A Ballroom Temptation

by Kimberly Bell

  Jane assumed those were Lady Davenport’s words, not Eugenia’s. Jane also felt guilty for not wanting Eugenia there. They were friends. It was ridiculous to be in such a frenzy to see Adam that she would jeopardize a friendship.

  “Well, sit. Have some tea with us.”

  Eugenia sat down. “You and Lord Wesley kissed last night. Your aunt saw it and walked away.”

  Mathilda turned to Ambrose. “Perhaps skip the tea. I think we’ll be fine fending for ourselves for a while.”

  His face remained stiff and impassive. “Of course, my lady.”

  When he left, Eugenia looked between the two of them. “Should I not have said that?”

  Mathilda patted her hand. “You can say whatever you like, dear.”

  “I don’t like it more than anything else to say. It’s just the truth.”

  “I think it’s time for another drink.” Mathilda made her way over to the collection of artfully cut crystal decanters Hannah had ordered from Nuremberg.

  “When you were kissing Lord Wesley, did you like it?”

  Jane’s cheeks flamed red. “I, um . . .”

  “It looked like you liked it. I’m curious about why. I don’t think I would like it if someone kissed me.”

  “You don’t? Not even if it was Lord Quincy?”

  Eugenia’s whole face contracted into a frown. “He is not notably more attractive than anyone else, and he wouldn’t kiss me. He doesn’t like me.”

  “Maybe he does. Maybe he’s just having a hard time of showing it.”

  “Then he’s an idiot, and I shouldn’t want to kiss an idiot. He’s mean to me. You shouldn’t be mean to someone you wish to kiss.”

  Mathilda came back to the couch. “You’re wise beyond your years, Eugenia.”

  “It’s not wisdom; it’s sense.”

  “Even so.”

  “Kissing seems strange,” Eugenia continued. “What is the purpose exactly?”

  Jane frowned. “The purpose? The purpose is . . .”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Mathilda burst out laughing. “The purpose, my dears, is that it feels wonderful when done right.”

  “How do you know if it’s done right?”

  “You just know,” Mathilda answered.

  “That is utterly unhelpful.”

  Jane would have felt exactly the same way if she hadn’t recently experienced it for herself.

  “Pardon the interruption,” Ambrose said, announcing his return. “There’s a groom asking after Miss Davenport, and Lord Wesley has just arrived.”

  “I have to go,” Eugenia announced.

  “Thank you for visiting.” Jane tried not to sound too excited. Adam was here. He’d actually come.

  Eugenia nodded to him as they passed each other in the doorway. “Lord Wesley.”

  “Miss Davenport.” It was daylight now, so Jane could clearly see the slight flush creep over his skin. Adam Clairborne blushed. It was a revelation. “Lady Hawthorne. Jane. I . . .”

  The protrusion on his throat shifted as he swallowed.

  There was a moment of supremely awkward silence before Mathilda stepped in. “Oh dear. I have an entire heap of correspondence to get to—I almost forgot.”

  Correspondence? She was supposed to smooth the situation, not abandon the field. “Aunt Matty—”

  “I’m sure you two can keep each other company. Wesley, lovely to see you.”

  And just like that, she swept out of the room.

  • • •

  They sat across from each other. Adam wasn’t certain how to begin.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said.

  “I thought about what you said,” he said at the same time.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You speak first.”

  “I thought about what you said and . . .” He rubbed his hands against his pant legs to dispel some of the nervous tension. “As long as we both understand there’s no future and we don’t take it too far, I don’t see why we couldn’t . . .”

  “Kiss each other?” she finished for him.

  Generations of Clairbornes rolled over in their graves. Not that he cared, but it was an outrageous thing they were discussing. “Yes.”

  “What do you mean by too far?”

  This conversation is too far.

  “I mean . . . We can’t . . . I can’t . . . I cannot bed you.”

  “Oh.” Jane’s face flamed red. “Did you think that’s what I was asking?”

  “No!” Damnation. He was making a complete mess of this. “I just meant . . . sometimes one leads to the other, and we can’t. We have to make sure the one does not lead to the other.”

  “All right.”

  Adam nodded, happy to have it settled.

  “Are there any particular signs I should be aware of that might indicate that kissing might be leading to bedding?” She blinked at him with her thick lashes. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally lead you down the road to ruin.”

  The minx was teasing him. His Jane—nervous, forever proper Jane—was teasing him. Well, two could play that game. “Oh yes. All sorts of signs.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well.” Adam moved across to the settee she was sitting on. Then he slid closer. “You might notice you start to feel peculiar.”

  She’d gone very still when he slid closer. “How peculiar?”

  “Well, you might feel sensations in places where you’re not being touched.” Adam turned her hand over in her lap, stroking his finger down the center of her palm. “Like that. Do you feel that anywhere else?”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  “You’re sure?” He did it again.

  Jane shifted on the settee. “Absolutely certain.”

  Liar. He raised his hand, tracing her lower lip. “How about when I do that?”

  Her tongue darted out, tasting the skin he’d just touched. “No.”

  He let his fingertip drag down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and along the edge of her gown’s neckline. She closed her eyes, a breathy gasp causing the gentle swells of her breasts to raise. His hand raised with them as he traced across her impossibly smooth skin.

  It was Adam’s turn to shift on the settee. “And that?”

  “I barely feel anything,” she said. Her eyes were still closed, and a pink flush was creeping up her chest.

  Adam smiled, since she couldn’t see him. “Then I suppose we’re safe.”

  She nodded. “Completely safe.”

  He leaned close, careful not to make any noise until he whispered close to her ear. “Would you like me to kiss you now?”

  Jane jumped. Her eyes opened, turning to meet his. He wondered if she would say no. She’d been so bold—so sure—but perhaps . . .

  “Very much so.”

  Their lips were only the sparest of spaces apart, so Adam closed the distance. He teased her with soft kisses, craving the way she leaned forward when he pulled away. His hands came up, framing her shoulders, sliding down her arms, circling her wrists.

  Every muscle in Jane’s body went rigid.

  Adam dropped his hands, releasing her. “Jane?”

  “It’s nothing.” She leaned in, placing his hand back on her arm. “Please continue.”

  It didn’t seem like nothing. Adam slid his hand down her arm again. When he came to her wrist, she did a much better of job of hiding her reaction, but it was still there.

  “Jane.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not you,” she promised. Her words were sincere, but her reaction was still extremely concerning.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just . . . sometimes Geoffrey would . . .”

  Pembroke again. Adam truly did hate that man.

  “Just ignore it,” she said, slidin
g in closer to him. “It will pass.”

  Just ignore it. The most sensual words in the human language. “What, exactly, are we expecting to pass?”

  “I just get a little afraid is all. It’s nothing.”

  Adam took a deep breath. He—gently—set her away from him on the couch. “You’re afraid of me.”

  “I’m not! I’m just . . . afraid. I’m just a nervous person. But I do want you to kiss me!” Jane stood up, following him. “Please, Adam.”

  • • •

  She was ruining everything. Her stupid nerves were ruining the most exciting moment that had ever happened to her. Jane put her hand on Adam’s chest, savoring the feel of him. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just something I need to get over.”

  Adam cupped the side of her face with his hand. His thumb stroked the skin at her temple. It felt divine—and she certainly felt it in places he wasn’t touching. Everywhere, in fact. “Jane, if what we’re doing is making you afraid . . .”

  “It’s not. I’m just . . . It’s just leftover, from before.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  Not good enough. Of course. She was never good enough. Wasn’t that what Geoffrey had been telling her most of her life? What everyone’s little criticism and biting remarks told her every day? You’re not good enough, Jane Bailey. You’re broken. The wonderful, incredible things everyone else gets to have—those aren’t for you.

  She closed her eyes, but the tears started breaking free anyway. They raced down her cheeks, sliding down the side of her neck and into her cleavage, in a mockery of Adam’s earlier touch.

  “Jane.” He brushed them away, wrapping his arms around her. “Jane. Stop crying, Jane.”

  She shook her head.

  He sat back down on the settee, dragging her with him.

  “Do you think I want to be afraid?” Jane accused. “Do you think I like never being good enough?”

  “I didn’t mean you weren’t good enough. I just meant—”

  “It doesn’t matter! The result is the same. I can’t have what I want. And it’s my fault. It’s always my fault, even when it’s not.”

  Sobs racked her. Adam rubbed her shoulders, showering her with nonsense words in his deep, soothing baritone. She was a mess. Even now, when she was supposed to be propositioning him, he was comforting her while she bawled in his arms.

  Eventually the tears ran out. The ridiculousness of the situation—sitting in his lap in their parlor with his cheek pressed to her hair and his hand rubbing circles on her back—was not lost on her. Any minute now he would set her away and declare this was the end for him. She was too broken. She couldn’t be salvaged.

  “All right,” he said.

  This was it. He would say something polite, and then be gone forever.

  “We’ll find a way that doesn’t make you afraid—but Jane?” He couldn’t mean what he’d just said.

  “Yes?”

  “You have to be honest. No more pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”

  “I—”

  “Those are my terms. I’ll find a way to give you what you want, but you have to do that for me.” He wasn’t abandoning her. He wasn’t running away from how impossibly ridiculous she was.

  “All right.”

  “All right.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “It will take me some time, but I’ll think of something.”

  Jane released the tension she hadn’t realized she’d still been holding. She should remove herself from his lap. Ambrose or Mathilda or—God forbid—Charlie could come in at any moment. It wouldn’t do for someone to find them like that. It felt so wonderful though. She wasn’t quite ready to give it up.

  Instead she asked, “What should we do until then?”

  Adam sighed. “We could take another walk.”

  Insane laughter bubbled up inside her. She felt it in him, too—rumbling through the chest muscles beneath her cheek before she actually heard it.

  He stood them up, helping her straighten out her skirts. “Come on.”

  “I think I’m going to hate walks.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter 12

  The weather had turned nice for a stretch, so Lady Lyndon had planned a picnic during the day, followed by a musicale in the early evening. By some bizarre misunderstanding, Jane had been invited. So had Adam.

  She hadn’t seen him in three days. He’d sent notes, and he’d said he was going to think of something, but what if he couldn’t? What if she was irreparably damaged and there was no solution? Would he still want to be her friend? Maybe he’d already decided she was a lost cause and that’s why she hadn’t heard from him. If he avoided her at the Lyndons, or skipped it altogether, she would have her answer.

  Jane scanned the crowd on the lawn for a familiar set of overly wide shoulders.

  Next to her, Matty did the same. “Do you see him?”

  “Why are you in such a rush for me to find Adam?”

  “As soon as you have someone else to talk to, I’m going to join that decrepit widower in the shade and make inappropriate jests until it’s acceptable to start drinking.” Matty eyed her target. “He might even have a flask.”

  “Your behavior is supremely unladylike.”

  “Ladies are boring. I’m deeply pleased you’re considering leaving their ranks.”

  “I’m not leaving their ranks!”

  “Ladies don’t kiss handsome rogues.”

  “Adam is not a rogue.”

  “Time will tell.” Mathilda lifted her arm to point. “There he is.”

  It was true. Adam was coming down the slope from the house, headed straight for them. Jane couldn’t stop the smile from practically splitting her face in two.

  “Mhmmm,” Mathilda said, watching her. “Only rogues make a girl smile like that.”

  “Stop it, he’s coming over.”

  “With a decidedly roguish walk.”

  “Matty,” Jane warned. There was nothing roguish about his walk. He had a long, purposeful stride that made it very easy to picture him strolling through rows of tobacco plants on his farm.

  “Good day, ladies.” Adam was in bright spirits. “Do you mind if I share your blanket?”

  “You didn’t bring your own?” Mathilda asked.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “How roguish.” She leered at Jane.

  “Please ignore her,” Jane told Adam. “She’s just irritated because Lady Lyndon is only serving lemonade to the ladies.”

  Matty scowled. “What is this, church?”

  “Have you seen Brandon?” Adam asked.

  “Only in my dreams.”

  Jane covered her eyes with her hand. “In a strange twist, my aunt becomes less appropriate the less intoxicated she is.”

  Adam laughed. He found Lord Brandon in the crowd and caught his attention.

  “Lady Hawthorne. Miss Bailey.” Lord Brandon bowed low when he made his way over.

  Adam nodded to him. “Lady Hawthorne has need of your flask, Brandon.”

  “Are you sure about that? It’s strong stuff.” He handed it over anyway.

  “You’re both wonderful young men,” Mathilda told them. “And I hope you get everything you desire in life.”

  “My aunt doesn’t enjoy—”

  “Bright sunlight, sitting on the ground, or any of these people.” Matty handed Brandon back his flask.

  “Here, here.” Brandon toasted it, putting it to his lips. “May I join you?”

  “Please do.”

  It was Jane’s turn to tease her aunt. “What about your decrepit widower in the shade?”

  “This one’s company is worth a little sun. Besides, the certainty of liquor is always better than the supposition of liquor.”

  Brandon looked
over at the shaded area. “I beat out Lord Weatherby? Being chosen over an earl. That’s a first for the Viscounts of Brandon.”

  Jane sighed. “Lord Wesley, would you like to take a walk?”

  “I have a deep fondness for walks.”

  She couldn’t help it—she laughed. It was shaping up to be a pretty lovely day.

  They stood up, and Adam snagged Brandon’s flask and tipped it into Jane’s lemonade before they left. “For the journey.”

  “So,” she said as they strolled.

  “So,” Adam answered. He handed her the lemonade. “Sip that while we walk. It’s part of the plan.”

  The plan. “You . . .”

  “Have a plan. It doesn’t involve you getting drunk, so sips only, please, but pleasantly relaxed will be an excellent help to the plan.”

  “Why can’t I be drunk?”

  “Because not being afraid won’t count if you’re intoxicated.”

  So they were talking about the same plan. Jane sipped her lemonade. She coughed. Brandon had not been exaggerating about the potency of his private stash.

  “Easy now,” Adam said.

  When she recovered, she asked, “What else is part of this plan?”

  “Well, for right now, we just walk and enjoy the sun.”

  That sounded less plan-ish than she’d been hoping for. She’d enjoyed sunshine in the past and had yet to be cured of her nervous problem. “And after that?”

  “I’ll tell you when we come to it. Do you mind if we stop by and speak with my brother?”

  “Is he part of the plan?”

  “No.” He looked sideways at her. “Are you attempting to take my plan over?”

  “No. I just think it might be beneficial if I also know the plan.”

  “What if a key part of the plan is leaving you in the dark?”

  Then it would be a terrible plan. “Is it?”

  Adam smiled.

  • • •

  Jane’s need to control everything was adorable. It was also going to make his task significantly harder. He needed her to relax. He needed her to stop worrying and anticipating every action before it happened. The plan was not a complex one—he was going to start with a nice day, good company, and fond memories. The whiskey hadn’t been part of his original plan, but it couldn’t hurt as long as Jane didn’t overdo it.