A tender ache tightened in Aylesbury’s heart at the beauty of the sight.Not just the beauty of her person but the beauty of the inner glow that lit her from within.For what seemed to be the hundredth time, he cursed himself for not having made the realization sooner and snatched Fiona up while she would still have him.
She was glorious tonight in a bottle-green silk gown that he imagined was just the same shade as her eyes.The gown hung off her shoulders, leaving them deliciously bare.The only embellishment on the elegantly simple gown was a band of ruched tulle that shadowed the rise of her breasts above the loosely draped silk of her bodice.It made for a décolletage that tempted a man’s gaze to linger, but Aylesbury’s eyes dipped for only a brief appreciative glance before rising again.
Aylesbury drank in the sheer beauty of Fiona’s features—the eyes that danced, the dark hair lit with the fire that burned deep within her, the radiant glow of health and vitality, the deep dimples and smile that had been constant in years past but was painfully absent again when they had met that morning.
One didn’t meet a woman like Fiona very often.At least not in London, where high-class women seemed to feel it their duty to be cool and sophisticated.Aloof, like Lady Onslow and her daughter.
No, what appealed to him most about her was that she was so open with her emotions.He had never met a female capable of such sustainable and emotive demonstrations of her moods as she.When she was happy, she was overjoyed to the point of bursting.When she was angry, her fury could shake the walls.And clearly, when she embraced hatred, she did it with every fiber of her being and never let it go.
Yes, she did quite a fine job of expressing it.
Still, it was an oft-repeated axiom that hate was but the flip side of the coin from love.Aylesbury wasn’t much for such platitudes, but he rather hoped that particular one had been founded in some truth because though he had never been a jealous man—Moira had once said he did not have a possessive heart—he wasn’t surprised to feel it burning within him now.He wanted to be the one to provoke her laughter, to bask in its joy.He was like a greedy moth circling the flame, wanting that light for his own.
He’d be damned if a vile fellow like Ramsay would be the one to have her.
Knowing that Fiona would balk even more obdurately under duress if he cornered her, Aylesbury had given her the white glove treatment, handling her as if she were something fragile.It had gotten him nowhere.Well, the gloves were off now, and he was prepared to don an entirely different kind of glove now.
It was time for round two.
* * *
“You seem to be enjoyingyourselves tonight.”
Fiona closed her eyes with a groan, easily recognizing the deep voice behind her.He had a penchant for coming about when she felt the most vulnerable and ill-prepared for him.
“Aylesbury, old man!”Connor waggled his brows at her before turning to greet the marquis, extending his hand in greeting.“Didn’t know you were about tonight.”
“I’ve been here and there.Lady Fiona.”Both men turned to her expectantly, but she resolutely kept her hands to herself and only offered a stiff nod, praying for strength.
Connor didn’t even try to downplay the fact that she had just openly cut a marquis of the realm.Again.“Forgive, Blossom, won’t you?She’s been a mite touchy this evening.”
“Has she?And yet she looked to be enjoying herself...before I came along, that is.”Aylesbury rocked back on his heels as he studied her intently.His gaze traveled a slow path from head to toe, leaving tingling awareness in its wake.
Self-consciously, she ran her palms down the side of her skirts, insanely wondering if he thought she looked nice in the green silk faille and satin Jacques Doucet gown she had chosen to wear that night.Doucet was inclined to simple, tailored design employing more tucks, draping, and understated adornment like cut velvet for embellishment, a style Fiona preferred.An occasional touch of Chantilly or tambour lace was as frilly as she ever got.But perhaps Aylesbury fancied some of the more opulent beaded, sequined, and feathered gowns most ladies wore.
Mentally berating herself, she reminded herself that she did not care what Aylesbury thought of her gown.One afternoon of semi-pleasant conversation did not forgiveness grant!“Yes, I was perfectly happy.Before.”
“I say, Blossom!”It seemed even Connor had his limits of expectable rudeness.
The marquis, on the other hand, only grinned at her response, not at all put out.
“Let’s keep the spirit light then,” Aylesbury said, “I was just thinking that the only thing that could possibly make the night any better would be a dance with Lady Fiona.”
“She’d like that, I’d wager,” her brother responded for her, though Aylesbury had the decency to wait for her response.It just wasn’t a polite one.
“No, I would not.”
“Blossom!Dance with the man.”
“What say you, Lady Fiona?Might I have this dance?”Aylesbury asked with a dashing bow and an equally charming grin as he held out his hand.Fiona glared at him, though it was all she could do to summon the necessary heat after her sentimental exchange with Connor.
“My dance card is full.”
“Blossom!”Connor chided, giving her a wink.“There is a fresh new tune being played.You wouldn’t want to stay here for the same old chorus, now would you?”
Fiona pursed her lips at her brother’s none-too-subtle jab but said nothing, not daring to relax her guard.Instead, she glared stonily at the marquis, silently wishing him away.She was too maudlin tonight to bear this as well!But obstinate, unmovable man that he was, Aylesbury waited patiently with an annoyingly tolerant smile.
“Blossom, dance with the fellow,” her brother hissed under his breath, pinching the tender flesh above her elbow painfully, but she only shook her head jerkily.
