“I believe M-Miss Debbins is being showered with attention,” he told her. “And deservedly s-so. She will not miss a mere s-sister.”
“But a mere sister may missher,” she said.
“You think I have b-brought you here for d-dalliance?” he asked.
“Have you?” Her voice was soft.
No one admitted to playing a game of dalliance. Well, almost no one.
“I have, Mrs. Keeping,” he admitted. “In the ballroom where I first set eyes upon you. I have c-come to w-waltz with you again. To kiss you—again.”
She did not haul on his arm and demand to be returned to her sister’s side immediately if not sooner.
“I suppose we may see as much of the ballroom as will be visible in the light of a single candle,” she said. “We can hardly waltz—there is no music.”
“Ah,” he said, “we will have to settle for the kiss, then.”
“However,”she said, speaking deliberately over his last words, “I can hold a tune tolerably well, even if no one in his right mind would think of inviting me to sing a solo before an audience.”
He slanted a smile in her direction, but she was gazing straight ahead.
The ballroom was vast and empty, and indeed the light of the single candle did not penetrate very far into its darkness. It was cold. It was about as unromantic a setting as he could possibly have chosen for seduction, if that indeed was what his intention had been in coming here.
He set down the candleholder on an ornate table just inside the tall double doors.
“Ma’am,” he said, making her an elegant leg and a flourishing bow, “may I have the pleasure?”
She curtsied with deep grace and placed her fingertips on his wrist.
“The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” she told him.
And he clasped her in waltz position, holding her the correct distance from his body, and looked inquiringly at her. She thought a moment, a frown of concentration creasing her brow, and then hummed and finally la-la-la’d the very waltz tune to which they had danced all those months ago. He twirled her out onto the empty floor, weaving in and out of the shadows cast by the candle. He was aware of its feeble light twinkling off the silver embroidery on the edges of her sleeves.
She was breathless after a couple of minutes. The music faltered and then stopped. But he danced with her a full minute longer, the music and the rhythm inside his body and hers. He could hear their breath, the sound of their shoes on the floor, in rhythm with each other, and the swish of silk about her legs.
In the four years since he had left Penderris, he had had a number of sexual partners, all of whom had given him great satisfaction. He had employed no long-term mistresses. He had occasionally flirted with ladies of theton, always with those old enough to know the game. He had bedded none of them, even those who had indicated a willingness, even an eagerness, to be bedded. He rarely kissed.
Mrs. Agnes Keeping did not fit into any known category, a thought that both rattled and excited him.
When they stopped dancing, he could not think of a blessed thing to say, and it did not occur to him to let her go. He stood with one hand behind her waist, the other clasping one of hers. And he looked down at her until she lowered her head and brushed an invisible speck from the bosom of her gown with the hand that had been resting on his shoulder. She replaced her hand and looked up at him.
He kissed her, holding her for the moment in waltz position, though his hand at her waist gradually tightened and drew her against him.
Her hand squeezed his almost painfully tightly. Her lips were trembling.
Easy,he told himself. Easy. She was a widow of undoubted gentility and virtue. She was Viscountess Darleigh’s closest friend. They were in Vincent’s house.
But he released her hand in order to wrap both arms about her and deepen the kiss. She twined one arm about his shoulders and spread her other hand over the back of his head.
And the idiot woman kissed him back.
But the thing was that she kissed him with obvious pleasure, even desire, but with no realpassion. Except that surely, oh, surely, he felt it throbbing below the surface of the enjoyment she allowed herself. There was control in her abandonment—if that was not a contradiction in terms.
What if she lost that control?
He could make it happen.
The desire to do just that smoldered within him as he explored her mouth with his tongue, moved his hands along the curve of her spine, even for a moment cupped her buttocks in his hands and fitted her to his groin.
