of her breasts yet it seemed to Dexter that the very modesty of the design and the tight swathing of the material served only to emphasize the sheer sensuousness of Laura’s curves. Whenever she moved, whenever she breathed, the gown shimmered with the radiance of a thousand tiny stars. She looked exquisite. He felt hot just looking at her.
Laura’s hair was swept up into a matching diamond clip. It shone with rich golden and chestnut lights and it seemed to beg to be unpinned and touched. Dexter felt his breathing constrict as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs. He stood still and looked at her and absorbed what felt like a physical blow. His habitual cool rationality had never seemed so far away. He could not move. He could not speak.
“Is there some kind of problem?” Laura asked, looking pointedly at where Dexter’s hands were still resting on Miles’s shoulders.
“Not at all,” Dexter said, coming to himself and smoothing Miles’s jacket down hastily. “Lord Vickery merely had a small malfunction with his wardrobe.”
“Next time you can call my tailor rather than attempting to assist yourself,” Miles said, glaring at him. He adjusted the set of his jacket and bowed to Laura, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on it.
“How are you, Laura?” he asked, sounding suspiciously to Dexter as though he was putting extra emphasis on his use of her name. “It is good to see you again. You look divine tonight. That must be one of Madame Hortense’s creations, I think.”
“I thought,” Dexter said sharply, unable to help himself, “that her grace was a relative of yours, Miles?”
“Not a close one,” Miles said, smiling wolfishly at Laura.
“Thank you for the compliment, Miles.” Laura’s smile held a sparkle of mischief. “But you need not waste your time on me when there are other richer and more susceptible ladies about.” She stood gracefully on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Even so, it is a pleasure to see you, too.”
“You are as proper as always,” Miles said, smiling at her.
“And as impervious to your flattery,” Laura responded, her lips tilting into an irresistible answering smile. “Pray remember I am a dowager duchess, Miles, not a green girl to fall for your compliments.”
Miles released her hand with every sign of reluctance. Dexter felt his temper bristle. “You are the most seductive dowager I have ever known,” Miles said, “and trust me, I have known many and in every way imaginable.”
“Enough, Miles,” Laura said, her strict tone giving Dexter a most inappropriate frisson of sexual excitement. “I do not wish to know about your conquests, nor do I have any intention of joining their ranks.”
“Oh very well…” Miles sighed. “I hope Hattie is doing well,” he said, reverting to a more cousinly tone. “I have brought some gifts for her from Mama. If I might call tomorrow…”
Dexter smiled. The image of an utter rake like Miles traveling from London with a child’s toys in his luggage was irresistible. Miles shot him a dark look.
“Of course,” Laura said. Dexter felt rather than saw her cast a quick look in his direction. Her tone was slightly strained. “Hattie will be delighted to see you.”
“Capital,” Miles said.
Laura turned to Dexter and her smile was several degrees cooler than the one she had given her cousin. It felt as though she was only addressing him because socially she had to. Dexter felt excluded. He did not like it. The urge to make her take notice of him, to force a response from her, was strong. This ice maiden could not have been more different from the sensuous woman he had held in his arms only a few hours before.
He caught her eye and for a second the awareness shimmered between them again. The noise from the crowd faded and it was just him and Laura looking at one another. He tried to force his gaze away from her and failed signally to do so.
Miles cleared his throat loudly and they both jumped.
“I wondered what had brought you to Fortune’s Folly, Mr. Anstruther,” Laura said icily, covering her embarrassment with an arctic chill that Dexter thought might freeze him to the marrow. “I assume that both you and Miles are here because of Sir Montague’s outrageous edict? It is the only thing that I can think of that would bring two such ineligible gentlemen as yourselves to the north.”
“A man has to do what he must,” Miles said gloomily, “no matter how repugnant it may seem.”
“What an admirable approach to marriage, Miles,” Laura said. She was laughing. “And you, Mr. Anstruther—” Once again her tone had chilled as she turned to Dexter. “Do you hold the same sentiments? Your mama has made no secret of the fact that she wishes you to seek a rich and conformable wife.” She sounded derisive, as though Dexter were tied to his mother’s apron strings.
“Dexter needs to try harder to find a girl to suit him,” Miles said, grinning maliciously at Dexter. “He’s too damned—sorry, dashed—particular.”
“Possibly you cannot find a suitable bride because most young ladies have the wit not to be conformable these days,” Laura said. She threw Dexter a mocking look. “Is that what you want, Mr. Anstruther? A henwit?”
What Dexter wanted was to respond to Laura Cole’s provocation by shaking her—or possibly kissing her senseless. He felt alarmingly heated, as though his clothes were too tight and were smothering him. He wanted to break out of their restrictions with a roar and grab Laura and carry her off. He wanted to forget that his life was governed by sense and order these days and be decidedly disordered and irrational.
“And what of your own matrimonial prospects, your grace?” he inquired smoothly, clamping down on instincts that were becoming more ungovernable by the moment. “You are, after all, a single woman and a resident of Fortune’s Folly. As such you fulfill all the criteria for Sir Montague’s tax. Are you resigned to handing over half of your fortune to him?”
Laura laughed. “I most certainly am not, Mr. Anstruther! I have no intention of doing so. But with so small a fortune of my own I imagine that I am a negligible part of Sir Montague’s plan.”
“I doubt,” Dexter said, “that Sir Montague sees any sum of money as negligible, your grace.”
“Well, he won’t get his hands on mine,” Laura snapped.
“Then you will marry to avoid the tax?” Dexter enjoyed the flash of anger he had provoked in Laura’s eyes.
“That is even less likely than that I would willingly hand over my minuscule fortune, Mr. Anstruther,” she said. “I have had one husband and have no wish for a second.”
Dexter could well believe that having finally got rid of the ghastly Charles, Laura would not wish to compromise her freedom again. And why should she, when widows could manage their lovers as they pleased as long as they showed a little discretion? The thought did nothing to soothe his aggravation.
“I am fascinated to know how you plan to solve this dilemma,” he said. “It is marry or pay, is it not?” He raised his brows. “Are you not trapped, your grace? Sir Montague’s edict has the weight of the law behind it, distasteful as it may be. Surely you cannot intend to break that law? You, a dowager duchess and pillar of the community?”
For
