Pasting a smile on her lips, May tilted her head. “Do I know you?” she asked, coloring the words with perfect innocence. It was best to be on the offensive in these sorts of situations.

Radcliffe's eyebrows lowered as he regarded her cautiously, obviously suspicious of her intentions. “How I wish I could reply in the negative.”

“Ah, yes. It is you. I thought for a moment I was witnessing the chivalrous actions of the Duke of Radcliffe’s lesser known but much more agreeable twin brother.” She kept her tone light with just a hint of teasing. It was an admittedly backhanded compliment, but it would be a lie to say she didn’t enjoy the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he decided whether to be offended or flattered.

“Might I suggest, Miss Bradford, that since you were the one who requested an audience with me not more than a handful of hours ago, you might have a care how you speak to me.” Even though he sounded as imperious as a king, there was definitely a seed of humor nestled between the stern words.

She was entirely at his mercy and he knew it. Even so, and in spite of the fact she had been determined to be as complacent as possible in order to gain her freedom, she found it almost impossible to ignore the desire to spar with the man.

The orchestra, which was situated in a small alcove twenty paces away, signaled the start of the next dance, and men and women all around them started for the dance floor. Within moments, the two of them were left stranded like seaweed on the shore of an outgoing tide. “Remarkable,” she said, lifting a single brow. “No one can clear an area quite like your ego.”

He came as close to rolling his eyes as she imagined he ever had. “Or this is a ball, and people wish to dance.”

“Is that an invitation? How positively unexpected. Peasant girl that I am, I never expected to be asked to waltz by the great duke himself.” Her smile was both teasing and wicked, meant to show that she wasn’t intimidated by him in the least, despite the fact that she needed him. She had seen the kindness he had shown Sophie. He may have little regard for May’s pride, but he had protected someone she loved. It made him that much more interesting, and even more appealing than he had a right to be.

Something very much like determination flickered in his eyes. Or was it exasperation? Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to examine it before he thrust out his hand, palm up. “Absolutely.”

She blinked, then stared down at the supple leather encasing his outstretched fingers. “I beg your pardon?” He couldn’t truly wish to dance with her. She had only been needling him.

Leaning close enough that she could smell the crisp, classic sandalwood scent of his shaving soap, he looked her dead in the eye. “I’m calling your bluff.”