However, she was wise enough to hold her tongue and preserve the moment. Just because the dance was permitted didn't mean that anything else was, especially confessions of love. If Gibson even suspected she was thinking such wicked thoughts, he would probably be livid and remind her of how inappropriate such notions were.
Instead, Amy tilted her head and gave him her most coy and inviting debutante smile. "I believe you know, my dear doctor, what has made me smile this evening. You need not think overly hard on the matter." Then she squeezed his hand tightly for good measure, able to get away with the gesture under the guise of the dance.
He raised his eyebrows in mock confusion, but from the small smile on his face, she knew her message had been understood. "I will defer to your better judgment, my lady" he teased and pulled her into another turn, tightening his grip on her waist ever so slightly.
Around them, the music swelled, rising and falling with the tempo of the dance. The soft candlelight made the jewels that adorned necks, wrists and ears glitter with the light of a thousand fires. The heat of the ballroom teased her senses again, making her recall another, much smaller room, but one that was every bit as magical. And in Gibson's eyes, she saw those memories reflected back at her as he remembered every moment with as much clarity as she.
Together, they moved like liquid fire, twirling and twisting, their bodies indecently close. Yet if anyone noticed, no one uttered a word. There were no hands to pull them apart, no recriminating words reminding them both that this dance was wholly inappropriate.
In that moment, they were simply Amy and Gibson, two lovers caught out of time by circumstances conspiring to keep them apart. There was no one else. Just them - fire and ice, light and dark, two sides of the same element bound together as they should be. No judgment or recrimination to be found.
For Amy, it was as if she was living in a dream world, one where, at the end of the night, she would not have to return to Cheltenham House and face a cold, empty bed. In this dream world, she would lay beside Gibson in a candle-lit room and make love with him all night long, slow and languorous, their bodies coming together again and again as they tasted passion together. Yet, at heart, she knew this was a fantasy, and as the music slowed, she found she was coming crashing back to Earth far too quickly.
All too soon, the dance ended and propriety forced them apart so that they could applaud the musicians before leaving the floor. Beside her, she knew the very instant that Gibson felt the eyes of the ton watching them, judging them, and, in his mind anyway, finding him lacking. He stiffened, his spine straightening, and the softness of earlier was gone, replaced by the rigid posture she hated so very much.
That was not her Gibson. That was proper, fussy Dr. Blackwell, the son of a traitor and a man of poverty. Damn them all. They had shattered her illusion, and, even though she knew it had to be done, it still hurt just as much.
When the last note from the musicians' instruments fell silent, Gibson became acutely aware of two things. One, he, a man of disgrace, was in the middle of a dance floor at a grand ball with a proper lady in his arms. The Paragon, no less. And they had just danced an extremely scandalous waltz together. Two was that he had precisely one chance to save her reputation from being in tatters by the end of the night.
For one moment, he had forgotten both who and what he was. Instead, he had been back in the summerhouse. It was just him and Amy, naked and wrapped in each other's embrace, feeling the silken sensation of skin against skin. Gibson had forgotten his promise to himself; he had sworn not to put her or her reputation at risk. Yet, in his selfish desire to possess her, he had done just that.
He had to make things right. He had to undo the damage he had caused.
"My lady," he said as he deposited her rather abruptly next to Lady Isabelle, "thank you for the dance. It was an excellent opportunity to observe you in motion to ascertain the likelihood of an apoplexy." Behind her, the gray-clad chaperone smiled, as if confirming the lie and further shattering Amy's carefully guarded illusions. "I would also like to thank Miss Tyler, our Lady Isabelle, for allowing the slight impropriety in the name of your prolonged good health."
Then, with a sharp turn on his heel, he was gone, moving back into the crowd before disappearing completely from sight.
Amy turned to glare at Isabelle, who simply pasted on another maddeningly serene smile.
"It had to be said, my lady. You were on the verge of a great scandal, and Dr. Blackwell wishes to spare you from that." The chaperone's words were whispered so low that Amy had to struggle to hear them, even with her excellent hearing. "The waltz was not a good choice, but once the decision was made, it had to be seen through in order not to create more gossip. He did what was necessary." Then Isabelle returned promptly to her seat as if the entire discussion had never occurred.
As if Amy's heart had not shattered into a thousand pieces at Gibson's harsh words. No matter how "necessary" they might have been.
Amy was tired of necessary and proper. She was tired of denying the truth to herself. She was also tired of this back and forth with Gibson, one moment lovers in the heat of passion and the next as cold and distant as if they had only just met. Her heart ached for him. Her body yearned to be held securely in his strong arms, and she was tired of denying that she felt any of those things.
Most of all, she was tired of being moved around like a pawn on a chess board, held up as an example of feminine perfection, yet treated as if she had no heart or mind of her own. Tired of this hot and cold charade that she played with Gibson and the ton day in and day out. For once, she wanted to do as she pleased and damn the scandal. Damn them all.
She wanted to feel as she had that day in the summerhouse. She wanted to simply be Amy once more. Not a prize to be won or an ornament to compliment a man's finely tailored clothes. She had been in love that day and loved in return. She wanted that again. She deserved nothing less.
Standing on tiptoe, she saw Gibson's distinctive mahogany hair moving quickly through the crowd and towards the terrace. He was leaving. Had she blundered that badly? Had she hurt him in some way? Her heart in her throat, she belatedly remembered now that not only was Gibson saving her, but he was saving his own reputation as well. They both had much to risk, and it was foolish, not to mention extremely selfish, of her not to have realized it. Normally, she was not sot selfish, except, it seemed, when it came to Gibson. Around him, she could not think properly. If she was able to think at all.
As quietly as she could, Amy moved through the crowd, offering a few quick words of greeting to everyone who called out to her, but pleading a megrim from the heat. It wasn't a complete lie. She did feel the beginnings of one, but not from the heat. Rather it was caused by her own foolishness. The last thing she wanted was for Gibson to think she did not care about his reputation and good standing within society.
As she approached the retiring room, Amy paused near the entrance to Lord Coleridge's library, making it appear as if she was attempting to catch her breath. Having attended many events at the stately Mayfair home, she knew that a set of doors at the back of the library led directly to a narrow portion of the terrace which was rimmed in by a balustrade at one end before opening up to wide, sweeping marble steps that led to the lush back gardens at the other. She hoped that she could intercept Gibson before he left, probably by way of the mews so he would not be seen entering the Cheltenham family carriage.
More than anything, Amy wanted to explain herself. And apologize.
When she was certain no one else was around, she slipped through the silent library and out onto the terrace. There was a little light here, mostly from the paper Japanese lanterns that had been lit to illuminate a few of the closer walking paths, allowing guests to stroll the gardens at their leisure. Many of the lanterns had since burned down, leaving her cast primarily in shadow.
At first, she was worried that she would have difficultly finding Gibson, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw his familiar shap
e leaning against the marble railing, gripping it as if his life depended on not letting go.
As quietly as she could, she approached him, the soft shuffling of her pale, peach-hued silk slippers on the stone floor the only sign of her approach.
"Amy?" Gibson hissed into the darkness as he turned in her direction. "What are you doing out here? You should not be here. We could be discovered!" There was real panic in his voice, and she hated that she had put it there.
"I came to apologize," she said defensively, knowing that even as she did so, she was once more risking both of their reputations. Once a fool, always a fool, she supposed. At least when it came to this man. "I know you risked much with that dance and, I... Well, I didn't..."
With a sigh, Gibson pulled Amy tightly to him, crushing her peachy pink, frothy silk dress in the process. Not that she cared one whit. She was in Gibson's arms again and allowed herself a moment to revel in the feeling of being held so tightly that it hurt.
"It is all right, sweeting," he whispered as he pulled them deeper into the darkness before leading her down a set of steps she hadn't noticed before. Those led directly into the unlit portion of the garden, toward the mews and away from the bright lights of the house. As they moved farther away from the house, the music all but died away, leaving the two of them in near silence.
"I did not mean to leave you so abruptly," he confessed, once he was satisfied that they were well away from any prying ears. "But I feared that if I stayed at your side, everyone would know how I felt. It is becoming harder and harder to keep silent." The words were practically ripped from him, but he felt that he had to say them. He owed her the truth and nothing less.
That brought Amy up short. "And how do you feel, Gibbs?" she asked, pulling away from his embrace a bit, yet remaining safely ensconced within the circle of his arms. "Yes, we have shared passion and desire several times, but is that all there is to this? Is there nothing more? For I know how I feel, and that frightens me more than I can say. I do not want to be the only one feeling thus."
Lacing his fingers through hers, Gibson pulled Amy close once more, praying that she did not feel the full heat of his arousal pressing against her. For once, he wanted there to be something more than merely sexual energy between them. "I care for you, Amy. In fact, I would venture to say that I am beginning to care a great deal for you. More than I should." He offered her a grim expression, and she glimpsed the pain he was hiding. "More than is proper. But I cannot help myself, and, despite what I once told you, I do often wonder what would be if only my place in life were different."
She tried to speak, but he placed a finger on her lips so that she might let him finish. "In the ballroom, I was afraid that everyone would look at me and know that I am in danger of losing my heart to you, if I haven't done so already. And that is something they can never know, nor guess at. I care not for myself or my reputation. You know that. I have survived thus far, and I always will. But you? I cannot do that to you and live with myself."
"But you do feel it? This pounding in your chest? This racing of blood in your veins? For I do still desire you, Gibbs, but now, it is so much more." Amy knew she should care more about the rest, including the realities of their situation, but she didn't. Perhaps she would tomorrow, but not now. All that mattered in this moment was Gibson and how he felt about her. If he cared for her, she would figure something out. However, she would not risk everything, including her family's reputation and social standing, for something that was one sided.
It was then that he graced her with that same sinful grin he had given her at Seldon Park, the one that told her everything he was thinking and more, without him having to utter a word. "I feel all of that and more," Gibson reassured her, pulling her closer. "I would give anything to possess you, to have the right to court you. And there are days when I think that I will go mad if I do not find a way to make this possible, even though I know that it is not within my power to have you. Nor should I want you the way that I do." He stroked Amy's collarbones with the pads of his thumbs. "So yes, I feel it, and, were it within my power, I would profess my growing feelings for you in front of everyone and have done with it."
Then, with a sigh, he stepped back, like a balloon being slowly deflated, and she felt a chill at the loss of his body heat. "But I can do none of those things, which is why I left you as I did. This must stop, Amy. We cannot allow anyone to even suspect, at least not more than they already do." He hated being the practical one, but it was necessary. Even if she didn't care for her reputation, he did.
Looking up at him through her lashes, she sighed in resignation. "I do understand, Gibson." Oh, she understood, but she still hated that they were forced to be apart. "I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you. But as long as I know that you care, it is enough for now."
"I do care, Amy," Gibson assured her, his voice rough with emotion. "More than you will ever know. That dance? For me, that was the culmination of a dream I have held in my heart for so long. But dreams cannot survive in the light. They are only meant to exist in the darkness, no matter how much we might wish differently."
With those words, Amy was satisfied, at least to a degree. It was not what she ultimately wanted from him, but it was better than nothing. She might be tired of the hot and cold games they had been engaging in, but she also suspected he was as well. A little longer, and eventually, he would have to give in to the inevitable, for this was a war she was determined to win. She refused to give up on the only man who had ever seen her for who she really was without a fight.
Gibson's words were not a profession of love, but neither of them were quite there yet. She wasn't, anyway. Close, but not over the edge, and long ago, she had made a vow not to say those all-important words to anyone unless she was completely certain that she meant them. However, that long ago promise to herself had said nothing about using kissing to convey emotions, and that, she decided in an instant, was completely allowed.
Rising up on her tiptoes again, she slid her arms around Gibson's neck and pulled him down to her. He was, she realized, too surprised at first to resist. However, once she kissed him, a light teasing caress that hinted of possibilities of things to come, she found that he was no longer surprised, and instead was very much in favor of kiss. Much to her relief. And delight.
Chapter Nine
Society Tales
The so-called "scandalous waltz" between Lady A.C. and Dr. G.B. last evening at a certain ball lacks, in this author's opinion, precisely one thing. Scandal. No matter how many tongues are wagging this morning over the passionate, and some might call it indecent, dance, it should be noted that the entire event was conducted for medical reasons under the watchful eye of one of Lady Berkshire's "Gray Ladies." To impugn their character is to impugn that of Lady Berkshire herself, something that no member of good society should wish upon themselves. At least not if they wish to keep the good favor of Carlton House. I include myself in that group.
As was noted yesterday, the C. family's medical crisis is quite real, and, as possible - though rather distant, admittedly - heirs to the throne, no risk, however slight, should be taken with their health. Even if assessing the risk means flirting with the boundaries of propriety. It was, I would remind everyone, merely a dance, though it did border on slightly improper, I will admit.
As for the rumors that one Lord N.D. is already alter-bound with the lady mentioned above, I will caution all of my readers that just because a man is interested, does not mean the lady's family will approve - especially when fortune is involved, not to mention bloodlines. This author cautions all not to spread false rumors, as she has it on good authority that the suit is unwelcome.
- Lady X
The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when Amy snatched the stack of scandal sheets from the table in the front hall. Normally, they would be brought to the family on a silver tray, neatly folded and with all propriety. These days, propriety was sadly lacking. Not to mention that she wanted to see just
how badly she had blundered with Gibson last night.
As she lay awake in bed until the wee hours of the morning, Amy replayed Isabelle's words over and over in her mind. Until the other woman had mentioned it, Amy had not given much thought to how her actions would affect Gibson. Just her. All she had concentrated on was what she wanted and desired. How the resulting scandal would affect her. Then, she had thrown caution to the wind and allowed herself to be swept away into a fantasy.
Amy had not given a thought to Gibson. Well, she had, but she hadn't taken the consequences seriously. She was the daughter of an earl. She was The Paragon. Nothing she wanted was ever truly denied to her. Except perhaps this. Was it possible that she had finally found the one man she wanted for a husband and there was truly no way for them to be together? She had never considered the very real possibility that, in the end, there was no way for her dream to come true. That finally, she had encountered a situation where she could not win.
At least she hadn't until just before dawn when the magical haze of the romantic dance had cleared from her mind, and the stark reality of the situation took its place. Isabelle's words finally penetrated Amy's thick skull and washed away the last of the rosy glow of fantasy and youth. Despite how much Amy craved Gibson's company and no matter how much they cared for each other, she had to consider the very really possibility that they would never be together.
It was in that moment that Amy finally took off her rose colored glasses and grew up. And she found that she didn't much care for the experience.
The truth was, Gibson was not a peer, at least not any longer. He probably never would be again, and there was very little she could do to alter the situation.
Unlike someone such as Lord Drake who could trifle with a woman and not suffer any consequences, Gibson could not be so careless with his actions. If he were caught in an impropriety with Amy, she would suffer, but he would too. He would lose his position with the Prince Regent, and most likely his practice as well. He would be cast into poverty. Or worse.
Far Beyond Scandalous Page 15
