Heloise jumped at that low, achingly familiar voice. “Oh no, I—”
She stopped and frowned. Why had Raven called her “mademoiselle” instead of “Hellcat”? He never missed the chance to use his taunting nickname for her. The fact that he hadn’t was…odd. Her heart stuttered. Perhaps he really hadn’t recognized her?
A sudden, reckless urge took hold of her. He didn’t know who she was! Which meant she’d been granted a completely unexpected opportunity to break out of their usual cycle of petty insults and studied avoidance. A flush of hot excitement skittered over her skin. Why not pretend? Just for a few minutes. Pretend she was a woman he’d flirt with. A woman he’d desire.
He was scandalously close behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and caught a brief glimpse of his perfect lips hovering beneath the snarling muzzle of his mask.
“Don’t turn around,” he murmured. “I’m enjoying the view.”
She stilled.
“You’re very beautiful, mademoiselle cat.”
Heloise curled her lips at the irony. No one who saw her face ever claimed that. “How can you tell? For all you know I could be hideously scarred beneath this mask.”
“No,” he mused, quietly confident. “You’re definitely beautiful.”
Heloise closed her eyes as pleasure and pain curled together in her chest. A few years ago she’d have done anything to hear him say those words. She managed a creditable shrug. “What’s that saying? ‘All cats are gray in the dark.’ ”
His breath warmed her shoulder, the curve of her neck. “Let’s just say I have an unerring instinct in such matters.”
She opened her mouth to refute him, but he spoke again.
“So why a cat? Cats are haughty and cruel. Is that a fair reading of your character?”
“Why a dog, sir?” she countered archly. “Are you loyal? Faithful? Devoted?”
He chuckled. “Hardly. But don’t worry—I’m not about to mark my territory against one of these elegant pillars. I’m considered relatively domesticated.”
Heloise repressed an unladylike snort. After the past decade working as a spy alongside her brothers, Raven was about as tame as a jackal. And she shouldn’t be finding such puerile humor amusing. “If you’re hoping I’ll throw you a stick, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment.”
His lips quirked as if at some private joke. “How true. You realize, of course, that as cat and dog we can never be friends. I think the best we can hope for is friendly enemies.”
She made a moue with her mouth. “That is disappointing.”
His lips curved upward. “Ah, but then, I’ve always found enemies extremely…stimulating.”
Her heart thumped at his suggestive tone. The fiend could make even the most innocuous conversation fraught with innuendo. Or maybe it was just her overactive imagination.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked smoothly before she could form an appropriate response. “A saucer of milk?” His voice held the ghost of a laugh. “Or perhaps you’d prefer champagne?” A servant appeared at his elbow and he took two glasses of the sparkling liquid. “Drink up,” he urged gently.
“I really shouldn’t.” She wasn’t used to drinking spirits. Almack’s only served tea and lemonade. And she’d already had one glass.
He curled his fingers around hers and raised the glass to her lips. “You really should.”
The champagne burned down her throat, blissfully cool. No doubt the vintage was hideously expensive; money was no object for Raven. Her fingers burned where he touched her and she sucked in a relieved breath when he released her hand. His nearness was having the most unsettling effect on her nerves. She glanced around the room, trying to appear no more than innocently curious. “I wish I knew which of these people was our host.”
She waited for him to take the cue and reveal himself.
“You mean Ravenwood?”
Heloise raised her brows under her mask. Apparently he wanted to remain incognito, too. Interesting. “Yes, I’d like to congratulate him. He’s certainly achieved what was promised on the invitation—an evening of heaven and hell.”
Raven’s shoulder brushed hers as he moved to stand beside her, and she risked another sideways glance at him. His coat was exquisite, perfectly molded to his body as if someone had poured liquid silk over him and simply waited for it to dry. It was a miracle it didn’t rip when he moved. The stark contrast of black and white enhanced the lean perfection of his features. Heloise took another long sip of champagne.
He glanced around, a slight, cynical smile on his lips. “Yes, someone should tell Ravenwood this is an excellent party. The brandy’s contraband, the rooms are so overcrowded one can barely breathe, and I can see at least five—no, six—of the seven deadly sins being committed as we speak.”
That was true. Examples of pride, envy, greed, gluttony, and lust were everywhere she turned. Tables groaned with food, solid silver platters piled high with exotic fruits and cheeses. A rumble of chatter emanated from the card room next door, the chink of glasses mingling with occasional exclamations of delight or groans of despair.
There were other groans, too. Heloise hastily averted her eyes from a couple huddled in a darkened corner. The man’s hand seemed to be disappearing into the scandalously low bodice of his partner’s gown.
“I trust the evening’s sufficiently uninhibited for your taste?” Raven inquired politely.
She swallowed. “Yes indeed. Although there seems to be far more of hell here tonight than heaven.”
“A quirk of society, is it not? We adore the wicked and loathe the good. Our host is the perfect example. They say he’s blackened beyond redemption, yet those same hypocrites fall over themselves for an invitation to this very ball.”
“Your choice of mask is very apt,” she laughed. “The word ‘cynic’ derives from the Greek word ‘kynikos,’ meaning doglike.”
As soon as she’d said it, Heloise wished she’d held her tongue. Such bookish knowledge was sure to betray her. How many other women in the room had an interest in Ancient Greek, for heaven’s sake? She held her breath, expecting exposure, but Raven merely inclined his head.
“It’s not cynical if it’s true. Everyone reads Dante’s Inferno and skips his Paradiso. It’s because paradise is boring. Hell is far more interesting.”
A throaty laugh from nearby drew her attention.
“Ah, the divine Lady Brooke,” Raven murmured, following her gaze. “London’s favorite merry widow.”
And your most recent mistress, she added silently. Her heart sank as she studied the voluptuous woman, whose impossibly curvy body seemed to defy the laws of gravity. Heloise glanced down at her own sadly average chest and sighed wistfully. If she’d been born with a body like that in addition to her brains, the world would have been hers for the taking. “A marble statue with those proportions would fall flat on its face,” she muttered darkly.
“Maybe she has enormous feet to act as counterbalance?” Raven offered blandly.
Heloise bit her lip. No doubt he knew the precise dimensions of Lady Brooke’s feet. Along with every other part of her. She cleared her throat and attempted to inject just the right amount of casual speculation into her tone. “Perhaps our mysterious host is her companion. Rumor has it she’s Ravenwood’s latest paramour.”
Raven tilted his head. “Is that what rumor says?”
Heloise shrugged. “She certainly has all the necessary attributes he seems to require in a mistress. Namely, an ample pair of breasts and an inability to speak coherent English.”
He chuckled. “You seem remarkably well informed of Lord Ravenwood’s taste in women.”
Heloise waved her hand in a vague, airy gesture. “Oh, you know how it is. There are no secrets in the ton. Especially when it concerns an eligible bachelor like Lord Ravenwood. His previous mistress was French. And the one before that an Italian opera singer. I suppose only taking up with foreigners saves him from having to exert himself to actually talk to them.”
He slanted her a wicked sideways glance. “I’m fairly sure he doesn’t engage them for conversation.”
Heat rushed into her face as her skin prickled with awareness. Raven invariably managed to veer every conversation off onto a distinctly racy tangent. She gave an unconcerned lift of the shoulder and ignored the ache in her chest at the idea of him with another woman. “Well, I expect she’ll be replaced soon enough. Ravenwood seems to be able to snap his fingers and have any woman he wants.”
“Not all of them,” he murmured. “A select few have remained frustratingly elusive.”
Her heart stuttered. He absolutely wasn’t talking about her.
“Still, it’s true Ravenwood’s never had a problem attracting most women,” he continued, as if they were discussing nothing more innocuous than the weather. “Nothing elicits desire in a female more than the promise of a ducal title and an outrageously large”—he paused teasingly—“house.”
Heloise’s mood lightened at his self-deprecating humor. A face like a fallen angel and the body of a Greek god probably don’t hurt, either. She glanced up at the arched ceiling and pretended to admire the soaring architecture. “It’s certainly impressive,” she said, straight-faced. “Very…imposing.”
“Ravenwood would be delighted to hear it. A man never tires of women praising the size of his endowments.”
Heloise bit back an unladylike snort as the quartet in the corner struck up a waltz. Couples began to form on the dance floor and she stiffened in surprise when Raven slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto their midst before she could object.
“Dance with me.”
She shouldn’t. It would only make things worse. She should reveal who she was and tell him about the message. But the crowd pushed them together and her face pressed up against his chest and she made the tactical error of inhaling. Oh Lord, he smelled delicious, like a forest after rain. She placed her hands on his lapels and pushed backward. Raven’s hand slid down her back and came to rest at the very bottom of her spine, scandalously low. Heloise drew in an unsteady breath as his touch burned through the fabric of her dress. They fitted together perfectly.
“I don’t think—”
“Good,” he countered softly. He removed her hand from his chest and repositioned it on his shoulder. “In situations like this thinking is highly overrated.” He captured her other hand, brought it up to shoulder level, and whirled her away into the dance.
Heloise gasped. Such magic. Her body knew the secret, even if it hadn’t informed her brain. The confidence of his steps, the surety of his grip, transferred themselves to her and she was flying over the floor as if they’d done this a thousand times before. Which they had, of course, but only in her fanciful childhood dreams.
Raven splayed the fingers of his left hand and tugged her closer still. The muscles of his arm flexed beneath the fabric of his jacket. Her breasts pressed against the hard contours of his chest and the blood heated in her veins. He was almost a full head taller—her cheek only reached his shoulder—so his size should have been intimidating, but instead she felt oddly protected.
When the music ended they swirled to a giddy stop. Heloise pulled back, breathless as the couples around them began to disband, but instead of releasing her, Raven tightened his grip. She glanced up and his sudden intent stillness made her skin prickle with alarm. She watched, mesmerized, as he slowly tilted his head and lowered his mouth toward hers.
Good Lord, he was going to kiss her! Right here—in the middle of the crowded dance floor!
Disbelief and reckless anticipation sizzled through her veins. Why not? She’d promised herself some forbidden fun, and kissing Raven definitely came under that category. This might be her only chance—ever—and besides, he’d never need to know it was her.
She angled her head and parted her lips. Closed her eyes in breathless anticipation. Raven’s warm breath skimmed over her cheek and she almost groaned in frustration when he paused a hairbreadth away from her lips in deliberate restraint, drawing out the moment until every cell in her body was screaming for him to make contact.
Heloise strained upward on tiptoe. His mouth grazed the very corner of hers in a tantalizing butterfly kiss that sent fizzles of excitement racing over her skin. She turned her head, blindly seeking his lips, but he pulled back with a chiding sound, his fingers tightening their grip on her upper arms.
Heloise opened her eyes and frowned behind her mask. What on earth was he waiting for, the dolt? An engraved invitation?
And then those perfect lips curved into the smug, self-satisfied smile she knew only too well and her stomach plummeted in dread.
Raven’s chin brushed her temple as he casually tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Hellcat Hampden,” he scolded softly. “What in God’s name are you doing in my ballroom?”