Lydia had plenty to say in response, but she kept her lips pressed firmly together. Instead, she cast him such a gaze of distaste and dislike that Oliver misstepped. The gathered people kept him from lashing out with his palm to her face, but he didn’t hold back his words.
“You may make of fool of yourself now, but when you are my wife, you will behave to my exacting expectations. You will dress properly and conduct yourself as a viscountess should. I will burn these close simply because I can. You come to heel, or you will discover what a man can do when he owns his wife.”
“We are not wed. We are not even betrothed. I would not be so certain of yourself so soon. While my father may favor you, and he might even accept your offer, you still must get the words out of my mouth at the altar. You would do well to tread lightly since you do not know what those words might be.”
Oliver opened his mouth to say more, but as they twirled, he caught sight of Keith. It made his blood boil, but he wouldn’t risk his cousin figuring out just how angry Lydia had become. He would prove to Keith and everyone else that Lydia already belonged to him.
Lydia feared people would perceive Oliver’s insistence they dance so frequently as a virtual betrothal announcement. She avoided him as best she could, claiming she’d already promised the next dance to another partner. Once he’d danced with her twice, Lydia knew she couldn’t wait much longer to escape with Keith.
Keith watched from a spot against the wall as Lydia danced with Oliver and the other men. He couldn’t peel his eyes away. She was stunning on an average day, but she was breathtaking as she laughed and twirled, her hair and skirts flying around her. He’d assumed he would grow jealous watching her in other men’s arms, but he realized he trusted her implicitly, which came as a surprise since secrets still existed between them. He supposed he didn’t fear her affections laying elsewhere, especially since she watched him through most of the dances. He danced with her a second time when he grew frustrated with the debutantes who kept passing him and giggling.
“Lyddie,” Keith sighed as she stepped into his embrace for a waltz. Her exhalation matched his as relief coursed through her now that she wouldn’t partner with anyone else for what people considered an almost scandalously intimate dance. He held her far too close, but neither cared. While both knew it would further the rumors, the gossips didn’t motivate them. They simply wanted to be close. As the music began, Keith led her through the steps, rotating and revolving them around the dance floor. With each turn, his hold tightened until their bodies pressed together.
“I’ve waited all night for this dance. I knew you’d rescue me, but I feared a few times that another man—Oliver—wouldn’t let go of me and would insist I dance the next one with him and that it would be a waltz.”
“I wouldn’t have let that happen. No man shall hold you as close as I am now.”
“Idon’t want any other man to hold me this close. I kept telling myself I needed to get through one more dance, and each one put me closer to when I could dance with you again.”
“We’re together now, and I might never let you go, sweetling.”
By the end, some couples had ceased dancing to watch the duke and princess. They stepped apart when the music faded. Keith snared them glasses of warm ratafia. The almond-flavored liqueur was bitter, and the hints of apple and apricot did nothing to disguise the taste. They also did nothing to refresh the couple. Their skin glowed with traces of perspiration.
“Let’s go outside. It’s too warm in here, anyway.” Keith offered Lydia his arm, and the crowd parted at though he were Moses escorting the Ten Commandments through the Red Sea. They stepped onto the terrace, knowing people gawked. They kept an appropriate distance, appearing to enjoy the cool air. It would be ridiculous for them to fling themselves at one another, despite how much they wanted to do just that.
“How long should we appear as though we’re innocently taking the air?”
“A few more minutes. I’m watching, and people are losing interest. When just enough are still watching to catch us, then I’ll do what I’ve longed to all night.”
“And what’s that, Your Grace?” Lydia purred as she swayed toward him but didn’t let them touch.
“Devour you, my lady.”
“Promise?”
“Every day for the rest of my life, Lydia. Once we do this, there is no going back. Are you certain?”
“Even ifheweren’t here, I would want this. I’m not agreeing to this as my escape, Keith. I want us.”
“So do I, sweetling.” Keith brought both of Lydia’s hands to his mouth. He no longer paid attention to anyone else. “I thought much about how I feel while I was away. I wondered if it was just lust or infatuation. It’s not, Lydia.”
“I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t desire you. We both know I do. I am not infatuated with you, Keith. I see your faults and recognize choices you made I don’t agree with. But I don’t doubt you’re a good man. The one I wish to be with.”
“I love you, Lydia.” Keith waited with bated breath. He’d never come close to uttering such a profession. He’d said it to his mother the day they’d taken her away to Bedlam, and he’d said it the day he left Kelsey behind. Those were the only two times he could recall. But he planned to say it over and over to Lydia.
“I love you, Keith.” Nothing had felt righter than making that confession.
Her toes curled as she watched him beam at her admission. He pulled her into his arms, neither caring whether it was a strategic moment. They only cared about one another. Keith lowered his mouth to hers and feasted. He did as he promised. He devoured her. Kissing along her jaw and down her throat before returning to her mouth. His tongue thrust into hers, and he nearly spent when she sucked on it. One hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped her backside. Lydia clutched his jacket as she arched her back, pressing her hips into his. Her hands slid beneath his waistcoat and over his shoulders, annoyed that his shirt was in the way. They were in a world that belonged only to them. They heard nothing but the sound of their own pleasure.
“Lady Lydia!” A woman’s scandalized shriek finally permeated their love fog. They pulled apart and turned their heads to the rector’s wife. She stood aghast, fanning herself with a peacock plume. They sensed Mrs. Adams had called Lydia’s name more than once before it registered with them.
“Your Grace, what are you about with Lady Lydia?” Mrs. Henry, the blacksmith’s wife, demanded before she recalled to whom she spoke. Keith didn’t have a chance to answer because a neighboring baron pushed forward.
“I say, Your Grace, this is disgraceful. Taking advantage of the young lady. What would your father say?”
Lydia felt Keith’s anger. It came to life the moment the man uttered the word “father.” Lydia pressed against him, keeping him from lunging at the unsuspecting baron.
“He’d likely say something crude about what he would do with a young lady. But I am celebrating my betrothal. Lady Lydia has consented to be my wife.”
