Dear God, how could a man’s voice wreak such havoc? He meant the dance, of course, acting as though he’d written his name in the space next to it on her dance card. Every word of that last sentence bled with a sultry possessiveness that made her blood heat to sinful levels. She wanted to scream, Yes, you found me, now take me. Wanton fool that she was. Bronwyn lifted her chin, resentment at her own weakness for him filling her.

The blatantly ignored marquis glared and spluttered his outrage when Thornbury bowed and lifted a brow in expectation. The music was starting and the other couples were already in position. Heavens, the arrogance of him.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said firmly to the duke. “I’ve promised this dance to Monsieur de Tremblay. You’ll simply have to find me later.” She would take a handsy marquis over a man whom her body recognized as its erotic downfall. A waltz would be utterly detrimental.

Those eyes of his glowered…promising something. “As you say, my lady. Don’t worry, I am not going anywhere.”

She couldn’t help it; she shivered. The corner of his lip kicked the tiniest bit and she jutted her jaw with a dismissive sniff. As she and the marquis took their positions, she could feel Thornbury’s stare on her though she could not see him. She wasn’t surprised that he had come. Her intention hadn’t been to hide, after all, but still the visceral reality of him had rattled her to her core. Her very warm, very needy core that was begging to be ruined.

Oh, enough!

“Who was that?” the curious marquis asked when they glided into the first turn. “I am not acquainted with him.”

Bronwyn looked up to see a pair of sharp green eyes on her. “No one of import. A gentleman from England who fancies himself a suitor, I suppose. He followed me here, hoping to declare his intentions.”

The marquis’s brows rose. “And you do not welcome those intentions?”

“Why would you say that?”

A grin displayed two dimples on either side of his cheeks. “I am French. I recognize desire when I see it, mademoiselle. It does not only go one way, non? He wants you. You want him. But he also frightens you, which was why you did not dance with him.”

“You are very perceptive, Monsieur de Tremblay,” she murmured. “Though ‘frighten’ isn’t the right word. He is…intimidating.”

Fingers flexed at her waist, but not enough to cause alarm, and to her surprise, they did not wander. “I could make you forget him, if you like.”