Dancing With A Devil Read Free Page A

he would remember the little matter of his revealed identity thanks to his deceitful, double-crossing deceased French wife. May her black soul rest in peace.
    Dinnisfree picked up a card. “I’ve noticed nothing unusual in Davenport’s mannerisms. The man is aloof, as always.” Dinnisfree’s bored tone offered no friendly avenue to continue the conversation. Trent relaxed, until Sutherland grinned.
    Sutherland laid his cards faceup. “I’ve won again, gentlemen.”
    “ So you have,” Trent agreed, working to keep his tone carefully neutral.
    Sutherland drew his winnings toward him, the coins scraping the wood as he did so. Once he had a neat gleaming pile, he spoke. “This is exactly what I mean, Dinnisfree. You cannot deny Davenport’s preoccupation.” Sutherland glanced at Trent. “Someone has your attention to the exclusion of everything else. Very unlike you.”
    A trace of humor underlay the words, but the remark still set Trent on edge. He gripped his whiskey glass and downed the contents with a single gulp. Fire blossomed in his belly. As he set the glass down with a clank , one of the many demireps Nash Wolverton, the club’s owner, employed to keep the men in his hellfire club happy and present, strolled past, only to stop in front of the elaborately painted Chinese wall where she turned slowly to face Trent.
    She ran one hand down her sheer jade costume. The woman’s long dark hair reminded him of Audrey’s. It was almost the same shade, but not nearly as shiny, nor did it have the soft waves Audrey’s hair possessed. Trent’s fingers flexed in remembrance of the way her locks slid like silk through his hands the one time he had touched the strands.
    Damnation . This preoccupation with her was getting worse with each passing day―not better. As the demirep sauntered toward him with an open invitation of sin on her parted moist lips and her eyes slumberous with desire, he shook his head subtly. Her eyes opened wide, but she took his hint and twisted away. This was the seventh open invitation to sleeping with a woman he had turned down this week.
    What the devil was wrong with him? The only thing he could pinpoint was Audrey. Had asking her to be his friend been foolhardy? Should he have handled things differently with her when the truth of her innocence and what she wanted had surfaced? Even if he should have, he was not sure he could have. A picture of her standing in the Duchess of Primwitty’s guest chamber flashed in his mind―disheveled hair, swollen kissable crimson lips. Her face tinged a lovely shade of pink with the heat of her embarrassment. When her confession of her innocence and desire tumbled out of her mouth in a rush of words, he had not been able to retain his anger for her misleading him. Not only that, he had been incapable of ending their acquaintance.
    The idea of being friends had come to him and seemed a fine plan. Learning she was innocent and wanted him to court her, he had assumed the nightly fantasies of her would cease. But she still appeared in his dreams every night naked and writhing on his bed with his cream silk sheets tangled about her slender body, her dark hair fanned out around her in sable waves and her bodice undone to expose the swell of creamy flesh her elaborate gowns always pushed up enticingly. He groaned at the mental picture.
    Laughter erupted across the table, almost drowned by the dull roar of conversation from the lords gambling and talking nearby. His former training as a spy to hear everything and nothing at once allowed him to pick out a trace of a slow American guffaw. He narrowed his gaze on Sutherland. Before he could warn the man not to pester him further, Sutherland spoke. “You can deny it all you want, but ever since you got the preposterous notion in your head that you and Lady Audrey can be friends, you’ve been preoccupied by thoughts of her.”
    Trent ground his teeth. “I’m not preoccupied by any woman.” Dreams of his dead wife