“We have to go do more of your Society establishing,” she replied, shaking her shoulders to adjust her gown. Making Griff even more tongue-tied at the sight. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be wearing this gown.” She twirled in a circle. “Do you like it?” she asked in a mischievous tone.

He stepped forward so he was within a hand’s breadth of her. But he didn’t touch her, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I like it,” he said in a low tone, watching as she reacted to his voice. “I’ll like it better when I am underneath its skirts.” And then he watched as her eyes widened, and she took a few deep breaths as she realized what he was saying.

“Let’s go to this thing before I forget I am a fake betrothed,” she said in a strained voice.

She stepped to the door and he followed, his gaze riveted on the back of her neck, on where the tiny black buttons were like a treasure map to what he knew would be a treasure just for him.

This was going to be a long night.

“Lady Della Howlett.” The butler announced her name tentatively, as though he knew what the likely reception would be. “And Lord Stanbury,” he added, this time much more confidently.

Della lifted one eyebrow toward Griffith, who was glowering in a particularly possessive—and yes, intriguing—way.

“It’s fine,” she murmured as they walked into the ballroom. He tucked her arm into his, practically sweeping her into the middle of the floor.

Unfortunately, since it was a ball, he had just walked her into the middle of about two dozen couples.

“Nice work, my lord,” she said in a dry tone. “I think we have to dance now.”

He grinned at her, apparently oblivious to the sea of people swirling around them. “If it means I can touch you in public, then we’ll dance.” He took her in his arms and swung her immediately into the rhythm of the dance, making her nearly breathless. Whether that was because he had taken her unawares or because she could feel the heat of his body, she didn’t know.

And actually, she mused ruefully, he hadn’t taken her at all yet, either aware or unawares.

Stop thinking about it, Della, she admonished herself.

“What is on your mind?” he asked, sounding merely curious. Thank goodness it didn’t seem as though he could read her thoughts.

“Uh—well, we have to return to looking for Mr. Wattings.”

“That’s not what you were thinking about.” He stared pointedly at her mouth, so intensely it felt as though he were kissing her here, right in this ballroom.

And so much for not reading thoughts. It seemed he could, but he was also very good at hiding his reactions.