He escorted her across the room, greeting people, and then out through the French doors. The terrace was deserted, the breeze cool on her hot face. Her anxious breath drew in the scented air from the tubs of spring flowers. Beyond the arcs of lamplight, the gardens appeared sinister, which quite matched her mood.
Charles’s frowning countenance was all too plain in the flickering braziers along the wall. “What troubles you, Nellie?”
How could she tell him? She would sound like an unreasonable, jealous woman. Well, to a certain degree, she supposed she was. And a little annoyed at his ordering her about. “It’s nothing, really. I was surprised to see a friend here that I believed to be seriously ill. I must go and speak to her directly.”
His hand on her arm stilled her. “Not until you tell me what the matter is.”
“I dislike being whisked off and questioned like one of your servants, Your Grace.” Her tone was playful, but his frown remained in place.
“Are you happy to marry me, Nellie?” he asked, concern in his voice. “It’s not too late for you to change your mind.”
But of course it was. He was now compelled to marry her. In fact, probably always had been. As soon as the old duke decreed it, their future marriage would have been entered into White’s betting book. Wagers would be placed on their union and even the date it might occur. She could never embarrass him, and her father, well, that didn’t bear thinking about. And she didn’t want to, it was only… “No, Charles, I…”
She took a deep breath and placed a hand on his silk waistcoat. His chest hard beneath her fingers, she almost moved back. “Goodness, Charles, we are out here in the moonlight. Alone. Is it not romantic? Kiss me.”
The furrow between his brows deepened. Then with a soft laugh, he drew her to him and took her mouth in a kiss. This was not like their first exploratory kiss. It promised so much, her body responded with a throb of desire. He stole her breath, and she clutched onto his coat, her eyes closed as he gently traced the seam of her mouth and swept his tongue inside. It was so intimate and exciting, and she sagged against him. He tasted of brandy blended with his essence, his body strong and unfamiliar against hers. Wanting more, she reached up and boldly threaded her fingers through his silky hair.
He broke the kiss and pulled back with a soft groan, while his warm hands remained at her waist. She was glad of his support, for she needed to steady herself.
With a wry smile, he removed his hands and moved to a safer distance. “Nellie, if you employ that technique to deal with our disagreements, I doubt I shall win even one of them.”
She flushed, still trembling from the heated embrace. Their explosive kiss had a surprisingly powerful effect on her body. Her initial sense of triumph at having aroused him to passion was dampened by fear he would respond to another woman, Drusilla, quite possibly, in much the same way.
He turned to the balcony and stared down into the dark gardens. “I’ve invited your parents to dinner at Shewsbury Court on Saturday. Merely a family affair with my brother and his wife.”
“I look forward to it.” Her pulse still thudded. She licked her lip. If he’d drawn her down into the shadows, she would not have said no. But Charles was quickly in control of his emotions. He turned to smile at her, then tucked her arm through his. “Shall we go inside?”
She feared her face was flushed as gazes settled on them when they entered the room. Charles escorted her to her friend, Caroline Faulds. After a brief introduction, he left them.
“Well, Nellie, what news!” Caroline said, wide-eyed. Her ordinarily pale face bore a healthy color. “And such a charming, handsome man.”
“Yes…but Caroline, how are you? I am pleased to see you look extremely well.”
Her hazel eyes sparkled. “Completely recovered.” She raised her fair eyebrows. “I am ready and eager to participate in your literary salon.” She frowned. “But now perhaps …?” She turned to view Charles’s broad back across the room. “Will it still be possible?”
“Most certainly. And I am counting on you being there.” Nellie sounded far more confident than she felt. “After all, the Duchess of Devonshire…”
“Had great success, yes, of course,” Caroline interrupted. “What about the poet Kealan Walsh? Wasn’t he to be part of this venture?”
“I’m afraid not. Mr. Walsh has returned to Ireland.”
“Oh. What a shame. He seemed so keen…” She shrugged. “Well, never mind. Imagine if Wordsworth read from his recently published work The Excursion,” she said, her eyes glowing. “I should think you could persuade him. And dare we hope that Byron might entertain us with The Corsair?” She placed a hand on her heart.
Nellie laughed. “Indeed, that would be a coup. But it may be some time before my salon can begin.”
“I understand. Do tell me about the wedding plans. Do they go well?”
Nellie had discussed certain aspects of them with her mother and could now reveal some of the details. She was pleased she could do so in a calm voice, while her pulse still raced from Charles’s kiss.
Caroline stared. “St. Paul’s Cathedral? I am agog and must confess to being a little envious.”
“The Shewsburys have married there since an ancestor was awarded the Order of the Bath,” Nellie explained. She would not disappoint her friend by confessing that she’d have preferred a simple ceremony. As it was, the grand affair terrified her.
“And what about you, Caroline? Do you have news?” Her friend, some six years older than herself and resigned to spinsterhood, eagerly launched into a description of her days, the plays she had seen, and her favorite book. When that was exhausted, Nellie promised to write. With a glance at the clock, she went to join her parents.
Her path through the rooms took
