“Would you like me to take you back to the ballroom?” he asked. He did not want her to feel trapped by her agreement to walk outside with him.
She turned her gaze upon him then, her face a mere few inches from his own.
“I have dreamed of love too,” she said. “The love of which you speak. I did not expect ever to find it. I know I have nothing to recommend me to any man in whom I may be interested. Among other things, I am plain and lacking in femininity. But I have been unwilling to pretend to be what I am not. I lead a happy and usefullife. I do notneedmarriage, as so many other women seem to do. I always feel so sorry for the poverty of their lives, which they cannot apparently live on their own account. Nonetheless, I wouldliketo be married. But only if I loved, and if the man loved me. For a short while in London and even after we came here, I thought perhaps Owen…Well, Ilikedhim exceedingly. I still do. And I know he likes me. We have a great deal in common. I thought we could work well together if there was a closer connection between us. I thought I could be happy, thatwecould be happy. But it was not the sort of love of which I had dreamed. It was more apracticallove. Fortunately, I understood that in time to save both myself and Owen from making a dreadful mistake. He realized it too.”
“But he did ask you to marry him?” he said.
“Oh, yes.” She laughed softly. “In an impulsive burst of enthusiasm. His relief when I said no was palpable.” She laughed again. “Oh, Idolove him. But not in that way.”
She looked at him again, and he looked back.
“Thatis the way I feel about you,” she said, and bit her lip again.
They fell silent. From the direction of the house came the faint sound of music. The dancing had resumed.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “And surely the most feminine woman I have ever known, for there is substance to your character, not just the sort of fluttering artifice that often passes for femininity. Remember that, Winifred, please. Always remember that you are beautiful.”
“Anotherthing to remember?” she said, smiling at him a bit tremulously.
“You will not need to remember if I am there to remind you each day,” he said. “And each night.”
Her smile faded. Her eyes grew more luminous. But she did not lower her gaze from his.
He sighed. There was no point in trying to tell himself that at any moment now he would recover his senses, or that she would recover hers. Now was the time to risk speaking truth, whatever the outcome turned out to be.
“I love you,” he said. And though his mind reached for more words, he knew there were no others. He had said it all.
“I love you too.” Her hand came up, and she caressed his cheek with her fingertips. “Nicholas.”
Ah. There was something about hearing one’s name on the lips of the woman one loved.
He drew her closer and kissed her.
And ah, the sweetness of it. His memory of their first brief kiss on the island in the lake had been all caught up with guilt. This kiss was different. Guilt free.Free.Her lips were soft and eager, her breath warm against his cheek. And ah, therightnessof it.
Though it was not entirely unforbidden, was it?
He drew back his head, and she opened her eyes to gaze at him, her lips moist in the dim light of the moon and slightly parted.
“I ought to have had a word with your father before we stepped out of doors,” he said.
“He will like it if you do it tomorrow,” she said. “Though literally speaking, it is not necessary. I am of age. But perhaps this has been no more than a pleasant stroll outdoors to get away from the noise and stuffiness of the ballroom. A little flirtation with no commitment. Perhaps we ought to make our way back.”
He stiffened. What the devil—? What had they beentalkingabout?
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
She searched his face with anxious eyes. “Is it whatyouwant?” she asked.
And he understood her sudden fright. The depths of her lack of belief in her own charms were unfathomable, it seemed. Despite her confidence in other areas of her life and her forthright way of speaking, she believed her chances of attracting a man to be slim to nil. She had panicked.
“You goose, Win,” he said. “Has no one ever taught you that answering a question with a question is abominable? We could go on all night withWhat do you want? No, what do you want?What a bore that would be.”
“But I do not know what you want,” she said.
“What I want,” he said, “is to go back to the house, though preferably not immediately, and stand in the middle of the ballroom floor between dances and announce, in my parade ground voice so no one can possibly miss it, that I love Winifred Cunningham and she loves me.”
She made a squeaking sound, which might have been alarm but might also be suppressed laughter.
