Miles escaped the crowded confines of the ballroom into the cool night air. As the sounds and stifling heat of the ballroom faded, he inhaled deeply the scent of lilacs and roses. After enduring an hour of scrutiny and speculation, it was good to be outside alone in the dark.

He made his way to one of the darker corners of the terrace. Shrouded by various shrubbery, it was no doubt for the sole purpose of providing privacy to desirous lovers.

Fortunately, he found the spot unoccupied and he eased himself down onto the bench with a grateful sigh. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, rubbing away the ache that pressed against his skull. He was too old for the high drama he had been taking part in all evening.

How could he have behaved so badly toward Varya? One minute he had been teasing her, and the next they had been practically tearing each other's throats out. Never had he been so deliberately cruel to a woman before. But never had a woman so provoked him.

What difference did it make whether she was or wasn't his mistress? This public scrutiny was ridiculous. He was a single man. Varya was an unattached woman, not a chit right out of the schoolroom. Many of the people pointing fingers and making snide remarks were engaging in clandestine affairs with the spouses of friends, even having children by them. He lived in a society of hypocrites, and there was very little that could be done about it other than wait for their interest to move on to something else.

Miles gazed up at the sky. It was a clear night and the stars twinkled and glittered like diamonds. He watched as one of the stars streaked across the heavens. In the dark, he could pretend he was miles away from Varya rather than just outside the room where she was dancing with Lord Dennyson. Right at this very moment, he could almost pretend they had never met.

Almost.

Who was she? How had she ended up living with Bella in France? Her house and manners indicated that she was quite wealthy. She did not perform often enough to make a fortune from it, so where did the money come from?

More importantly, why did she get under his skin like she did?

Perhaps because she was one of the few women he had ever met who hadn't thrown herself - or her nearest relative - at him? He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't have any answers. Very unusual for him.

He sat there for quite some time, allowing the soft breeze to wipe away the sticky perspiration the heated ballroom and layers of eveningwear had induced. It felt good to finally be comfortable and alone.

He didn't give much thought to the voices that were approaching him until a female voice rang out with a very familiar accent.

"Just what is so important that we have to discuss it out here, Lord Carnover?"

Miles's jaw dropped. Varya? Carny? What the devil?

"I want to know what kind of game you're trying to play with Miles."

"I beg your pardon?"

Miles smiled at the ire in her tone. Apparently he wasn't the only man capable of drawing her claws.

"Filling his head with this nonsense about discovering the identity of Isabella's murderer. It's all a scheme to get your claws into him, isn't it?"

Careful, Carny, he thought, well aware of the fading bruise on his temple. She'll knock you senseless.

"My relationship with Miles is none of your concern! Think of me what you will, my lord. I do not care."

Miles chuckled softly.

"I'll tell you what I think of you, madam. I think you turned down every other man who made an offer to you because you're a lying opportunist using Bella's murder as an excuse to snare one of the wealthiest titles in all of Britain!"

Miles started. He had never heard Carny speak that way to a woman before. Anger began to worm up from within his belly. His hand went to the shrub, about to push it aside so he might confront his friend. To his surprise he heard Varya chuckle, and he paused.

"Snare him? Oh, my lord, I'd like to believe you might find me smarter than that. What man of Miles's rank would ever lower himself to marry a mere musician?" She laughed.

"I remember the generous offer you made me several weeks ago, Lord Carnover, and I remember that marriage was not on the list of what you wanted from me. Tell me, are you speaking out of concern for your friend, or are you simply trying to find an excuse for my apparent preference for Miles over you?"

Now this was an interesting turn of events. Carny had said nothing about Varya refusing an offer from him.

The silence that followed her question betrayed Carny's guilt.

"Lord Carnover, I did not choose Miles as my protector." Varya's voice was calmer now, soothing even. "If he told you that the rumor was started because we were investigating Bella's death, then he told you the truth. If we had not been caught together in Lord Pennington's study I would be carrying on as I always have."

Miles had to press his ear against the foliage to hear Carny's softly spoken disbelief.

"You mean to tell me that Miles hasn't wooed you?"

"Yes. You needn't take it as an affront to yourself or as a danger to your friend. My relationship with Miles is purely platonic, I assure you."

Miles made a face. Even though he had told Carny that there was nothing between them, it irked him that Varya found him so easy to resist.

"It seems I have made quite an ass of myself," Carny remarked.

Yes, you have, Miles agreed.

"It is something I have learned to expect from your sex, my lord." There was laughter but no censure in Varya's voice.

"You're too kind," Carny replied with a dry chuckle. "May I escort you back inside?"

"No, thank you," she replied lightly. "I don't think my reputation could survive an association with both yourself and the Marquess of Wynter. I'll return in a few moments."

"As you wish."

Miles waited until Carny's retreating footfalls died away before stepping from his hiding spot.

"You handled that quite graciously."

He had the pleasure of watching her jump and whirl around, indignation flashing in her sapphire eyes.

"Sinking to eavesdropping, my lord? How petty."

Still angry was she? Miles smiled. "Not so petty as you if the charges Carny laid were true."

She frowned. "You know very well that they are not."

"Do I?" He paused to smell a white rose that blossomed on the trellis. "You sought me out - and in a very attention grabbing manner, I might add." He raised a questioning brow. "Perhaps it is not Bella's murderer you wished to catch, but her former lover?"

He just barely managed to catch her wrist before she could strike him, but he wasn't quite quick enough to escape her foot. It connected with his shin with bone-jarring force.

"I've been wanting to do that all evening!" She glared at him, her eyes dark with indignant rage.

"That's quite a temper you have, madam," he ground out, resisting the urge to rub the spot where she had connected. He held fast to her wrist.

"'Tis only you who brings it out of me, my lord."

She tried to free herself from his grip, going so far as to pry at his fingers with her free hand.

"You insufferable man! Let go of me!"

He smiled at her exertions, but had no intention of letting her go just yet. The throbbing in his shin was worth the knowledge that if nothing else, she was truthful in her desire to catch Bella's killer.

"Bastard!" She clawed viciously at his fingers.

Tightening his hold on her arm, Miles yanked. She fell against him with a surprised yelp. Her free hand slammed into his chest. He grunted at the impact, but maintained his footing.

She sneered at him, her body rigid where it touched his. For a moment he half expected her to spit in his face, so foul was her expression.

The warm fullness of her breasts pressed against his torso. He wondered if she could feel his heart pounding against his ribs through the layers of clothing that separated them.

Miles smiled. He was tired of all this arguing. He was tired of pretending she didn't affect him. "There's so much fire in you, Varya. I think you are one of the most intriguing females I have ever met."

She continued to watch him warily, but some of the stiffness left her body. She seemed to be at a loss for words, something that surprised him.

"If you hadn't been forced into this farce of ours by circumstance," he began, his voice sounding strange and husky to his own ears, "would you have chosen me over all the others like you told Carny you had?" As he spoke them, the words astonished him. What was he doing?

He relaxed his hold on her arm, and as she withdrew it, peeled off her glove to bare the flesh underneath. The bruises he had given the night of their struggle were dark against her pale skin.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, balling the silk in his fist. "Does it hurt?"

"A little."

He brought her hand to his lips, planting feathery kisses along the sensitive flesh of the inside of her wrist, up to her palm. She gasped softly. He nipped gently at the tip of each finger, savoring the salty-sweetness of her skin.

He released her, and his hand came up to caress her cheek. He gazed down at her, searching for any indication that she wanted him as desperately as he desired her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. So she wasn't immune to him after all.

"Would you have chosen me, Varya?" he asked again, plucking a rose from the trellis. He brushed his lips against her forehead, her temple, and the soft skin of her cheek, trailing the petals of the rose along her throat, down to the expanse of creamy flesh revealed by the neckline of her gown. "Would you?"

Without waiting for her reply, his lips claimed hers. Her mouth opened and he could taste champagne on her breath.

She didn't try to fight him. Her free hand gripped the lapel of his coat as if to pull him closer. Her tongue met his as it slipped past her lips. His heart leapt traitorously within his chest, and Miles knew that he would soon be lost.

Reluctantly, he let her go. Taking a step back, he studied her flushed face as he fought back the urges that threatened to consume him. Her lips were moist and red; her nostrils flared with every panting breath. She seemed to have difficulty pulling herself together. Good. Lord knew he wouldn't be able to re-enter the ballroom until a certain part of his anatomy righted itself.

She opened her eyes, but instead of desire in their dark blue depths, he saw a raw vulnerability that frightened him. She looked like a woman going to meet her executioner rather than one succumbing to passion. He reached for her.

"No!" she cried, jerking back from his grasp. "No, I wouldn't have chosen you!"

"You lie," he chided gently, his fingers brushing her cheek.

Varya pulled away from him as if his touch burned. Her eyes were wide and wild against the pallor of her face.

"You mustn't ask me such questions," she whispered hoarsely. "Please do not ask me again."

With that, she turned and fled down the steps into the garden and into the darkness without a backward glance.

Miles stared after her, stunned by her behavior. Why had she so fervently denied her desire for him? He had felt it, as hot and consuming as his own.

He stared down at the glove in his hand. It wasn't much, but that flimsy scrap of silk would be a suitable excuse for calling on her the next day. Then perhaps he would learn why.

Why she had lied.

from Elusive Passion by Kathryn Smith
© April 2001 Kathryn Smith used by permission