The double door leading to the long marble terrace was open and guests were popping in and out. Some followed by chaperones; others together, but alone.
Once Nora breathed in some fresh air, made so by the recent rainfall, she felt fortified and ready to proceed to the final part of her scheme. Oh, so many plans had been made and discarded. And as it turned out, she was having incredible success because Carlow was cooperating.
“What a beautiful evening,” he said.
“Yes. Nearly perfect.” She glanced up at the night sky. Was she going to be satisfied when this was over? All the loss. All the heartache.
“Tell me, why aren’t you married? You seem perfectly suitable for such an institution,” he said.
“I’m crushed. You have been complimenting me all evening and now I am just perfectly suitable?”
They strolled down the stairs and into the rose garden, the June bushes just barely working up the strength to show a bud. There was a fragrant smell adding to the scent of clear skies and damp earth. While there were others in the garden, they were basically alone on their walking path.
“As London judges a marriageable age woman, you are suitable. Perhaps a tad overripe.”
“On the shelf? Then of course I will certainly accept your offer. Heaven forbid another year passes and I don’t have a spouse!”
“Do you know any woman your age who is not married?”
“Why aren’t you married? One might consider you second-rate goods. Is there a family secret people are whispering about behind your back? Is the earldom deficient of resources? Are you incapable?”
“Incapable? Of what?” He turned, causing his arm to drop to his side. There was a certain surprise in his voice, and some confusion that she could think or say such a thing.
Careful! Careful! she thought. “I have gone a step too far. I meant it as a tease, but our flirtations have proceeded into impropriety. I should return to the ball. My chaperone may be looking for me.”
Carlow took her hand, the warmth of it pleasant in the cool of the midnight air. He glanced around before placing his other hand on the round of her hip, encouraging her to draw close. He tilted his head and Nora’s breath escaped in a rush.
His lips were soft against hers. She closed her eyes, not that she could see much past the darkness and her mask.
How to describe such a kiss? Less passionate than the stable boy she’d kissed when she’d turned sixteen but more intimate than the vicar’s son she’d kissed two years ago. Reverend Wright did not know about that. His son had married a month later. The stable boy, alas, had whistled his way into trouble over an abused carriage horse.
Would she be considered ruined if anyone knew? Including her brother or Gigi? Well, no one was going to find out.
How to describe the want that accompanied such a kiss? Did the emotion of hatred make the kiss more significant than it might otherwise be? Or was it the emotion created by the intimate touch of a desirable man? For he was desirable, she hated to admit.
The kiss was only long enough to singe her to her toes. Her wings might even be on fire. He pulled away slightly and then kissed her again at the side of her mouth, his nose nuzzling against her skin.
“I’m capable,” he whispered in her ear.
Chapter Two
“Susan?” Gabriel asked. He examined the Venetian goddess again. He’d never been a believer in love at first sight, and how could he with this vixen? He hadn’t seen her yet. But he did feel a draw to her spirit, her joie de vivre, as it were. There was an intelligence in her wit, every word like a rapier’s thrust to his own remarks.
“What?” she asked.
“Is that your name?”
“Uh, no.”
“I was thinking of Susan Billingsly and her mother, also a Susan. You must know them.”
She took a deep breath, shoulders back. “Of course! Who doesn’t?”
Gabriel was happy for the darkness, not just because it was easier to take liberties in the dark, but he didn’t want her to see the deep frown on his face. There were no Billingslys of any report in London, and none at the Weatherby Ball.
She was leading him on a merry chase. Was she really a noble’s daughter? He brushed his hand over the side of his face. Of course she was. How could she obtain an invitation to the ball, if not?
He sensed…something.
“Oh, my brother is standing at the doors.” She ducked behind Carlow. “I haven’t been gone so long that he should be looking for me. He’s always been a pest.”
“Well, as you said, he is probably thinking of your wild streak and how it might lead to mischief on a night like this.”
“I would like to go inside. I think I am ready to return to my home before I’m the subject of the ball curse.”
“That isn’t going to happen. Not while I’m with you.”
“Curses are for other people?” she asked, straining to peek around his shoulders.
“Curses are for the stupid and the careless.”
“Carlow, I am feeling drained. This ball is more than a simple woman like me can bear. And I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“You didn’t kiss me. I kissed you.”
“My brother won’t think there is a difference. Lead me back to the house, please. I shouldn’t have come out here with you.”
He held out his arm. She glanced again toward the house and then placed her hand on his sleeve.
“You don’t attend many balls, do you?” Their feet crunched against the seashell-and-limestone path.
“No.”
“And you don’t waltz?”
“I’ve never learned.”
“Your guardians didn’t
