by Lara Temple
Before she realised what he was doing, he slipped an arm about her waist.
‘We can’t dance here,’ she whispered, even as her feet slipped into the rhythm.
‘Shh...’ he replied, and he guided her down the stairs onto the grass without losing the rhythm of the music.
The warmth of his body was a sharp contrast with the night air and the cool, springy grass beneath her soft shoes. All her objections gathered for a grand resistance and then fizzled as he guided her deeper and deeper into the darkness.
She had the strange sensation of dancing off the edge of the earth into an inky stillness populated only by them and the music. The scents of the night were joined by his—a deep, warm musk and a hint of something cool and distant.
‘Damn, you dance like a dream, Genny. It’s like dancing with a summer breeze scented with orange blossoms.’
It was such a lovely, whimsical thing to say that her panic faded and she smiled up at him. For the first time his steps faltered. Then slowed and stopped.
‘No, don’t stop smiling,’ he murmured, and there was a strange urgency in his voice. ‘You have no idea how dangerous that smile is, do you?’
She shook her head. His face was a pale chiaroscuro composition above her, the darkness both muting and highlighting his beauty.
‘You smiled just like that in the theatre, when you were lost to the world,’ he said, his fingers brushing the corner of her mouth, setting it tingling, as if the stars had sprinkled down on her. ‘All those layers, Genny... No matter how many I peel away, there seem to be more. What would it take to lay you bare, I wonder?’
This is as bare as I’ve ever been.
His fingers moved over her face in a soft, feathery exploration that was lighting fire after fire. They skimmed down her cheek to trace the swell of her lower lip, and without thought she licked the tingle left behind by his thumb. He made a sound, muted but harsh, and it jarred through her body, bringing to life an answering urgency.
He breathed out slowly, shifting away from her. ‘We should return.’
She didn’t want to. It might be wise, but it felt unfair—ungentlemanly, even—for him to set a fire alight and then slither away. But it was precisely what he did, she realised. He’d charm some pretty young woman or other, or engage a guest in conversation, and then be off, leaving them tantalised but with no foundation to build on. It was as if he was playing out his life’s pattern—sailing from port to port and settling in none. Always ready to leave.
She moved away from him, striding into the darkness. He caught her arm, slipping his hand down to capture hers and stopping her.
‘It’s the other way,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
She turned, and somehow in the darkness found herself pressed full-length against him, her hand on his chest. He made the same sound, deeper this time, and his arm moved around her. But not like in the waltz.
She didn’t wait to see what he would do; she leaned in, rising on tiptoe to find his mouth with hers.
She stayed like that, her mouth fitted against his, his breath filling her with a midnight promise that had nothing to do with the reality of day. It was like being filled with life, slowly, with the darkness melting into her, melting her against him.
She’d never felt anything so...right.
Then his mouth moved, his hand sank into her hair, and his lips brushed over hers in soft coaxing sweeps that forced her to follow, like a teasing breeze on an unbearably hot day. She heard herself exhale a soft moan as her lips parted and his body shivered against hers, his tongue tracing that parting.
That simple touch shattered the dreamy beauty with a surge of heat. It swept through her, expanding her, making her hands wrap around his back and tighten on the warm fabric of his waistcoat as they pressed into the rigid muscles of his back.
‘Yes...’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Take what you want...’
She kissed him, not thinking, just opening, her tongue tasting the firm line of his lower lip, retreating when his tongue came to meet hers, and then giving in to the need to explore, feel. He let her lead the kiss, encouraging her with warm, rumbling sounds of pleasure that were as addictive as his hands shaping her body. They swept down her back, curving over her backside as he raised her against him, their bodies swaying to the half-heard strains of the music.
But when one large hand brushed the side of her breast there was a strange burst of pain, almost as if she’d touched a voltaic cell.
It angled through her like an arrow, striking hard at her core, and she felt a welling of heat between her legs. It wasn’t the tentative excitement that came from reading illicit books—this was molten, almost vicious.
Frightening.
She stiffened, suddenly afraid to move, and he stopped as well, his mouth still against hers but not moving. His hand was cradling her breast but nothing else.
Then he breathed in deeply and pulled away. She felt the draw of air cooling her burning lips.
‘That went further than I planned,’ he said lightly, but his voice was hoarse. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise.’
Was that her voice? In the darkness she sounded prim, like a governess reprimanding a child.
She cleared her throat. ‘We should return.’ She echoed his previous words, but this time she managed to head in the right direction.
He followed, but at the patio steps he stopped. ‘You go first. I will follow in a moment.’
She didn’t argue. If he disappeared again Lady Westford would have her head, but at the moment she didn’t care. She couldn’t feel much of anything through the chaos of sensations and the jumble of conflicting thoughts and the sheer burning haze of embarrassment.
* * *
‘Where have you been?’
Genny jumped in alarm, pressing a hand to her chest.
‘Julian! Must you sneak up on one?’
‘I must if that “one” doesn’t want anyone noticing that she looks like she’s been dragged backwards through a hedge. You can’t go in there looking like that—your hair is coming undone at the back.’
She flushed and reached up.
Julian all but shoved her into the library. ‘Not here, where everyone can see you. They’ll likely blame it on me and then we’d be in a fine fix, love. Here, let me do it. Turn around.’
She stood still and let Julian pull a couple of pins from her hair, too shaken to object. There was something comforting about his competent motions, and it struck her as both strange and rather depressing that Julian’s touch felt as impersonal as her maid’s. Her nerves weren’t dancing or singing or doing anything they ought not to be doing.
She sighed. ‘I think you’re a lovely man, but I’m glad we never married,’ she said abruptly, and winced a little as his fingers slipped and he poked her with a pin.
He said nothing until he’d secured the last pin and stood back. ‘There, sweetheart. You look half presentable. And thank you for the compliment... I think. Now, will you tell me what happened?’
‘No.’
‘Did any of those bores try to take liberties? If they did...’
‘No, Julian, really—they didn’t. I doubt they even see me.’
He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. ‘Genny Maitland, for an intelligent woman you are shockingly stupid. If you gave the slightest sign of interest you’d have them lined up and down the hall, vying for your favours.’
She smiled at that nonsense and went to the mirror to inspect her hair. It did look presentable, but she didn’t feel ready to return to the guests.
She sank onto a sofa and Julian joined her.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘I believe you are kind as well as charming, Julian. I think I will sit here for a moment. You needn’t stay with me.’
He t
ook her hand. ‘Listen to me, Genny—’ He broke off as the door opened and a tall figure cast a long shadow into the room.
‘What is going on here?’
With the light behind him Genny could not make out Kit’s expression, but his tones were a mix between ice and acid.
‘Close the door before someone sees you, man,’ Julian remonstrated, waving his hand at Kit.
Kit shut it with a distinct snap. His gaze flicked over her and past her, settling on Julian, but she felt it like the snap of a whip.
‘I know I suggested you conduct your flirtation at Carrington House, but I didn’t mean while it was full of guests.’
The irony of his words after their interlude in the garden made Genny’s jaw drop, and chased away both embarrassment and confusion. She sprang to her feet, but Julian spoke first.
‘Then you should have been more explicit, Pretty Kitty. We’ll know better next time.’
Genny had never seen Kit so furious before. He hadn’t moved, but something in his face had been transformed utterly.
Without thinking, she held out her hands, as if to put herself between the two men. Kit’s eyes snapped to her, glittering like obsidian in the dark and she swallowed.
‘I think you’d best return to the guests, Miss Maitland. Julian and I will continue this conversation alone.’
That woke her further.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You two can’t indulge in fisticuffs in the library while we are entertaining. If you must act like troglodytes, I suggest you prove your manhood at a boxing salon, or something with at least a pretension to respectability. And you, Julian, don’t stand there grinning. I take back everything nice I said about you. You are not helping in the least.’
‘Sorry, Gen,’ Julian said. ‘You’re quite right. And you’re way off the mark, Kit. I didn’t do a thing to Genny but try to help her. Someone roughed her up and I was offering cousinly comfort.’
‘Someone roughed—’ Kit repeated, shock erasing the anger from his face.
‘No one roughed me up,’ Genny interjected hurriedly. ‘Really, Julian, where do you learn these vulgar phrases? Julian was merely offering to help with my hair.’
Oh, God, she was making it worse. She had best leave before she began bawling and even more thoroughly disgraced herself.
She cast one last harassed glance at herself in the mirror and hurried out, back into the anonymous safety of the crowd.
Chapter Eleven
Kit stopped on the threshold of the library. Genny was half expecting him to excuse himself and leave, but he entered and shut the door. She remained seated on the sofa, her hands tight on the book she had been trying to read, unsure what she should do next.
‘You are up early, Miss Maitland.’
‘So are you, Lord Westford.’
‘I don’t sleep well here,’ he said, moving restlessly towards the shelves.
Neither do I. Not since you arrived, she almost replied, but kept silent.
The library faced east, to the gardens, and light was streaming in, casting a golden light over him. Sometimes it struck her all over again how handsome he was. It was like coming across a painting and being caught by the skill of its creator.
‘I am glad for the opportunity to speak to you before the others wake,’ he continued. ‘I wish to apologise. For last night. I know I should never have asked you to dance, let alone... You didn’t object... But was what Julian said true? Did you feel I had...roughed you up?’
She could feel her cheeks become viciously hot. ‘No! Of course not. That was Julian’s supposition, because he noticed my hair and presumed one of the guests had... I told him it wasn’t so, but naturally I couldn’t tell him the truth...’
‘I see... In any case, I must still apologise. I should not have taken such liberties.’
He looked and sounded as uncomfortable as she felt.
‘You have nothing to apologise for, Lord Westford. Or rather we both do, for acting in a manner that might have caused concern had we been observed.’
‘I think I bear a rather larger share of responsibility, Miss Maitland.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘I accosted you.’
‘Clearly your memory is at fault. I kissed you first.’
‘I...’ He seemed to run aground, his cheeks darkening with either anger or embarrassment. ‘That isn’t how it works, Miss Maitland. Weren’t you the one instructing me to act the gentleman? A gentleman assumes responsibility for such matters.’
‘I don’t think it very gentlemanly to paint me as a sad little flower with no power to reject unwanted advances or make advances of my own. I think it would be more honest merely to say you would prefer I didn’t try to kiss you again.’
‘Being honest and being a gentleman are evidently two vastly different things,’ he snapped. ‘And if we are being honest, I certainly wouldn’t say that. However, I will say that I will be certain not do so again if I’m going to have my knuckles rapped like this while I’m trying to do what is right.’
She felt absurdly close to tears and she rubbed her forehead, pressing hard.
‘The only thing I object to is the presumption that men can do as they will, but the moment a woman follows an...an impulse, something must be wrong—something must be rectified. Believe me, Lord Westford, had I objected you would have been well aware of the fact. You told me to take what I wanted, and I did. What is more, I did so on the presumption that you were mature enough to follow through on that offer without making precisely the kind of scene you are indulging in now.’
She was shaking a little at the end of her tirade and he seemed rather stricken himself. Then, to her further consternation, he gave a short, rueful laugh and shook his head.
‘You are quite right, of course. My only excuse is that trying to play by the rules of this foreign world has skewed my sense of right and wrong. I meant no disrespect—either last night or now.’
She gave a huff of a breath. ‘Good. We shall forget about it, then.’
‘Must we?’
Her mind stuttered. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Since that kiss is one of my only pleasant memories since walking into Carrington House, I would rather not forget it. If you do not mind.’
‘I... No... What I meant was... You know what I meant.’
‘Yes, you meant that with good, mature Tonnish hypocrisy, having attained what you wanted, we are now to act as if it never happened.’
‘That is not what I meant,’ she said, aghast, a little shocked at finding herself in a corner.
‘What did you mean, then?’ he asked politely. ‘Not being versed in these rules, I am not certain how to interpret your demand.’
‘I am not demanding anything. I only meant to allay your fears that I...that you...’
Oh, God, this was going in an entirely wrong direction.
‘That you might once again make demands upon me?’ he suggested.
‘No! That is...if you felt the need to...to make amends...drastic amends...that is...’
He settled on the sofa opposite her and crossed his arms, for all the world as if he was watching a rather choppy attempt at charades but was too polite to hurry her along. His expression was utterly bland, but she knew—she knew—he was laughing at her.
Well, she was grateful for it, because her temper finally rushed to her defence. ‘Are you enjoying yourself, Lord Westford?’
‘I am certainly feeling better than when I walked in here this morning,’ he replied. ‘I know I am once again betraying my ungentlemanly roots, but watching you flounder is rather...appealing.’
‘I am so glad. Now, if you are finished watching me flounder, you may leave.’
He didn’t move, and his voice had lost its smile when he spoke. ‘Don’t expect me to dance to your tune like the others, Genny. I won’t do it.’
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‘I don’t expect you, or anyone, to dance to my tune. I don’t have a tune.’
‘You certainly do. You’ve been playing it for the past two weeks, and all those fine gentlemen and ladies are capering along to it like a group of monkeys because it suits their purpose to do so.’
‘That is not very respectful.’
‘You have no more respect for the parasitical wastrels than I do. Possibly less, since I possess a far less excitable disposition than you.’
‘Excitable!’ she exclaimed.
Of all his facial expressions, she most disliked his ability to raise one dark brow without looking ridiculous. It was merely one more thing to list under Unfair Advantages Possessed by Kit Carrington.
‘I am not excitable,’ she said with deathly calm. ‘Anyone will tell you I am dismally dull and devoid of all the normal female—’ She’d been about to say passions, but that word felt far too close to the bone at the moment. ‘Attributes.’ That too had its pitfalls, but it would have to do.
‘I find “anyone” to be an unreliable source of information,’ he replied. ‘I’m a Baconian at heart—I prefer to draw my own conclusions, from the evidence before me.’
‘Well, so do I. And, putting today aside, I would say that you have proved far more temperamental than I!’
‘Today and yesterday.’
‘What?’
‘If you wish to skew the evidence, you might as well do so thoroughly. Put aside today and yesterday evening from your observations.’
He was doing it again. Just when she’d managed to climb back on deck, he shoved her into the water once more. She hated floundering.
‘I am not skewing the evidence,’ she insisted, amending her approach. ‘Even taking into account today, and yesterday evening, you are more temperamental.’
‘I wasn’t measuring temperamentality...is that the noun? Never mind... I was discussing excitability. I may be more temperamental—though I would strongly debate that, especially given the new evidence before me—but I deny I am more excitable. You didn’t see yourself all but swooning over Kean’s performance.’
