Together, they rounded a corner. Faultlessly, they moved as one. Giles felt her silken frock brush the wool of his evening trousers as he and Louisa spun thigh-to-thigh. His senses were overwhelmed by her, for she felt warm to his touch, smelled sweetly of French scent, and sparkled with diamonds. She blinded him beneath the brilliance of electric light, yet he daren’t look away from this radiant woman.
“Do you remember when we first danced, Louisa? You accused me of being a somber waltzer.”
“In my defense, you didn’t try to be pleasant.”
He frowned at that. “No, I suppose not.”
He’d been distracted at the Vanderheid’s ball. His priorities had been misaligned, and his perspective from his too-high opinion of himself had kept him from enjoying Miss Thurston Reid’s company. Back then, he had been loyal to another woman, three thousand miles behind him.
Louisa, of course, remained ignorant of his struggles. “You looked like a man destined for the gallows,” she said. “I’d never seen a more dismal beau.”
He’d been miserable, sour. Jaded. Bad luck and the looming threat of bankruptcy had hardened him into a man he barely recognized. Louisa deserved better. “Then why did you agree to marry me? You had your pick of suitors, gentlemen of privilege with wealth of their own. Why choose me?”
“I married you because I wanted you.” She took a deep breath, her chest fluttering against his. Silk met starch. Diamonds rasped against gold shirt studs. Her gaze locked with his, careless of the onlookers as she told him, “I want you, Giles.”
His hand curled at her waist, drawing her hips against his. Her fingers rested on his shoulder, entrusting and encouraging him, just like when they made love.
Giles understood how intimate a dance could be. He wasn’t interviewing a stranger or passing a moment with some starry-eyed belle. Tonight, he held his wife for all the world to see.
Sensing this, Louisa rested her cheek against his chest. Despite everything he’d put her through, she felt proud to be his bride.
The understanding made him stumble. His heart drummed so wildly that he lost the rhythm of the music. Louisa moved with him, inelegant and out of time. She didn’t mind if he faltered, struggled, or stepped from the path that life had predestined for him.
“I want you, Giles,” she had said.
Knowing that, and learning what a true partnership meant, he realized Venia Herbert had never wanted him. They could have married—albeit against all good advice—but life with a poor man hadn’t appealed to her. Faced with a future by his side, knowing it would be for better or worse,forever, Lady Venia had chosen to take the easy route.
Louisa had fought for him.
Louisa had not abandoned him.
She would never, ever give him up.
Too long he’d wasted, chasing after someone else’s wife. Pining for a woman who never truly loved him.
Love was doing what was best for another person, often at the cost of one’s self. Risking what one had, alone, for the chance of something greater, together.
The path wasn’t easy, but it was worth the trek. Giles was tired of standing at the bottom of that proverbial hill, watching everyone ascend while awaiting his turn to climb.
Abandoning the waltz, he clasped Louisa’s hand, and then quit the assembly room. Their plans for the night no longer involved dancing. He wanted to make love to his wife.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
They fell into their stateroom, kissing, nipping, and hungry for each other. Something had changed after dinner when she and His Lordship danced. Desire hummed as they’d waltzed, and a new longing charged between them with every touch and glance.
Her husband’s need for her was palpable.
He kicked the door closed behind them, encircling her waist to draw her close. He claimed her mouth and whispered, “Oh, Louisa, my arms have been aching for you.”
She undressed him while he kissed her. She stripped his dinner jacket down his arms, feeling his muscles flex and stretch beneath the wool, before tossing the garment aside. She removed his waistcoat and suspenders, sliding them over his shoulders to fall slack at his hips.
It was a joy to disrobe this man—her own private present—slowly unwrapping each intimate part of him.
Louisa ran her hands up his chest, feeling Lord Granborough’s heartbeat beneath his shirt. She loosened his white necktie, tugging the ends until they exposed the stiff, starched collar buttoned at his throat. She nimbly divested him of collar buttons, cuff links, and shirt studs.
She parted the fabric to expose the column of his throat, pressing her lips to the damp hollow there, biting and licking down his gaping shirtfront. Louisa slipped her fingers through the opening, finding the warm, firm flesh of his chest. She kissed where his heart lay, loving the way his pulse leaped beneath her lips.
With her free hand, she groped for his waistband, bunching the fabric in her fist and lifting his shirttail free from his trousers. Impatient, Lord Granborough dragged the pristine white garment over his head and flung it aside. He wanted her hands, lips, and tongue on him.
