She had to avoid any appearance of being interested in him. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had to make all the moves, so he couldn't suspect her of maneuvering for an invitation to his villa. But at the same time she had to show she liked him, or she wouldn't have a reason for accepting.
In her favor was the fact that other women fawned over him. She would stand out in his mind because of her very lack of response. Men liked a challenge, and she was going to give him one.
The dancing started, and she let herself be steered around the floor by the first person who asked, who happened to be the boring gentleman she had been talking to earlier. He pumped her arm as if he expected her to spout water out of her mouth, and all the while he enthused about thoroughbred racing. She smiled and made an occasional comment, and he was happy.
Next the ambassador claimed a dance. He was a stately gentleman with silver hair and a sweet smile, a little shorter than his wife, but with a smooth tact that made her instantly comfortable. He spoke to her as if she were indeed an old friend of the family, chatting on about friends they supposedly had in common, a vacation their families had once spent together when she was a child. She wondered if one of the qualifications to an ambassadorship was to be a consummate liar, because he excelled.
After the dance with the ambassador ended, she excused herself and went to the ladies' room, where she killed as much time as she could. She didn't immediately return to the ballroom, but mingled in the other rooms, speaking to those people to whom she had already been introduced. If Ronsard really wanted to dance with her, he was going to have to find her.
He did. A warm hand closed around her elbow and he said, "You promised me a dance."
Niema hesitated. A small silence fell around them. Everyone knew who he was, of course, and waited to see if she would snub him. She saw his eyes begin to narrow, and into the silence she said, "Are you certain you want to risk your toes?"
Relieved chuckles rippled around them. His face relaxed, and a slight smile curved his lips. "My toes would be honored." He held out his hand, indicating the direction of the ballroom.
She walked calmly by his side, ignoring the hand that settled on the small of her back. The orchestra was just beginning a number slower than the others had been, and she realized that he had waited and chosen his moment-either that or bribed the orchestra.
"I thought you were going to refuse me," he said in a low voice as his arm closed about her waist and he swept her into a gliding circle. He held her closely enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, the movement of his legs against hers, but not so close that she would be alarmed and pull back.
"I was."
One dark eyebrow arched, his expression sardonic. "Why didn't you?"
"A dance won't hurt me," she said calmly.
"Neither will I." He looked down into her face, his tone gentle. "I assume Madame Theriot warned you against me."
"Understandable, don't you think?"
"Understandable, but unnecessary. I mean you no harm."
She didn't respond to that, her expression serene as he swept her around the floor. He danced with a grace that made the exercise effortless, and she thanked God that her parents had insisted she take dance lessons in high school even though she would much rather have learned how to hang glide; at least she wouldn't embarrass herself. A socialite would know how to dance, after all.
When she made no effort to pick up the conversational ball, he asked, "Are you just visiting, or have you been employed at the embassy?"
"Gracious, no!" She looked amused. "Visiting, only."
"For how long?"
"No definite time. A few weeks."
"That isn't much time," he complained softly, looking down at her with such apparent masculine interest that a woman would have to be blind to miss it.
"Monsieur Ronsard-"
"Please don't be alarmed. "You're a lovely woman, and I would like very much to see you while you're in Paris. That is all."
"There's no point in it." She looked away, staring at a point over his shoulder. She made her tone gentle and faintly sad.
He firmed the guiding touch of his hand on her back, pressing his palm against her. Her gown was fairly low cut in back, and his fingers brushed her bare skin. "There is always a point to pleasure."
"I don't seem to be very good at pleasure these days."
"Then you must learn how to enjoy yourself again."
Her lips trembled, and a look of pain haunted her eyes. He saw it, as she had meant for him to. "Forgive my clumsiness," he murmured, dipping his head so his mouth was close to her temple. "I never intended to distress you."
She firmed her lips and lifted her chin. "The orchestra is very good, isn't it? I love this piece."
He allowed her to steer the conversation into mundane waters, but she felt his unswerving gaze on her face the entire time. Louis Ronsard was definitely a man on the hunt. So far, she thought, she had done a credible job of appearing reluctant without insulting him.
The dance ended, she thanked him for it, and turned to leave. He fell into step beside her. "Have you been to Paris before?"
"Yes, of course."
"Ah. I had hoped to show you the city."
"Monsieur..." She hesitated, as if groping for words. "Forgive me if I sound presumptuous, but I'm not interested in any sort of romance. Even if your occupation wasn't a barrier I wouldn't-"
"Forgive me," he interrupted, "if I've made you in any way uncomfortable. I would like to spend time with you, yes. I would like to make you smile again, as you did out on the patio. A lovely lady should not have such sad eyes. And even if you say that, no, I may not kiss you, or delight myself in other ways, I would still like to take you out to dinner."