murky depths of her china cup. “He died a little over a year ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, studying her face intently. “So you have inherited the Golden Dancer? Have you no male relatives to assist you?”
“My brother Desmond is not yet seventeen. I am teaching him all of what my father taught me about running the tavern. I have been dancing there for years and know more than anyone about managing it.”
Her sadness faded and Esmeralda felt fierce passion gripping her heart as she spoke of The Golden Dancer. It was merely a small tavern, but it was her father’s legacy and she was proud to have taken up his mantle when he died. Damien watched her intently, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes searing into hers as if she presented a mystery to him. She snatched her gaze away from his and focused on the dark liquid in her cup.
“And what about you?” she asked, running her fingertip over the rim of her teacup. Damien followed that finger with his eyes, and Esmeralda was very aware of his heated perusal. His fingers flexed against the table and she tried not to think of him reaching across the small space that separated them. If he were to grasp the finger he followed with such interest, would it press the digit to his lips? Would he capture it in his mouth and caress it with his tongue? Esmeralda shivered inwardly and felt heat creeping across her neck. Damien cleared his throat. “Umm…what about me?” he asked . “Well your reputation precedes you, but I can’t help but wonder if there is more to you than the stories I have heard.”
He laughed softly, a rumbling sound that caused warmth to spread through Esmeralda’s insides. “And just what stories are those?” he asked, his eyes glittering playfully. “What exactly have you heard of me?”
“Well sir, if you must know, you are known as a most disreputable rake, a drunk, a gambler, and seducer of women.”
“Well it seems that you have just about summed me up,” he said, leaning toward her across the table. “Shouldn’t you be worried then, to be left alone with me?”
Esmeralda swallowed. His sudden nearness was wreaking havoc on her sanity. His eyes had grown heavy-lidded and sensual, and he seemed to be watching her mouth quite intently. She swallowed again and forced herself to speak.
“And why should I be nervous?” she replied brazenly, forcing confidence she did not feel. “I know that you are a gentleman and would never make any sort of advances upon me.”
“And yet it is all I can think about,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek as he brushed his lips against it.
He pressed his mouth firmly against hers, gently urging her lips apart with his. She was nearly melting into him, dazed by the slow seduction of his lips on hers, intoxicated by the strong scent of his sandalwood shaving soap. His hand rested lightly on the back of her head, sending light tingles racing down her spine at the delicate touch.
His lips, his mocking, arrogant lips, worked their magic over hers, weaving a spell of seduction so strong that Esmeralda completely forgot herself. It wasn’t until she felt the touch of his tongue against hers that she was jolted out of her languid trance.
She pushed away from him swiftly, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. Her breath was coming in short, unsteady gasps, as his were as he watched her. At first, bewilderment crossed his features before he was struck with remorse.
“My apologies,” he managed between ragged breaths. . “I should not have done that.”
“No,” she said forcefully, fighting to regain her nearly shattered composure. She was visibly shaken, her trembling hands balled up into fists at her sides. “You shouldn’t have. It is late, Your Grace. Perhaps you should be leaving now.”
“Please,” he said “I would like very much to see you again.”
“I am certain you would, your grace, though you probably will not. You will have to
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, studying her face intently. “So you have inherited the Golden Dancer? Have you no male relatives to assist you?”
“My brother Desmond is not yet seventeen. I am teaching him all of what my father taught me about running the tavern. I have been dancing there for years and know more than anyone about managing it.”
Her sadness faded and Esmeralda felt fierce passion gripping her heart as she spoke of The Golden Dancer. It was merely a small tavern, but it was her father’s legacy and she was proud to have taken up his mantle when he died. Damien watched her intently, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes searing into hers as if she presented a mystery to him. She snatched her gaze away from his and focused on the dark liquid in her cup.
“And what about you?” she asked, running her fingertip over the rim of her teacup. Damien followed that finger with his eyes, and Esmeralda was very aware of his heated perusal. His fingers flexed against the table and she tried not to think of him reaching across the small space that separated them. If he were to grasp the finger he followed with such interest, would it press the digit to his lips? Would he capture it in his mouth and caress it with his tongue? Esmeralda shivered inwardly and felt heat creeping across her neck. Damien cleared his throat. “Umm…what about me?” he asked . “Well your reputation precedes you, but I can’t help but wonder if there is more to you than the stories I have heard.”
He laughed softly, a rumbling sound that caused warmth to spread through Esmeralda’s insides. “And just what stories are those?” he asked, his eyes glittering playfully. “What exactly have you heard of me?”
“Well sir, if you must know, you are known as a most disreputable rake, a drunk, a gambler, and seducer of women.”
“Well it seems that you have just about summed me up,” he said, leaning toward her across the table. “Shouldn’t you be worried then, to be left alone with me?”
Esmeralda swallowed. His sudden nearness was wreaking havoc on her sanity. His eyes had grown heavy-lidded and sensual, and he seemed to be watching her mouth quite intently. She swallowed again and forced herself to speak.
“And why should I be nervous?” she replied brazenly, forcing confidence she did not feel. “I know that you are a gentleman and would never make any sort of advances upon me.”
“And yet it is all I can think about,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek as he brushed his lips against it.
He pressed his mouth firmly against hers, gently urging her lips apart with his. She was nearly melting into him, dazed by the slow seduction of his lips on hers, intoxicated by the strong scent of his sandalwood shaving soap. His hand rested lightly on the back of her head, sending light tingles racing down her spine at the delicate touch.
His lips, his mocking, arrogant lips, worked their magic over hers, weaving a spell of seduction so strong that Esmeralda completely forgot herself. It wasn’t until she felt the touch of his tongue against hers that she was jolted out of her languid trance.
She pushed away from him swiftly, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. Her breath was coming in short, unsteady gasps, as his were as he watched her. At first, bewilderment crossed his features before he was struck with remorse.
“My apologies,” he managed between ragged breaths. . “I should not have done that.”
“No,” she said forcefully, fighting to regain her nearly shattered composure. She was visibly shaken, her trembling hands balled up into fists at her sides. “You shouldn’t have. It is late, Your Grace. Perhaps you should be leaving now.”
“Please,” he said “I would like very much to see you again.”
“I am certain you would, your grace, though you probably will not. You will have to
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