Henrietta prayed that her sister-in-law would scurry off. But she could still see her shadow below the door.
She herself hopped off the sofa and began quickly redressing. Thankfully, she was able to get each garment back on rapidly. Before she could ask Trem for help with her dress, he was already doing up the buttons in the back.
“Are you all right? You never spend time in your drawing room.”
“I am fine! I will just be a moment.”
“Very well.”
She heard in Catherine’s voice that she wasn’t leaving before she showed herself. Trem still had a frantic expression on his face. She realized the window was the only option. Luckily, they were on the first floor.
“The window,” she mouthed to him.
He looked at it warily. And then nodded. He threw up the casement and looked out. It led to the back gardens. He could easily slip out undetected.
“Quickly,” she urged, fighting back laughter at the absurdity of the situation.
“We aren’t done here,” he whispered, his hand on the window. Then, he dipped down and took her mouth in a kiss. It was a kiss that sent shivers down to her heels—it was a kiss that promised more later, that there would be consequences for what she had just experienced, even if he wasn’t going to insist on those right now. But then her intimations of chaos, of consequences, were swept away in the pleasure of his kiss. It heated her blood afresh. When he pulled away, she was already panting for more of him.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, chucking her under her chin. “At the Worthingtons’. Be good until then.”
She rolled her eyes at this little snipe. She tried to form a reply that would similarly irritate him.
But before she could, he had jumped down from the window in one fluid motion.
He was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Lady Worthington’s ball was usually the high point of the season—and the occasion which announced that the season, if not ending right this moment, would be ending at some point in the not-too-distant future. Trem had always had an affection for the event. He liked its bittersweet aspect and he hoped that boded well for his suit.
Because little else did.
He was sweating, albeit lightly, into his clothes. He felt like an opium eater in withdrawal. That was how badly he needed to see Henrietta. He had held himself back, purposefully arriving late, in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to wait for her appearance with everyone else. He couldn’t endure small talk at the moment.
He made his way through the perfumed shrubberies of the Worthingtons’ entry hall and into the main ballroom. The theme of the occasion was Arcadia, that lost utopian wilderness of mythology, so the entire bottom floor of the Worthington manor had been transformed into a forest. In another mood, Trem might have been impressed, but, instead, it felt ridiculous to have his blood pounding and his cock on high alert when he could feel pine needles crunching underfoot and waitstaff in old-fashioned green stockings pranced past.
When he came to the ballroom, the butler announced him to the room, and he saw that it would be a challenge to find Henrietta in what was a verifiable crush. Not to mention that everyone was in costume. Many of his peers were dressed as satyrs or Pan—most of the women were Greek goddesses or nymphs, with faux flowers and leaves arranged across their gowns to emphasize decolletage or cinched waists.
Trem began prowling the ballroom, searching for her. He heard his own name in the crowd—in what he thought was Leith’s voice—and he ignored it. After only a few moments, he began to feel desperate. He needed to find her but she was nowhere in sight.
Then he caught sight of a shimmering length of cloth whirling on the dance floor. And a mass of light brown hair.
There she was.
His entire body went numb with relief.
He had found her.
And now that she was in front of him, skating over the flagstones, he didn’t know how he ever thought he wouldn’t be able to find her. No matter how many people crowded a space, she would always shine through the multitude. He would never be able to keep his eyes from finding her.
That had been true for ages.
Why hadn’t he noticed? Seen it as a sign?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He certainly had noticed now.
It was strange, what she had done to him this afternoon. He had always seen himself as living a blessed life. Yes, he had lost his parents as a baby. But he had always regarded the fact that he couldn’t remember them as a kind of blessing. He had always seen their loss as one that hadn’t left a mark on him. He would have been destroyed if he had known and loved his parents, but instead they were just a blank. They had left him with a title, a beautiful estate, more money than he would ever need. His life had always been one of pleasure and wealth.
