Dane recognized her immediately.
She might think she could fool him with that powdered wig, mask, and costume, but she was unmistakably Sandrine. The carmine stain applied to the lush contours of her lips made him long to kiss her, and her gown—sweet Lord! The bodice was a narrow strip of yellow silk that only covered the lower half of her breasts, barely skimming over her nipples.
She looked stunning, although no more stunning than she did in a simple white gown witha fresh-scrubbed face. She was spun from sunlight, blue skies, and proverbs. She didn’t belong here. But maybe she did. Maybe she really was becoming someone new without her mother’s overbearing, overprotective control. He wanted to know this new Sandrine who stared at him so boldly. He could dance one dance with her. That wouldn’t be so terrible, would it? No one else knew who she was tonight.
Absolutely not, damn it.He wasn’t here to dance, he was here to find the man with the scorpion stickpin, who could be a dangerous criminal mastermind that even the formidable Duke of Osborne feared.
All eyes went to Madam Avalon as she walked to the center of the ebony-inlaid dance floor. “Ladies and gentlemen, revelers of all stripes and predilections, you have entered my court. There is only room here for love, for exploration, for the worship of the beauty that lives within all of us. I have a little surprise for you this evening. Tonight we will not simply dance, we will perform for the honor of being crowned sovereigns of this ball.”
Murmurs and exclamations of surprise rose around her. This must be something new.
“I will personally judge the dance competition. Couples on the floor will be evaluated on elegance, ingenuity, and sensuality. If you display none of these attributes, I will tap upon your shoulder, and you and your partner will have to leave the dance floor without a fuss and watch from the sidelines. The final couple left on thefloor will be crowned the sovereigns of tonight’s festivities and will preside over my court.”
He watched Sandrine’s bold expression become timid. She shrank back toward the wall, whispering to Miss Francesca McGovern and shaking her head. She must be refusing to enter the dance competition and determined to remain a wallflower. Elation flooded his mind, because if any other man had made a move toward her, Dane would have had to flatten him with a swift punch to the nose.
“I’ll make the same speech I always make for the benefit of those who are new this evening,” Madam Avalon said. “This salon is a safe space for all. Some are here to partake of the array of pleasures available, and some are here merely to observe. This must be respected by all my patrons. At the first hint of unwanted attentions forced on any guest, you will be forcefully ejected by my vigilant staff, all of whom were chosen for their discretion, loyalty, sizable fists, and even more sizable... limbs.” Titters from the audience. “Now, with that, let the dance competition begin!”
With Sandrine safely hiding behind a potted plant, Dane searched the crowd for the man with the scorpion stickpin. He’d asked Madam Avalon and her staff to be on the lookout for him as well. If anyone saw him they were to give him a sign.
Several ladies were eyeing him hungrily. One never knew what might happen at Madam Avalon’s—a lady was likely to be bold enoughto ask him to dance. He drifted to the back of the room, moving closer to Sandrine’s hiding place.
Only she wasn’t hiding anymore. As the orchestra began playing, she moved closer to the dance floor, eyes shining and jeweled slippers tapping to the music. She wanted to dance. Damn it. Several gentlemen were eyeing her like ravenous beasts, and one had already started to head toward her.
Dane wasn’t about to let anyone else claim her as a partner. If she wanted to dance, it would be with him. He strode ahead at a fast clip, cutting off the other man before he reached her.
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Madam, would you do me the honor?”
“I’d love to.” She pitched her voice lower in a vain attempt to conceal her identity.
As the music swelled he brought her to the floor, clasped her by the waist and one of her dainty hands, and led her into the dance. It felt so perfect to hold her, to be close enough that one dip of his head would bring their lips in contact.
She was more enthusiastic than graceful, but she looked so delectable when she spun, her head thrown back, smile glowing brighter than the chandeliers.
He lost himself in the pleasure of touching her, of being the recipient of her smile. She gave herself to the dance, allowing him to lead and show her what to do. He guided her hips into a swaying rhythm, twirling her around to claspher from behind, fitting her fine curves into his embrace.
Other couples were tapped on the shoulders and asked to leave, but they remained. He forgot all about the competition, forgot there were people watching them, and lost himself in her eyes.
This wasn’t any kind of dance they taught in finishing school. This was something that Dane was inventing as he went along, a sensual exploration of her body with his eyes, and then with his body, positioning her hips where he wanted them, swaying to the swooning violins.
He was a wonderful dancer. She wanted to stop and just watch him as he moved, sinuous and swaggering. Hip cocked, calling everyone’s attention to his endowment sheathed in tight black trousers.
His fingers skimmed the side of her breasts. There were people watching them, watching him touch her. She should be ashamed of the hungry gazes, but she wasn’t Sandrine Oliver, a country lady experiencing the London demimonde for the very first time. She was Lady Sapphire, a worldly courtesan. Finally she was acting out scenes from the history books she loved to devour instead of only reading about glamorous balls and lovestruck courtiers.
She leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder as his lips touched her neck. She was dimly aware that there were only three couples left on the dance floor. Roslyn was twirling in a sensual waltz with a gentleman whom Sandrine thought might be Dane’s friend, the Earl of Kenwick.
Someone tapped on her shoulder.
She whirled around, but it wasn’t Madam Avalon. Instead, a stunning woman with crimson lips, gleaming russet-colored hair, dark brown eyes, and voluptuous curves poured into a silk gown the color of rubies was cutting in to dance with Dane.
“Pardon me, miss,” she said to Sandrine, “but this gentleman engaged me for a dance.”
Sandrine saw the flash of recognition in Dane’s eyes. Recognition and admiration. He dropped Sandrine’s hand, gave her a brief bow, and danced away with the redhead, waltzing in lazy circles. They were perfectly matched in height and sensuality, their movements fluid as water.
The air left her lungs as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Her first thought was to march up to the woman and demand her place back, but Madam Avalon had already tapped the final couple on the shoulder and was announcing that Dane and the mystery woman were to be crowned.
Sandrine didn’t wait around to see more. Dane had abandoned her for a sophisticated paramour. He’d publicly humiliated her again. Had she really thought that she could win this game?
She ran out of the ballroom and toward the first door she saw. Maybe she’d only ever be a country lady, gauche and uncultured. Maybe that’s how he saw her, even when she was dressed in decadent finery.