Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] Read Free

contents to avoid spilling on her dress. She passed the empty vessel to George without looking. Marcus caught her hand before she could retrieve it.
    Bowing low with a charming smile, his gaze never broke contact with hers. “Lady Hawthorne. Ravishing, as ever.” His voice was rich and warm, reminding her of crushed velvet. “Would it be folly to hope you still have a dance available, and that you would be willing to dance it with me?”
    Elizabeth’s mind scrambled, attempting to discover a way to refuse. His wickedly virile energy, potent even across the room, was overwhelming in close proximity.
    “I am not in attendance to dance, Lord Westfield. Ask any of the gentlemen around us.”
    “I’ve no wish to dance with them,” he said dryly, “so their thoughts on the matter are of no consequence to me.”
    She began to object when she perceived the challenge in his eyes. He smiled with devilish amusement, visibly daring her to proceed, and Elizabeth paused. She would not give him the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid to dance with him. “You may claim this next set, Lord Westfield, if you insist.”
    He bowed gracefully, his gaze approving. He offered his arm and led her toward the dance floor. As the musicians began to play and music rose in joyous swell through the room, the beautiful strains of the minuet began.
    Turning, Marcus extended his arm toward her. She placed her hand atop the back of his, grateful for the gloves that separated their skin. The ballroom was ablaze with candles, which cast him in golden light and brought to her attention the strength of his shoulder as it flexed. Lashes lowered, she appraised him for signs of change.
    Marcus had always been an intensely physical man, engaging in a variety of sports and activities. Impossibly, it appeared he had grown stronger, more formidable. He was power personified and Elizabeth marveled at her past naiveté in believing she could tame him. Thank God, she was no longer so foolish.
    His one softness was his luxuriously rich brown hair. It shone like sable and was tied at the nape with a simple black ribbon. Even his emerald gaze was sharp, piercing with a fierce intelligence. He had a clever mind to which deceit was naught but a simple game, as she had learned at great cost to her heart and pride.
    She had half expected to find the signs of dissipation so common to the indulgent life and yet his handsome face bore no such witness. Instead he wore the sun-kissed appearance of a man who spent much of his time outdoors. His nose was straight and aquiline over lips that were full and sensuous. At the moment those lips were turned up on one side in a half smile that was at once boyish and alluring. He remained perfectly gorgeous from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He was watching her studying him, fully aware that she could not help but admire his handsomeness. She lowered her eyes and stared resolutely at his jabot.
    The scent that clung to him enveloped her senses. It was a wonderfully manly scent of sandalwood, citrus, and Marcus’s own unique essence. The flush of her skin seeped into her insides, mingling with her apprehension.
    Reading her thoughts, Marcus tilted his head toward her. His voice, when it came, was low and husky. “Elizabeth. It is a long-awaited pleasure to be in your company again.”
    “The pleasure, Lord Westfield, is entirely yours.”
    “You once called me Marcus.”
    “It would no longer be appropriate for me to address you so informally, my lord.”
    His mouth tilted into a sinful grin. “I give you leave to be inappropriate with me at any time you choose. In fact, I have always relished your moments of inappropriateness.”
    “You have had a number of willing women who suited you just as well.”
    “Never, my love. You have always been separate and apart from every other female.”
    Elizabeth had met her share of scoundrels and rogues but always their slick confidence and overtly intimate manners left