A slow grin spread across his lips. "But admiring you is a favorite pastime of mine, ma belle. And you must give me some credit. I've been totally discreet. I haven't told a soul that a few nights ago you were crying with passion in my arms."
Julienne nearly choked on her sherry. Cursing herself as she tried to regain her breath, she sent him an accusing frown. She was forever being caught off guard by his audacious remarks.
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right, my love?"
"I would be far better if Solange never had admitted you."
"I noticed her glancing at me. Can I flatter myself that you were discussing me?"
"I don't know that you could call it flattery. She was telling me of some of your more outrageous pranks."
"And warning you to beware the dangers of the infamous scoundrel, Dare North?"
"Actually, no. Solange counts herself among the ranks of your admirers." Julienne gave him a thoughtful look. "Perhaps you might consider her as a candidate in your search for a mistress. She is available at the moment."
"I want no other mistress than you, love."
"I am not your love. You already have more than enough of those."
"Jealous?" he drawled with a genial smile.
"You know, my lord, you suffer from a vastly inflated belief in your own fascination. Have you nothing better to do than bedevil me?"
"To be truthful, I would far rather make love to you. Shall I whisk you away from here? We have yet to find a real bed."
His eyes danced with laughter, and Julienne found herself torn between unwilling amusement and the urge to box his ears.
"Do you never think of anything but carnal gratification?" she asked in exasperation.
"Occasionally. On Wednesday mornings, during my regular fencing match at Angelo's Salle. Sex can prove a grievous distraction then."
She rolled her eyes. "One would think your lust had never been satisfied."
"Only when I was with you," he replied, his tone abruptly turning serious.
She felt a distinct shock at his admission.
"You managed to do what no other woman has ever done before, Jewel," he said as she stared at him.
"And what is that?"
"Bring me to the point of obsession. Despite my every instinct for self-preservation, I cannot stop wanting you."
Julienne arched an eyebrow and took another sip of sherry, managing an attitude of cool disdain.
To her relief, Dare's tone lightened. "Do you know, love, you play the role of ice maiden well, but it has the opposite effect of the one you intend. Your coolness makes a man burn for you all the more. Dares him to try melting you."
When she merely pressed her lips together, refusing to respond, he glanced around the crowded salon. "I confess surprise to find you among this den of Royalists. Most of the emigres here are eager to see Louis XVIII on the throne. Do you share their political leanings?"
That particular question she didn't mind answering. She had neither the time nor the inclination to be drawn into the intrigues and rivalries of the French exiles. "I try to avoid politics as much as possible. I come here primarily for the literary discussions."
His glance returned to her, holding both doubt and amusement. "I never would have taken you for a bluestocking."
Julienne's gaze narrowed in real annoyance at the hint of mockery in his tone. "What is wrong with being a bluestocking? If a woman has a brain in her head, if she is well-read or interested in the world, she deserves to be scorned? A female can only be lauded if she is idle, beautiful, and feather-headed?"
"Not at all. I have immense respect for intelligent females. I consider them one of life's greatest pleasures. Why do you think I am so keen on gaining your companionship?"
He was trying to provoke her, of course, but still it stung to be jeered at for her interests. "You always did consider your intellect superior to anyone else's."