Flirting With Fortune by Erin Knightley

curl of his lips and the genuine amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
    He most definitely did.
    She swallowed, dropping her gaze to his boldly offered hand. Did she know that accepting his offer was highly imprudent, given that her maid was right outside the door and at least three men were at work in the front room? Absolutely. Did she care?
    Not particularly.
    Not while he was looking at her with those charcoal gray eyes, daring her to accept his teasing offer. The spark grew to an effervescent burn as she took a step closer, lifted her chin, and slid her hand into his. The soft, supple leather of her kid gloves did nothing to shield the heat of his skin or the strength of his grip as his fingers closed around hers.
    “You really don’t play by the rules, do you?”
    She allowed him to draw her a step closer to him, all the while savoring that unmistakable thrill of being just the slightest bit wicked. “No. But you knew that. Isn’t that why you asked me to dance in the first place?”
    “Perhaps,” he said, giving a quiet chuckle, “which is very interesting, since I like rules. I follow them by nature.”
    Beatrice lifted their joined hands. “Could have fooled me.”
    He chuckled, tugging her forward. “You, my lady, must be a bad influence on me.”
    With that, he snagged her other hand in his and swung them both around in a dizzying circle. It was such an unexpected move, she gave a little squeak, tightening her grip. “What are you doing?” she half gasped, half laughed. It was the sort of thing she might have done in the meadow by the lake at their estate in Aylesbury, when the flowers were blooming and there was no one around to see. Certainly not something she would have done in the middle of the stark white walls of a London gallery filled with priceless paintings.
    “Dancing, of course,” he said, releasing one hand to swing her out before changing directions and rejoining hands. “Don’t you just love a good Scottish reel?”
    She giggled as he spun them around, her skirts swirling out with the movement as the paintings whooshed by in a blur of muted color. It was by far the most fun she’d had in months—years, perhaps. In a move so fast her head was spinning, he brought them both to an abrupt stop, facing one of the portraits.
    “As you can see, Father decided to use a brilliant sunset as the backdrop for Lady Westmoreland’s portrait.”
    She gaped at him, at a complete loss as to his sudden shift of demeanor. He sounded like a bored guide at a museum, not even a hitch in his breathing while she huffed like a racehorse to regain her breath.
    “Is everything all right in here, Sir Colin?”
    “Yes, of course, Mr. Swanson. Thank you for your concern.” Colin’s smile was utterly polite and disengaged as he nodded to the man standing in the doorway.
    Sucking in a breath, Beatrice followed suit, offering her own bland smile even as her heart pounded wildly within her chest. How on earth had she missed the approach of the gallery worker? She was more perceptive than most spies, or so her brother-in-law, Benedict, had once teased. She never missed what was going on around her.
    His brow creased in confusion, Mr. Swanson nonetheless dipped his head and retreated back to the front room. Letting go of the pent-up air in her lungs, Beatrice turned widened eyes to Colin. “Thank you so much. Can you imagine if he would have caught us?”
    He shrugged, the motion drawing her attention to the strong line of his shoulders, encased in a simple black jacket that suited him perfectly. “I see far too many cases where people break the rules without paying close enough attention to the possibility of being caught. In fact, it is exactly what keeps the courts full and barristers in demand.” He paused and gave a little tip of his chin. “And you’re welcome.”
    She lifted a brow imperiously, a gesture passed down from Mama. “Learned a thing or two about getting away with murder, did