An Inconvenient Arrangement (Inconvenient Matches Book #2)

A Dance By Moonlight

He had taken one look at her, dressed in the most adorable white gown, her hair adorned with pearls and promptly forgotten that other women existed. She looked so vulnerable and nervous and so goddamn beautiful that Raphael had wanted to whisk her away lest anybody else see her and realize what a treasure she was.

He had felt it again, that potential, that spark, that stirring of love and it had terrified him beyond anything. He had wanted to get it under control before he danced with her.

Why on earth had he promised her the most romantic dance to her, anyway? It was sheer idiocy on his part, he knew that he had become inconveniently attracted to her so why would he intentionally promise her the dance that would have him holding her close? His hand at her waist and hers on his shoulder?

He had wanted to touch her, simple as that. In front of bloody fucking everybody.

Which was stupid, pathetic, and entirely too dangerous.

So, in an effort to regain his wits, he had danced a few sets with other women, entirely intending to lead her to dinner but then Lady Carroway had all but plastered herself to his side. At dinner, he may have over-imbibed a little in an effort to pretend he did not notice Lady Carroway's hands caressing his thighs; which on a given day would have been a very welcome flirtation. That day, however, his body had not been remotely interested. No, his body had been craning to devour Sylvie by sight even as she pointedly never looked in his direction. His ear straining to catch whatever conversation she was having with her dinner partners. He imbibed a little more after that in order to calm his nerves.

Nerves! For Sylvia Heartwood!

Preposterous.

After that, he may or may not have gotten a little sotted and allowed his friends to drag him off to their clubs for some games. By the time he had realized that he hadn't danced with Sylvie, he'd been so sotted he couldn't take one step without falling down. When he finally was sober, the sun was rising over the buildings of London and the ball was drawing to a close.

Ah, my poor girl, open the window and let me apologize, will you?

"Sylvie!" He hissed flinging a stone so hard that the glass of her window made a TWANG! Instead of a plink.

The widow was thrown open and a furious, glorious elven queen glared down at him, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. Rafe sucked in a shocked breath at the sheer visceral reaction of his body to the sight of her.

How was it possible that he had never seen her hair before?

So absorbed in his shock was he that he almost missed it when she raised her hand and flung something directly at him. He ducked just in time for the small piece of ceramic decoration to fly over his head.

"Go. Away." She hissed once again and reached to close the window.

Ah, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I'm leaving Cambridge," he announced and watched her freeze, her eyes going wide. "And England."

"What?" She gasped, her face bleaching. "Why? Wait, I'm coming down. Close your eyes."

He watched in horror as she swung a leg over the edge of the window, giving him a healthy look at her lovely, endless, bare legs.

"Don't you dare," he warned her before she could swing the other leg over. "I'm coming up there."

"You can't come to my room!" She gasped, scandalized. "We could be caught and it would be a swift trip to the altar for the both of us!"

"And you coming out here in only your night rail is a better alternative?"