the man whatsoever, she didn’t say it. Instead, each time they circled, she craned her head to glimpse Earl Wainwright to make sure she didn’t lose track of him. It was frustrating at first.
If only I was dancing with the councillor instead…
But then Patrick eased her a little farther out onto the floor and other bodies got in the way. Cat couldn’t see Councillor Wainwright anymore. She suppressed a sigh, surrendered her impatience for the moment and hoped desperately that the dance would end soon.
Chapter Two
Patrick felt the stifled movement of Lady Catrina’s sigh, and his curiosity surged once more.
Her body had been quite a distraction. There was something about this woman. She was lithe, supple and smooth in his arms. Her body was slim but strong and healthy. There was a warmth and sparkle to her that he hadn’t expected to find, an aura about her that suggested she lived her life to the fullest.
He couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it come from her eyes?
Well, no, apparently not. When they rested on him, they were cool and bored, and when they moved elsewhere, they were frustrated and impatient, which gave him a sour sort of feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite identify.
His hand rested against the black fabric at the back of her simple, swishy dress. He could tell it wasn’t silk. Her skin would undoubtedly feel much, much silkier. He was a little startled to catch himself in the wish that the back of the dress was lower, so that he could discover the texture of her skin with his fingers.
Was he attracted to her, then, despite his cynicism?
Hell, yes! And he couldn’t understand why he didn’t have more control. He’d already decided exactly what sort of a person she had to be, and he wasn’t impressed.
All the same, there were things about her that didn’t fit…like the scratchy feeling on the heel of her hand, another item on a growing list of things he hadn’t identified yet. What on earth was that?
And this gown intrigued him. The fabric was cheap, yet his eye told him the gown was beautifully made, fitting her like a designer original stitched by a professional to her unique measurements. And that was a contradiction, because if she could afford a made-to-measure garment, why couldn’t she afford silk?
Since this was a far safer issue than the complicated matter of his unwilling…and growing…attraction to her, he focused on it and began to challenge her subtly.
“I hadn’t expected to come across a certified member of the British aristocracy at this event,” he murmured. “What brings you to Pennsylvania?”
“I’m staying with some friends,” she said, without hesitation. Without blinking, either, he noticed.
“They’re here tonight?” He knew they wouldn’t be.
“No, they were ill at the last minute and couldn’t come.”
Yeah, right!
“How sad!”
“Yes, it was a frightful pity.”
“Frightful,” he agreed.
“So I’m here on my own.”
“Where did you meet these friends? Here in the U.S.?”
“No, in Gstaad last winter. We were all there for the winter sports.”
“Gstaad? I didn’t think anybody went there anymore,” he commented. He was making this up on the spot, knew only that Gstaad was a winter resort somewhere in Switzerland, but he wasn’t disappointed in her reaction.
“Oh, well, I know,” she answered far too quickly, and he couldn’t help appreciating the agile movement of her mind. “But of course, um, that’s its great advantage. One simply can’t stand to be crowded into some too-too fashionable resort where everyone only goes to be seen.”
“No, I imagine one would find that very trying,” he said. If she had picked up on his parody of her accent and word choice, she didn’t let on.
The music ended, and he felt her begin to pull out of his arms as if she couldn’t wait to get back to Wainwright. Afraid of being found out?
Pretending not to notice her movement, he tightened his arms around her and said very smoothly, “We’ll have another one, shall we? The night’s young yet. Plenty of time to…” Deliberately he trailed off, and she fell into the trap.
“To what?” she said.
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“No?”
He shrugged, in no hurry to get to the point. It was much more interesting to do this slowly. The music began again, another waltz. On the ice, professional skaters were whirling around in glittering costumes with flaring skirts. A faint mist arose from the cold white surface.
On an impulse, Patrick asked her, “So, what do you think of the way they’ve set all this up tonight?”
“Oh, they’ve done a terrific job, don’t you think?” she answered at once, and her face lit up. The accent got a little wobbly, but she didn’t notice and he didn’t care. Her eyes were warm, dark pools and her cheeks were pink.
“The whole thing’s incredible,” she continued. “I could never have imagined they’d make it look so good, when it…uh…must normally be so bland. They must have worked incredibly hard. The sculptures are beautiful, and the lights, and the costumes. And I hate to think who was up on ladders for hours frosting all those patterns on the glass. I love it!”
“But of course you’ve attended this sort of function many times before,” he reminded her gently, knowing perfectly well that she hadn’t.
Jaded jet-setters didn’t express such enthusiasm in his experience. Nor did they spare a thought for the anonymous workers who had toiled to prepare their pleasures. He’d never met one who wasn’t entirely and selfishly oblivious to such details.
So who was she?
She didn’t seem like a fortune hunter. There was a sincerity about her…which was a ridiculous word to choose when even the name she’d given him was phony. She had to be about as sincere as a computer-generated telephone message.
“Oh, of course,” she was saying quickly, the accent back in place and more plum-in-the-mouth than ever. “But this actually compares rather well to the Ascot Ball, and…uh…and so forth. I’m pleasantly surprised.” She faked a well-bred yawn behind her hand, then shot a little glance up through her lashes to gauge his response.
He had to hide a smile. Hell, she was a cute little liar!
Is that champagne going to my head? he wondered.
It was a long time since he’d enjoyed dancing this much. Normally, it was something he put up with. He considered it a matter of business etiquette if the occasion
