Once more, he turned his back to the door and made his way through the throng. If she was in here, he would find her. He would sense her presence the way flowers sought the sun.
The door swung back open. “Lady X!”
The crowd’s drunken cheer was deafening.
From his position across the room, Max climbed the first step of a spiral staircase for a better view of the latest newcomer.
Her dress was more than equal to any of the fine ladies present. Translucent gauze over expensive French satin. Puffed sleeves and elbow-length silk gloves. A demi-train with pearl-embroidered lace trim.
None of that interested him.
His heart doubled its beat because it washer.
Behind a flamboyant mass of shimmering peacock feathers, her dark brown hair hung down in a curtain, rather than pinned up in carefully curled loops. It was stick-straight and windblown, and the most erotic thing he had seen in his life.
This was his Bryony. He would have recognized her anywhere.
He stepped off the spiral stair and made his way toward her, carving his way through an ocean of dancers as he strode toward his Lady X.
When he reached her, she parted her lips as though about to speak his name.
He greeted her with his mouth instead, telling her with his kiss and his tongue everything he could not say in words.
When at last he pulled away, she twined her arms about his neck. As if her strength came from his. As if they were one.
He would never let her go.
“You came,” she whispered, slight hesitation in her voice.
His heart twisted. “Did you doubt me?”
“I was afraid to hope,” she admitted. “Shall we dance?”
He placed his untouched glass of champagne on the empty tray of a passing footman and led her onto the dance floor.
Max might not have presented himself before a king or attended any royal balls, but dancing was not reserved for the rich alone. It was something one felt in one’s soul.
With Bryony in his arms, it wasn’t that the melody didn’t matter, but that the music had become part of them. A current, sweeping an endless sea of embracing couples in a seductive rhythm of ebbs and tides.
He held her closer than would otherwise be allowed. What else was the point of a masquerade?
From the stairs, he had already seen couples locked in passionate embraces, as well as the private rooms where one could indulge in more intimate pleasures.
That was not why he was here. He had no wish to be a despoiler. Bryony was perfect just as she was, and having her in his arms was pleasure enough. Or at least, it would have to be.
His heart thumped. They were in a ballroom filled to capacity and yet privacy was theirs. He could kiss her anytime he wished, and did so again and again in delight. He would never tire of her lips, the sweetness of her taste, her spice.
Being with her was like falling from heaven. Floating through clouds. Lucifer, driven to darkness but tempted by light.
She was his salvation.
Chapter 18
Athrill tingled through Bryony’s body at the exhilarating sensation of being in Max’s arms.
Somehow, she had recognized him from across the room. Not just because he had come charging toward her with the confidence and arrogance of a king. She’d recognized the curl of his hair, the cut of his jaw, the scent of his skin.
The taste of his kiss.
