Dalia let the conversation drift around her as she watched the other guests moving down the hall toward the ballroom, wondering once again if Spencer was here. While she and Sophia were playing croquet, she’d felt the oddest tingle—the same one she often experienced just before he greeted her at a ball.
It had probably been nothing more than her overactive imagination that she’d suddenly felt his regard. And her hope that he’d come so she could find a way to not only apologize but make up for the insult she’d so carelessly delivered.
They continued down the hall, the music growing louder and the crowd thicker. Supper would be served and then the guests not spending the night would arrive for the ball.
But Dalia didn’t feel like eating or dancing.
As her mother glanced at her from the corner of her eye, Dalia pasted a smile on her face and straightened. The last thing she needed was a lecture on her morose behavior.
They passed into the drawing room where many of the guests mingled, greeting several they knew. There was no sign of Spencer. Sophia and Aberland visited with another couple. Dalia didn’t have any urge to join them.
Instead, she wandered to the open terrace doors, still considering Sophia’s advice. She had no idea what sort of bold move might convince Spencer to forgive her. The notion of doing something gave her a shiver.
“It’s difficult to believe we’re just a few miles outside of London, isn’t it?”
Dalia spun, her heart leaping, at the achingly familiar masculine tone. Perhaps it hadn’t been her thoughts that had caused her to shiver. “Spencer.” Though she knew it was untoward of her, she couldn’t help but allow her delight to show as she curtsied. “I wasn’t certain you’d be here.”
“Nor was I.”
Much to her disappointment, his eyes still appeared reserved.
“I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” she said, uncertain where to begin.
His brow furrowed. “Has something occurred?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that. I-I—” She glanced down as words escaped her. The only thing she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and hold on tight until that aloofness eased.
“What is it?”
“I wanted to apologize for my careless words. I never meant to imply that—”
He shook his head. “No need to apologize. You simply said what was on your mind. You should never have to apologize for that.”
“No, that’s not true. I didn’t use the right words to express my thoughts. I truly meant no offense.”
“None taken.” Yet still the distance remained in his eyes.
A sinking feeling sat heavy on her chest, tugging her heart down along with it. She blinked to hold back her sudden tears.
“Do you know the duke well?” he asked as he turned to study the drawing room entrance where their host and his mother now stood.
Had their relationship been reduced to polite conversation? She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Not especially. I think my cousin, Sophia, and her fiancé are the reason for our invitation.” She braved a glance at him again, hoping the shutter had lifted. But no. “Do you?”
“We attended university together and have known each other casually since then.”
The bell rang to announce supper would be served, forcing them to part ways before she could say anything more.
To Dalia’s dismay, she was seated some distance from Spencer.
“I see the viscount is here,” Sophia whispered to Dalia as she paused on her way to her seat.
“Yes.”
“And?” Sophia asked, one brow raised in question.
“He insists there’s no reason for me to apologize.”
“Oh dear. That’s not a good sign. Have you given any thought to my suggestion?”
Before Dalia could respond, someone asked Sophia a question then she took her seat two places away. Dalia decided that was probably for the best. She still had no idea how to convince Spencer that he cared enough for her to truly forgive her and allow her back into his life.
And into his arms.
She missed the closeness they’d shared, both physically and emotionally.
Even now, she watched him from under her lashes where he sat across the table deeply involved in a conversation with another lord, the intensity of his expression making her wonder what they discussed.
If she hadn’t insulted him, she would’ve been able to count on him sharing it with her later. The dismal thought only made her feel sadder.
With effort, she visited with those seated nearby, ready for the meal to be over.
The setting was lovely, and the food delicious. Low bouquets of flowers decorated the center of the table, lending a sweet fragrance to the air. Crystal glasses sparkled in the candlelight as attentive footmen poured wine. Thick slices of ham along with fish, green peas, savoury pudding, and mixed salad were served. Dessert was a lovely trifle, although it tasted much like sawdust to Dalia due to her lack of appetite.
At last the meal was finished, and the guests moved into the ballroom where the quartet was playing once again. Within moments, she was asked to dance. Since she’d lost sight of Spencer, she accepted the invitation as well as several more, returning to her mother’s side after each dance.
Well over an hour had passed when she felt the familiar tingle that had her turning to look for him. When she realized he was moving toward her, her heart lifted.
“Good evening,” he greeted her again.
“And to you. Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked only to curse herself for the ridiculous question.
“It’s been an interesting evening. And you?”
She hesitated. Though the normal platitude came to her lips, she pressed them tight. Now was not the time for polite conversation. Sophia was right—a bold move would be required to return their relationship to what it had been. To what she wanted it to be. While she didn’t know exactly what that was, she knew she didn’t care for the awkwardness that stood between them. “I’ve had better ones.” She turned to face him in full, holding his gaze, hoping he could read her expression as she held tight to her courage. “Such as the ones I’ve spent alone with you. Just the two of us.”
He frowned, causing her breath to catch. Had she overstepped her bounds? Did he not understand her meaning? Or worse, did he not feel the same? Was this one more instance when she should’ve thought before speaking?
She waited, watching him process her comment, hoping to see a hint of warmth in his eyes.
“Those evenings were certainly memorable but we must take care not to repeat such risks. You must know that.”
Her heart fell. Did he refer to the type of outings they’d been on or to being with her?
Something shifted in his eyes as he cleared his throat then glanced around the room. “Would you care to dance?”
Confused by the invitation, she nodded all the same. As much as being near Spencer hurt with this distance between them, she wanted to be in his company. If that made her desperate, so be it.
Dancing with him was a pleasure and soon lifted her spirits, returning her hope that she could make things right. His gaze lingered on her. And for a moment, it almost felt as if his lips brushed her ear. The sensation sent a wave of longing through her that nearly buckled her knees. His hand tightened on her waist, and her insides fluttered. Her gaze flew to his face to determine the meaning behind the gentle movement, only to see he wasn’t even looking at her.
The hope that anything she said could remove the chasm between them fell away. Her fear was proven true when at the dance’s end, Spencer returned her to her mother’s side and promptly left after a few minor pleasantries.
There was no special glance as he turned away, no little smile that tugged at her heart.
There was nothing at all.
~*~
Spencer drew a relieved sigh when he closed his bedroom door that night, the hour well past midnight. He’d accomplished more than he’d thought possible, making
contacts for donations to his foundation as well as drawing a team together that would prove useful for doing the myriad of tasks he hadn’t even realized needed doing.
But he still felt restless.
After dismissing his valet, he settled into bed, hoping he could turn off his thoughts so he might sleep. The full moon cast a path of light across the floor of the dark bedroom, but he couldn’t blame his sleeplessness on the faint light.
He shook his head as he knew exactly what the cause was—Dalia.
After their brief time together this evening, he’d realized he wanted her in his life. Somehow. An elemental part of him was drawn to her that made it impossible to maintain the wall he’d placed between them with grim determination.
He no longer cared that she’d be better suited for his brother. Edward was gone. Spencer wanted her regardless of their differences. Or perhaps because of them.
He closed his eyes, rubbing a hand at the nagging ache in his chest that had plagued him since those moments in the garden. Only one option was clear—marry her. Could he convince her that they could work through the disparities that separated them and focus on the many things that brought them together? Or did she only care for him because he’d aided her in her quest to help fallen women?
The memory of her in another man’s arms as he’d watched her dancing this evening hardened his resolve. He hadn’t cared for that at all. In fact, it had slayed him. She was beautiful, clever, intelligent, and interesting, all qualities that made her attractive.
Above all else, she deserved to be happy.
But she hadn’t looked happy even once this evening. The blame for that fell squarely on his shoulders, he knew. Nor had he been able to claim any pleasure in life since he’d been keeping his distance.
He longed to brush aside the space between them, take her in his arms, and—
“Spencer?” the whispered feminine tone was all too familiar but still shocked him to his bare toes.
“Dalia?” He sat up in the bed. “Whatever are you doing here?” Apparently his thoughts had been so encompassing that they’d prevented him from hearing someone entering his room. She had him so rattled that he’d forgotten his training.
Rather than answer, she drew nearer, at last coming into view in the moonlight. Her white robe and nightgown teased him, the fabric forming to her curves, revealing the outline of her legs as she walked toward him. The image had his already aroused body hardening further.
“Is something amiss?” Lord, he hoped so. That was the only reasonable explanation for her being in his room at this time of night.
“No. Well, yes, actually.” She wrung her hands before her, revealing her disquiet.
His gaze searched her face, hoping to find the wherewithal he needed to keep from pulling her onto his bed, drawing her under him, running his fingers through her hair so that it fanned over the pillow, then—
“I wanted a chance to speak with you. In private.”
“Oh?” The darkness made it far too easy to let his imagination run free. He shifted to light the candle on the bedside table. But when he looked back at her, he realized the soft glow of the candlelight made the situation worse.
Now he could see her luminous wide blue eyes, the length of her hair braided loosely to fall over her shoulder nearly to her waist, and the seductive neckline of her nightgown.
He tried his damnedest to keep his focus on her eyes but even they called to him, luring him to reach for her. He fisted his hands on the covers, anything to keep them at his sides.
“You see,” she continued in a voice barely a whisper, “those things I said the other day were not what I meant.” She took another step forward, placing her within arm’s reach.
He could hardly understand her words. Especially when she reached out a bare finger to draw it from his wrist to the suddenly sensitive crook of his arm.
“Not what you meant?” he stupidly repeated. His mind was locked on her touch, unable to process her words.
“Not at all. If you only knew how much I thought of you. How much you mean to me. How capable and...strong you are.” That finger now lingered over the curve of his bicep, causing his stomach to dance.
Then she leaned closer still, her honeysuckle scent engulfing him in its embrace, flowing over him like a wave and sending him reeling. The fabric of her soft nightgown teased his bare chest, shooting heat straight into his groin.
“You’ve done so much for me, including rescuing me from certain disaster. I have no doubt as to your skills.”
The only skills he could think of were those used in the bedroom. Yet he knew he shouldn’t touch her. Couldn’t touch her.
For if he did, he’d be lost.
If he gave in, he’d have no choice but to make her his in every sense of the word. From this day forward. For better or worse.
He clenched his jaw, digging deep for the strength to resist, to allow her to return to her room unblemished by him and the need coursing through his body. Now was not the time to discuss whether they could work through their differences or if they had a possible future. That needed to be done in the light of day. When he was properly attired.
“Spencer?” She perched on the side of his bed, testing his fortitude even further. “I’m truly sorry. Please accept my apology.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she reached out her hand to cup his cheek.
Unable to resist the tender gesture, he turned his head to kiss her palm, loving the softness of her skin. Her quick intake of breath suggested she wasn’t unaffected by the moment any more than he was. That fanned his desire all the more.
With a groan, he drew her into his arms and took her lips with his. She tasted even better than he remembered, as though their brief time apart had heightened his senses. Her response had his body hardening more, sending heat through his entire length. Her lips fit perfectly against his, opening for him.
Surely just one kiss wouldn’t alter their course. In truth, it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t resist. He touched her face, then her soft hair, his fingers finding the ribbon that bound it back and loosening it as his tongue danced with hers.
She shifted closer, more of her body pressing against his, and it felt glorious.
He reassured himself that her reputation was still intact—as long as they weren’t discovered. No matter that she was in his bed with merely covers separating them. He need only keep those between them and all would be well. She’d return to her room momentarily, as soon as he found the wherewithal to end this madness.
How difficult could that be?
As he deepened the kiss, her hands shifted to his shoulders, the column of his neck, then down to his chest.
Perhaps he’d overestimated his ability to maintain some sense of control. When she touched him like that, he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone what his good intentions were.
“Spencer?” Her whisper vibrated through his body, as though he were a tuning fork set to her frequency.
“Dalia?” He loved her name, loved saying it, loved how well it suited her, loved how it rolled off his tongue.
She drew back, which he didn’t love. “I would show you how much you mean to me.”
Before he could form the words to offer a gentle rebuff, she eased off the bed, undid the belt of her robe, and allowed it to slide off her shoulders to drop into a gentle pool at her feet. The fine linen of her gown hung over her breasts, the nipples darkening the thin fabric.
His body throbbed at the sight as his gaze ventured lower to where the gown clung to her hips. Her bare toes appealed to him far more than he would’ve guessed.
He licked his lips, trying to gather his thoughts, only to realize he still had none. “That isn’t necessary.”
She climbed onto the bed, her hip alongside his, the covers trapping him in place. “I’ve missed you.” She bent forward, her nightgown gaping to reveal the curves of her breasts. Then her lips took his as her hair fell over her shoulder and brushed along his chest.
It would take a stronger man than he to resist the siren in his bed. He was a mere mortal, unable to stand firm against her song.
Again he reached for her, drawing her onto his lap, loving the slight weight of her, of the way she felt in his arms.
Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, sending delicious shivers along his skin. Her tongue swirled around his then she pulled back and pressed kisses on his cheek, his nose, his brow, then down to his jawline and neck. The sensation was glorious, so he returned the favor, her quiet moan confirming she enjoyed it as well.
“You’re so strong. So brave,” she muttered. “I—I admire you so much.”
He frowned at the word choice as it held a tinny ring as though false. Yet his mind wouldn’t stay focused long enough to analyze it.
When she eased the covers lower to reveal more of his chest, he stopped thinking. With a groan, he rolled to put her under him, the covers still wrapped over his lower body.
He kissed her deeply, far more forcefully than he intended. But he couldn’t help it. Somehow the frustration of the past few days poured out in the physical sense. The urge to jerk the bedding from between them so he might feel the length of her was nearly overwhelming.
“Dalia,” he muttered. “What are you doing here?” He pressed kisses along her jaw then her neck as she tipped her head back.
“I—I—” As though giving up on words, she moaned, her hands running over his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be here. If we’re caught—” He couldn’t finish the thought let alone the sentence. This was insanity, of that he had no doubt, but he couldn’t let her go. Not yet.
He shifted his hand along her narrow waist then up to the swell of her breast. She was so warm. Her body shifted under him as he touched her, arousing him further. He kneaded the softness of her breast then moved to tease the tip. The jolt her body gave excited him and sent blood pulsing to his manhood. What could he do but repeat the gesture?
As he kissed the tender skin just below her ear, he continued his caress until her body writhed against his. He lifted onto his elbow to look down at her.
Falling For The Viscount Page 22
