Grace glanced over her shoulder to see if the viscount was watching them, but his back was turned and a shiver of excitement flickered through her body at the prospect of a few stolen moments with Lord Westhouse. She expected him to lead her along the back wall of the ballroom, maybe circle back leisurely to the viscount so that they might engage in some conversation. Delight filled her, but Lord Westhouse simply gave her a wink, then led them past the ballroom doors into a darker hall.
Several people milled about in the hall, so it was perfectly respectable, but Lord Westhouse didn’t linger in the hall; rather, he continued toward the exit of the hall, and for the first time since meeting Lord Westhouse, trepidation mixed with excitement and she wasn’t sure which emotion was strongest.
“Forgive me my forwardness, but I’m quite certain that your guardian won’t let you out of his sight, and I’m convinced that he’s told your butler never to admit me to your residence either. So I’ve resorted to rather bold behaviors.” Lord Westhouse spoke in gentle tones, abating her trepidation. As his words sank in, anger burned in its place.
“Not admit you?” She paused before the door that opened to a lovely garden with a few other couples in quiet conversation.
Her words carried louder than she expected, and several of the couples paused, glancing at her with various levels of disapproval.
She gave an apologetic expression to each and then calmly walked through the door to the stone patio of the gardens. Two of the couples regarded her then left, implying that she was rather loud for their quiet tête-à-tête.
So be it.
Grace still had enough residual anger from the revelation that she wasn’t in any mood to be accommodating for anyone.
“I’m making an assumption, and it could be incorrect,” Lord Westhouse responded softly, as if wounded.
Grace frowned. How could the viscount not see how his actions wounded others? Especially Lord Westhouse! It was horrific.
“You can be sure that I will mention—”
“Shh . . .” he whispered and stepped closer to her, his other hand grasping hers and facing her fully. “I didn’t risk his wrath in stealing you away that I might tattle on him like a child. I simply wanted time with you. It seems to be rarer than a fine emerald, and just as precious.” He whispered the words like a caress.
Her temper melted, and a new fire took the place of the frustration. Out of the corner of her eye she noted the last couple leaving them, making the garden area quite private, quite secluded, quite tempting.
Would he kiss her? It would be a terrible risk, to her reputation and to his health, if she assumed the viscount’s reactions correctly, but the real question was: did she want him to?
The moonlight made his eyes seem darker, deeper and more mysterious. The gentle circles he drew in her gloved hands were invitingly sweet, and his voice was like a spell, woven over her as he spoke her name so softly.
Grace.
He took the smallest step forward, meeting her gaze with intensity, with purpose, with resolution as his head lowered ever so slightly.
Yes!
No!
Yes!
No!
She couldn’t make up her mind. For this to be her first kiss, she wanted it badly, but the implications and the risk if they were to be caught . . . as much as she was angry with the viscount and Samantha for their treatment of Lord Westhouse, she didn’t want to let them down by behaving poorly; she loved them too much.
She had only a moment to make a final decision.
Licking her lips, she took a breath and parted her lips.
“Beautiful evening, is it not?” an oddly familiar voice asked, startling Grace as she nearly hopped back from Lord Westhouse to see Lord Sterling lazily leaning against the door frame of the garden entrance. He was regarding her coolly, studying her for a moment as if assessing her worth.
Shame flooded her, not because she had done something wrong, but because she had the sinking suspicion that her estimation in his eyes had just plummeted. And his approval was surely not given easily.
And another reason filtered through her mind a moment later.
He would most certainly tell the viscount.
It wouldn’t matter that she was going to step back anyway. It wouldn’t matter that she wasn’t going to let him kiss her.
She let out a deep sigh, keeping it as silent as possible. She turned to Lord Westhouse, but his attention wasn’t on her, it was on Lord Sterling. His kind and open expression was closed off like a vault, and she could almost feel the animosity radiating from him.
