“It hardly seems fair,” she whispered, “How you won’t let me—how you won’t let me please you.”
“You know you please me.”
“Yes, but—”
“No,” he broke in, needing her to understand. “You have no idea, Olivia, what I have in store for you. What I will do to you once I get you alone again. I want nothing more than you crying out under me, completely in my power, so spent from pleasure that the only name you can remember in this universe will be mine. That is what gives me pleasure. That is what would please me.”
As he said these words, working to keep his tone low and soft so that no one else could hear, their eyes met. He saw her eyes widen at the intimate threat in his voice and now, really, he went hard against her leg. In the low light of the ballroom, thankfully no one else would see. But he didn’t mind her knowing. It only proved his point.
He brushed against her lightly, as they moved in time.
“Already, just being with you like this, I am dying for you.”
“Augustus—” she said, breathlessly, a faint whine in her voice. “You know, I want—how could I possibly—but we are here—”
“Don’t worry, my love. I have a plan. You won’t have to wait long.”
Dear lord, he hoped he was right. They stayed silent for the remainder of the dance, pressed as close to one another as propriety would allow, and he focused on her breathing, which seemed to mimic his in how bated and shallow it was. He felt delirious with her nearness, but he still had no idea how to deal with the young Count Mapperton.
Finally, the strains of the waltz slowed, and they made their way back to the side of the ballroom. As they began to do so, however, Montaigne saw a miracle. The back of Nathanial Mapperton’s head.
The young man was talking intently to a young woman in a white costume not unlike Olivia’s. Montaigne peered to see who the young lady was—and realized it was one of the Miss Wallises. The Miss Wallises were identical twins and, thus, a bit difficult to tell apart. Montaigne believed that Nathanial was speaking to Althea. When the young man turned, his eyes not leaving Althea Wallis’s, Montaigne couldn’t miss the expression there. The young man was captivated. He was looking at Althea Wallis as if she were the only young lady in the place.
He needed to seize his chance.
Montaigne reached for Olivia’s hand and pulled her in the other direction through the crowd.
She laughed at the strength of his touch.
“Where are we going?” she whispered to him.
“Trust me.”
They had to move quickly, but not to the extent that they attracted suspicion. Luckily, the place was an absolute riot—he hardly recognized half the people in the place. They exited the ballroom and he followed the directions Trem had given him for the servant’s stairs. Quickly, he found the narrow passageway and pulled Olivia inside behind him.
Just as quickly, he closed the door. He was sure that, in the scramble, and with their masks on, no one had seen or noticed them. He had done it.
Standing in the dim, narrow stairway, Olivia was pressed against him.
“I hope Nathanial does not become anxious.”
“Forget young Mapperton. He looked rather busy.”
“He did, didn’t he?” Olivia laughed, her full lips parting in mirth.
He kissed her then. He couldn’t help it. He pressed her into the door behind them, drinking from her, crushing his mouth to hers. He needed her closer to him, enveloping him, so he pressed his hand to her arse and held her against his hardened length. She gasped in his mouth as he did so, giving out a moan of contentment. For a moment, he was blinded by the thought that he could take her right there. They could hike up her skirts and then he could thrust inside of her, feeling her clenching around him—
Montaigne pulled away, from her kiss and from this drugged train of thought. He had not come here to fuck her against a door. The whole point of getting her away from the crowds was that he had had a plan.
“Augustus,” Olivia said, when he pulled away. “I want you—” He saw pleading in her eyes. She had had the same thought.
But no.
He wouldn’t.
Not yet.
He shook his head and took her hand.
