeed, he was matching action to implication. She felt an uncomfortable and unfamiliar rush of physical awareness—and then indignation again.
    “Now it is
your
turn to choose a topic of conversation,” she said, her voice deliberately disdainful to mask her discomfort.
    He laughed softly. “A man does not need to converse when he is dancing with a beautiful woman,” he said. “He can be content merely to
feel
. To indulge all his five senses to the full. Conversation is a mere distraction.”
    It was not just the outrageous words that made her heart beat faster. It was the way they were spoken. Softly. In a low, velvet voice that wrapped itself about her as if she were somehow naked to its touch. As if the two of them were alone together in the ballroom—or perhaps somewhere altogether more private.
    And then suddenly they
were
alone and in relative darkness. She had not noticed that they were dancing close to the French windows until he had twirled her right through them and they were alone—or almost so—on the balcony beyond the candlelight.
    Lauren was shocked to the depths of her soul.
    “And light can be a distraction too,” he said, tightening his hand at her waist so that for a moment she became even more aware of his nearness and feared that her bosom would brush against his chest. His head dipped closer to her own as he spoke so that she felt the warmth of his breath kiss her cheek. “As can crowds of people.”
    How dared he! She had been quite right to suspect . . . No gentleman . . .
    But he had not stopped dancing, and with one more twirl they were back in the ballroom, having entered it through