“But truly, we must get back.” He grimaced. “I don’t want to give Lady X a real scandal to write about.”
“Yes, let’s go. The dancing will begin again soon, no doubt.”
Silently, they slipped back the way they had come, moving together like shadows through the darkened house and along the quiet lane. As he held open the Westmore’s gate, though, he leaned in. “You do know, Lady Hope, that you are fortunate that I enjoy your company?”
She paused.
He eased the gate closed. “This is the second ball I’ve spent in your company and gone unfed.”
She laughed softly. “Oh! I hadn’t considered . . . I am sorry, my lord.”
“It’s fine,” he said airily. “Unless I hear there were lobster patties—and then I will have to seriously reconsider our friendship.”
“Then I will pray that Lady Westmore served only cold, uninspired sandwiches.” She cracked the door leading to the servant’s hall and peered in. “All clear!” She ducked in and raced for the back stairway, feeling him hot on her heels. She rushed upward. “Oh, I hear the musicians tuning their instruments!” she threw over her shoulder. Picking up her skirts, she climbed faster.
He caught her at the top, taking hold of her arm before she could test the door leading into the ballroom.
“Hold a moment. I confess, I am enjoying your scheming, Lady Hope. I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with next. But we’ve successfully evaded exposure so far, this evening. I’d hate for a stray curl to betray us at the end.” His eyes smiling, he caught a lock of hair that she’d hadn’t felt slip its moors.
The smile faded, though, as he tucked it back into place, adjusting a hairpin to anchor it. His gaze grew heated as, almost reverently, he leaned in to press his face into her coiffure. He breathed deeply. “Rosemary,” he said roughly.
Her pulse still raced from the climb. She felt hot and flushed and a tad out of breath—and happy. More than that. Triumphant. His hand lingered in her hair. Without thought, she leaned toward him. They breathed together, sharing the same air, feeling the same . . . want.
His hand slid down, trailing along the curve of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine, and then, easily, naturally, she stood on her toes and kissed him.
He stiffened.
A great shudder passed through him. She thought he would rear back, but instead he yanked her closer. She had started it, but he quickly took over, moving his mouth over hers, searching for and finding all the ways their lips fit together.
Desire was a spear that passed through and held her fast. Everything else was lost in heat and the forbidden thrill of his lips coaxing hers and the velvet touch of his tongue.
His hands moved to her back. She tilted her head as the kiss deepened, but then gasped in shock and pleasure as he brought her hard against him and she was confronted with the large and thrilling evidence of his enthusiasm.
The sound must have broken the spell. He ended the kiss, dragging his hands from her and taking a step back.
She stared up at him, breathing heavily.
Silence stretched between them.
“Bad idea,” he whispered.
“But—”
“No. We cannot.” He said it flatly.
On the other side of the wall, a sprightly reel struck up.
“You should go out there.” He gestured.
“Alone?”
“Yes. If someone asks, say you needed a maid to help you with your gown.”
“You’ll follow?”
He waved her on.
She stepped to the door, looked back over her shoulder. “I would offer an apology, but it would be a lie.”
Without waiting for an answer, she slipped into the ballroom and strolled casually out from behind the palms. She quickly found an acquaintance nearby and struck up a conversation.
He did not follow. And once more, she watched and waited for him to appear.
He never emerged.
Chapter 6
Dynastic marriages, political alliances, unification of lands or fortunes, love matches. There are many reasons for marriage in Society, my dear young ladies. Be sure that the one you end up with works for you . . .
--Whispers from Lady X
Tensford woke the next morning after a bad night, and still in a dark mood.
Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. What an idiot he’d been, to kiss Lady Hope Brightley.
He’d made sacrifices, attempting to restore Greystone. Most had barely registered. He didn’t miss his rooms at the manor house—they had been a refuge from his mother’s harangues, but not more. He couldn’t care less about eating simply or bemoan spending his time working out on the estate, next to his people.
But he’d felt a twinge at selling his sporty curricle and he’d hated passing up fossil hunting jaunts with Sterne.
That kiss, however, was another thing entirely. He’d walked right up to the edge of a precipice with that one.
She was so damned tempting. Soft and full of wit and humor—and passion. She’d gone to so much trouble, put her own reputation at risk, just to soothe his troubled spirit and make him more at ease with . . . the world. And to perhaps find a girl who would see past his money troubles and into his heart?
It was a kind gesture, generous and . . . dangerous.
He didn’t want another girl—he wanted more of her. And he didn’t want to want her.
He didn’t want to find himself having to sacrifice her.
Still fuming at the imbalances of fate, he went down to the breakfast room . . . and stopped dead on the threshold.
His mother sat at the table.
“There you are, Tensford. Don’t stand there gaping like a fish. Do come in. Breakfast is waiting.”
He gaped at the groaning sideboard. “So
