Another wildflower.
He picked it up and followed its direction, the crowd decreasing in density as the trail of flowers led him away from the ballroom. It occurred to him after he’d collected his fifth flower that he was acquiring a bouquet, with a few guests casting befuddled second glances his way. What was the Duke of Ravensworth doing holding a wildflower nosegay? Others even tried to catch his attention. He ignored them all.
Dead rude of him, of course. He gave a mental shrug. He was Ravensworth.
Except…to the woman at the end of this wildflower path, he was Seb, too.
Or that was what the feeling surging inside him hoped.
He followed the path into his study and turned the lock behind him. Delilah must’ve done a bit of talking to wheedle her way into his private domain. The scullery, he suspected. Delilah wasn’t the sort to use her feminine wiles on men to get what she wanted. Rather, she would’ve turned to the girl no one hardly noticed and given her attention.
She would be a good duchess.
His step faltered.Careful, a small voice warned. It wouldn’t do to get ahead of himself.
The path continued outside to the stone terrace and down a short staircase into his private garden. Every house he owned had a private terrace and garden. Many privileges were afforded a duke, but so too were many demands placed on him. A private domain that only he inhabited was necessary.
It would be Delilah who infiltrated it.
And of course, the wildflower path led to the folly, a ten-year-old structure constructed to look like a Grecian temple on the verge of falling down. Of course, it wasn’t. It was quite structurally sound, in fact.
He took the steps two at a time and came to a sudden stop at the threshold. Lit by a single ray of the waxing moon in the center of the space stood his folly.Delilah.A vision in gold: gold silk dress, gold bandeau in her gold hair, gold silk mask.A goddess.
Suddenly awkward as a green youth of sixteen years, he held out his handful of wildflowers. “These are yours, I believe.”
She reached out and accepted them. A seriousness in clear blue eyes that usually twinkled with mischief, she canted her head slightly. “I always wanted to attend a masquerade ball.”
“I know.”
Chapter Fifteen
The breath caughtin Delilah’s chest.
She could almost laugh at herself.
Here she was acting like a heroine in a romance.
Again.
But there was no help for it.
Dressed in his evening blacks, with his dashing silk domino, Sebastian was devastating.
And this devastating man had thrown a masquerade ball simply for her.
The opening notes of a waltz drifted along on air gone light with possibility. Drawn in by the music—by their own need to be closer to one another—they each took a step forward, then another, until her silk-gloved hand was sliding into his large, strong one, his other hand finding the indent of her waist, his warmth slipping through layers of silk and muslin and into her. Wordlessly, their feet began to move to the music, but slowly, half a beat to every one of the string quartet. Here, in this folly, they weren’t bound by rules or other people’s ideas of who they were or should be.
Only what they wanted mattered.
Only who they were to each other.
Words would matter—eventually—but not in this moment as he pulled her closer, her body stretched against the full length of his. Where she was soft, he was hard. The strength latent in that long, muscular body of his amazed her anew each time she felt it.
But really, why should it? Sebastian was strong in every way. It wasn’t simply his physical person. He was strong in his loyalties and in his passions, inspiring a responding loyalty and passion within her. How seductive his combination of strengths.
She lifted onto the tips of her toes, and her mouth met his ear. Her tongue followed.
A groan rumbled through his chest. “Delilah,” he murmured.
