Bronwyn Scott - Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle - Pickpocket Countess / Grayson Prentiss's Seduction / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady / Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss / The Viscount Claims His Bride

Nora hazarded a glance at Stockport. He was not so easily gulled. She offered a simpering smile to reinforce her vacuous image. Damn him, he had caught her looking at him. Her little performance hadn’t fooled him in the least. If anything, he was more alert. He studied her hard for a moment and then moved his gaze beyond her shoulder.

Nora followed his eyes as they lit on four strategic points around the ballroom and the four men in those locations. She took their measure instantly. Ha! Stockport thought to hedge his bets and call for reinforcements. She had to admire the man for his confidence that all would go as planned. But he was dealing with The Cat.

It wasn’t too late to melt back into the crowd and disappear. Although Stockport might have his suspicions aroused, she could still stage a quick getaway by faking a visit to the ladies’ retiring room. But Nora didn’t seriously consider the option for long. Five against one might be unfair, but it wasn’t insurmountable.

With acuity, she calculated what needed to be done. First, she would confirm her presence to Stockport and then she needed to create a distraction to get them out from under the watchful eyes of Stockport’s hired men.

Nora went into action, flapping her fan again. ‘I am hot and need a glass of punch.’ Smiling sweetly, she dispatched Frederick to the crowded refreshment room.

She turned back to Stockport, all traces of the sugar-sweet innocent gone, replaced by the self-assured poise of a temptress confident in her abilities. ‘I believe you’re looking for me, or rather you’re looking for this.’ Nora produced a small felt pouch from the beaded reticule hanging from her wrist. She didn’t need to open it. They both knew what it contained. She had his attention—now for the distraction. She held out her hand. ‘Dance with me, Stockport.’

Stockport cast a meaningful glance at Frederick’s retreating back. ‘Have you no compunction about dancing with people you rob?’ he asked archly.

‘If I didn’t dance with people I rob, I wouldn’t get to dance at all. There’d be no one left.’

Stockport tightened his jaw at her cheeky banter, causing a tic to jump in his perturbation.

Nora grimaced. ‘I thought the remark was witty.’

‘I am not here to trade clever repartee. I am here to conduct a business transaction.’

‘Standing amidst all these people?’ Nora queried, enjoying baiting him. ‘Not here where everyone can see.’ She nodded towards the dance floor, where couples took their places for the set of waltzes that preceded the midnight supper, and reissued her invitation to dance.

Stockport led her to the floor without further conversation and swung her into the dance, skilfully manoeuvring them about the floor.

He waltzed impeccably, which didn’t surprise Nora. The man was all about flawlessness, from his perfectly combed hair to the toes of his spotless boots. However, he also waltzed with a passion that astonished her. His precision was not an empty effort.

A surreptitious ferocity lurked beneath his well-polished surface, practically undetectable except to another kindred soul who shared the same love for dance. Nora sensed it in the turns he took a shade too quickly at the top of the ballroom and in the press of his hand against her back as he signalled his instructions.

Nora looked into the sharp blue eyes that peered out from behind his dark demi-mask. They were daring her, but what the dare was, she could not immediately place.

Stockport leaned close to her ear, his voice low and melodious. ‘Can’t you do better than this? I would have thought The Cat was capable of more,’ he taunted.

Now she understood. He was daring her to match his passion. She smiled back. If she took his challenge, she would have the distraction she needed. ‘I was just making sure you were up for it,’ she countered. She leaned close to his ear, taking in his clean scent of soap and spices. ‘You want to fly, I can feel it.’

Stockport laughed, drawing a few stares. ‘This is dancing, not sex.’

‘Is there a difference? That’s why the waltz is so scandalous, isn’t it?’ Nora sparred wickedly.

Stockport inclined his head, eyes glinted mischievously. ‘Then by all means, shall we?’ Without waiting for reply, his hand on her back made a small adjustment and drew her up close to him until she could feel the flex and give of his muscled thighs against the fabric of her gown.

‘You do talk scandalously,’ Nora flirted for good measure, enjoying entirely too much the feel of his body as he whirled them through the turn at the bottom of the ballroom.

‘I do more than talk.’

‘We’re attracting attention. Can you afford the gossip?’

‘I’m the Earl. I’ll simply say it is how we do it in London.’ His eyes left hers for a moment to stare down a passing couple with wide eyes. To emphasise his point, he increased his speed and turned her sharply, leaving her gloriously breathless.

Their bodies blended perfectly. Nora met him step for step, giving herself over to the exhilaration of the moment and the man. It had been ages since she’d danced like that and even then it had only been in a small country-town assembly hall. But never had she danced with such a master.

Stockport unleashed was a sight to behold.

It struck her there might be a third reason he’d earned his dubious moniker. The Cock of the North was an energetic Scottish reel. She could only imagine how invigorating it would be to dance it with him.

When the dance ended, she was smiling ridiculously. She could feel the grin across her face. She was suddenly aware that Stockport was smiling too—a real smile, not like the political ones he’d bandied about at the tea. This one altered his face entirely.

For an instant the adversarial nature of their relationship was suspended. He was smiling at her as if he enjoyed her company, as if the two of them shared some secret knowledge the rest of the world did not. Without warning, the smile was gone and he remembered where he was, who he was and who she was. The spell was broken. Others milled about them, making their way to the supper room and the unmasking.

He gripped her gloved wrist and Nora tensed. She did not want him to ask her to go into supper with him. Surely he knew how impossible the request was? Everyone would unmask. She could not afford that with Stockport, although she could probably fool the rest of the village.

She intuitively knew Stockport would know immediately that The Cat and Eleanor Habersham were one and the same. His gaze had been too piercing the day of the tea, as if he could see in one short visit what the villagers had not ascertained in the four months she’d lived among them in her spinsterly guise. Of course, she had to give the villagers their due; enemies and friends of The Cat alike were all looking for a man. Only Stockport knew he was looking for a woman. That made him doubly dangerous.

‘I am not going into supper with you,’ she said with a supercilious air that brooked no contradiction. The amicable atmosphere of the dance floor was gone.

‘I am not asking you to. I prefer not to eat with common thieves,’ Stockport replied with equal coldness. Was it possible she’d imagined the man he’d been on the dance floor?

‘Then you will starve tonight, since this room is full of them,’ Nora retorted angrily, her temper rising. How dare the hypocrite refuse to acknowledge that there were other ways to steal? She only stole objects and material goods, all of which could be replaced. Others in this very room stole livelihoods. His textile mill would put him in the same category as the rest. The thought disturbed her. She didn’t want him to be like the others. The realisation that she wanted him to be different was more disturbing.