His signet ring weighed heavily on his hand, reminding him of his purpose tonight. He had not made any headway in locating the third and final guardian. So he’d come out among Society tonight in hopes of uncovering that person’s identity. He had very few clues, but he knew London was the correct location.
Spencer’s birthday was rapidly approaching, only three days away, and he had to complete the prophecy by then or he would fail. Two more generals and the final guardian and then all would be set.
“Pardon me,” he said to his companions; he could scarcely consider them friends. “I believe I’ll retrieve some refreshments.” It was an excuse to roam the room and get as close to as many people as possible. The women were not the problem. He could dance with any woman in the room. They’d respond to him, he knew that. He was a handsome devil, and women always craved his attention. That and being her majesty’s faithful advisor usually ensured that he made a rather popular dance partner. But he preferred situations in which he wouldn’t have to play the charming rogue and could instead be silent and focus on his work.
The closer he got to the table and the crowd of women to his left, the more the ring glowed bright red. The guardian was here. Only elixir caused his ring to blaze. Deftly he poured himself some lemonade—dreadful stuff, but it was the only concoction available at the table. So he forced the drink down and poured more. Then he slowly walked toward a group of women standing not too far away from him.
The redness deepened. A female guardian, that was something he hadn’t considered. He found himself searching the women’s faces looking for some other sign. No doubt, she’d be beautiful. At least, he imagined she would be, and as he looked into the eager expressions of the girls standing together—their desire for him to invite them to dance etched painfully across their faces—none of them seemed particularly beautiful to him.
And the ring, while glowing, was not nearly as red or bright as it had been when he’d found the other two guardians. He didn’t bother smiling at the women as he moved around the perimeter of the room. Sitting in a tight clump directly opposite the band, he found another group of women. Again, they were all pleasant-looking, but not so much so as to stop him in his tracks. The ring brightened, but the ruby-red color it had taken in the presence of the other guardians did not appear.
He took a slow walk along the open balcony, but discovered only couples hiding in darkened corners. As he made his way back into the ballroom, he stopped as the color of blonde hair caught his attention. It was nearly white, it was so fair, and the woman it belonged to was nothing short of exquisite. She was in the arms of an older gentleman, one he knew from some circles. She laughed at something the man said, and the throaty sound purred up Spencer’s extremities.
“Behave,” she said, “you wouldn’t want my lover to get jealous.”
“Your lover, and who might that be?” the man asked.
“The Marquess of Lindberg. Maxwell and I have been together for years,” she said.
So she belonged to the marquess. Perhaps this was the woman whom Spencer had seen with Max at Phinneas’s cottage.
He waited until the dance was complete, then made his way to her side, champagne in hand. The closer he got to her, the deeper the red shone in his ring. This was her. She had to be the third and final guardian.
“A drink?” He held it out to her.
She looked up at him from beneath long, kohl-covered eyelashes. “Thank you. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” She held her hand out to him, waiting for him to press the scandalously ungloved skin to his mouth. “Cassandra St. James.”
“Beautiful name,” he said as he kissed her warm hand.
“And do you have one?” she asked. “A name, that is?”
“I do. Walk with me.” It was not a request. Though Spencer sensed Cassandra was not a woman who took orders lightly, her curiosity got the better of her, so she took his arm and together they stepped out of the ballroom.
Max said nothing more and instead turned his attention to pouring them each a glass of brandy. He handed Sabine the amber-colored liquid, then downed his own glass. “At the moment, I’d like to find those ancestors of yours and throttle them. Damned riddles and clues and dead ends,” he muttered.
“Agreed. There has to be another way to stop the Chosen One than to traipse all over the country breaking into people’s homes and digging up graves.”
He poured himself another splash, then turned to find Sabine staring at him.
She boldly made her way over to him, took the drink out of his hand, and set it on the occasional table behind him. He said nothing, merely kept his eyes on hers, as she made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.
“You told me not to start something I didn’t want to finish. Well, I’m starting something,” she said.
He didn’t wait for more of an invitation. His hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against him, then he swept his mouth across hers.
While they kissed, she ran her hands over his torso, tracing every muscle and hair with exquisite torture. He could not lose control, he reminded himself. Tonight he would slowly indulge her every need.
“Sabine,” Max said, his voice ragged with his own need.
“I merely need to forget,” she whispered. “If only for a short while.”
The dead end they’d come to on the quest was wearing on her. She’d been through quite an ordeal over the last several days, and her life had been threatened repeatedly. She deserved to forget for a moment that danger still lurked around the next corner.
He moved to stand behind her, and while she held her hair out of the way, he unbuttoned her dress. Though there were only twelve buttons, he took his time, kissing each new portion of skin as it was revealed. Then he slowly slid the bodice off her shoulders and down her arms.
He stopped at her wrists, imprisoning her arms at her sides. He nibbled at her neck and the tops of her shoulders. Her soft moans drove him wild, and he wanted nothing more than to bend her over and take her hard and fast. But she deserved slow and patient and he wanted to give her that.
His hands went around and cupped her breasts over the thin fabric of her shift. Her nipples immediately hardened at his touch, and they pressed against the cotton material. She rubbed against his palms. He caressed her breasts while he feathered hot kisses across her neck. Her desire was palpable. Her breath came faster until she exhaled in a soft gasp.