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man that short would have a view of her bosom. The lace trim of her dress offered an imperfect shield. While she wasn’t well-endowed, the view was pleasant enough. Her breast would sit well in his palm. The tightness around his neck expanded, banded around his chest.
    He sucked in a harsh breath. Not love-stricken, but lust-stricken. A visit to a courtesan was in order. He didn’t normally indulge in such behavior, but if he couldn’t refrain from wayward thoughts in public…
    Forcing a light note to his voice, and his gaze back to her hazel ones—pale blue with flecks of golden brown, if one noted such details—he said, “It’s a very nice chin though.”
    A husky laugh was his reward, and his punishment. That laugh was meant to be heard behind closed bedroom doors. Longing that had nothing to do with lust pierced his chest. He’d always thought of sex as a bodily function to be exercised and not an experience inviting laughter. But now this woman whom he’d just met, Annabelle, was inspiring the most unusual yearnings.
    He shook his head. Damn! And double damn! Why had his body chosen now to turn traitor? The set began and for a brief moment he thought the steps would require his attention and provide a much-needed distraction. But no, their bodies were attuned to each other so well he had to give no thought to directing their movements. Would it be the same in the bedroom?
    “How bold of Lady Markham to choose a waltz to open the ball.”
    Annabelle’s voice was breathy, but the dance had just started. Surely, she wasn’t fatigued already? He redirected his study of the swirl of dancers to the steady rise and fall of her chest. Not fatigue then.
    Mayhap the proximity of their bodies caused her breathlessness, for it was taking its toll on his ability to remember the woman in his arms was untouchable. With a tug, he could clasp her to his chest. A slight tilt of his head would allow him to claim her mouth. He’d never kissed a woman of near equal height.
    He forced his gaze to hers. “Lady Markham is a bold woman.” The waltz was still considered scandalous by many, and most hostesses scheduled only one or two later in the evening.
    The elegant arch of Annabelle’s brow, a shade or two darker brown than her hair, rose. “And do you prefer your women bold, Gareth?”
    Surely she hadn’t meant to sound so…inviting, but his cock hardened instantly. “What a bold question, Miss Abbott, and a highly inappropriate one as well.”
    A look—disappointment, perhaps?—flashed across her face. Did she think him a rake, a man who let lust rule his body? And, if so, what did she have in mind? His shaft pulsed with a purpose for her—her delectable lips enveloping, her tongue licking.
    He cleared his throat. She wasn’t the only one with inappropriate thoughts. “I don’t keep women, but when I am of the mood to share the company of a woman, I prefer she not be some milk-and-water miss. Indeed, like my mares, I require some spirit in the ladies of my acquaintance.”
    Not that he had ladies of his acquaintance, at least none of note before William had introduced his wife and sister. The thought was like a splash of cold water—it took the edge off his desire, but didn’t douse it completely.
    Annabelle’s sparkling gaze whipped to his. “Do you have a large stable then? Filled with spirited mares? And what about geldings and stallions?”
    Ah, here was a safe topic at least. He vaguely recalled William mentioning his sister’s interest in horses. “Unfortunately my stable is nowhere near the size or quality of your brother’s. However, I am hoping to build it over time.” The man society knew as his father had left him naught but debt. Through hard work, he’d managed to pay off the bulk, but with nothing to spare toward improvements or luxuries.
    “William just purchased a lovely mare from Minerva’s father for me. A bit of a bribe to get me to behave, I’m sure.” She laughed, but it sounded