Occasionally, while in France and especially during his years at Oxford, Michael had flirted and even dallied with alluring young ladies—regardless of class. It had been the exotic actresses and dancers though, who appealed to him almost exclusively. They were safer by far than ladies of gentle birth. Having seen a few gentlemen caught in parson’s traps, Michael had learned to take care with his attentions when among thebeau monde. Regardless of a lady’s charm, he never let it appear he had singled any one of them out.
None had compelled him into pursuit so much as this one.
He would require an introduction. He needed to discover if that intense spark was real or if it had only been an illusion.
By the time he maneuvered into the ballroom, it was already stifling and crowded. Candles flickered everywhere, in sconces and on the huge chandeliers dangling overhead. His eyes searched with a deceptively lazy intent. She was not alone, of course. She attended with two matrons, a mother and aunt perhaps, as they had some physical similarities. Ah, yes, the smaller woman must be her mother. An older, muted version of her daughter—without the golden eyes. The taller of her chaperones was encouraging his angel to fill her dance card as quickly as possible, introducing the poor girl to every dandy in the room.
Luckily, the dragon was also acquainted with an old friend of his father’s. Perfect! Just what he needed. He sidled over to Lord Gifford and greeted him cheerfully, striking up somecasual conversation. “My lord, I’m surprised to see you in town this season. I’d heard you were permanently rusticating in the country these days.”
Lord James Gifford shook Michael’s hand and smiled. “Good to see you, Redmond! Even better to see you made it back in one piece. Your father mentioned you had joined up. His Grace was proud to boast his younger son had joined the effort against old Boney! Are you home for long?”
Michael was momentarily distracted at the mention of his father’s praise but quickly recovered and answered vaguely. Questions like this were always difficult when he didn’t know the answer himself. He exchanged a few more platitudes with Lord Gifford, all the while keeping the blond girl in his sights.
Lord Gifford took notice of the direction of Michael’s gaze and changed the subject accordingly. “Beautiful little gel, isn’t she? The niece of Lady Sheffield. I imagine you’d like an introduction?” He laughed. “I was once a young buck myself. Think I wouldn’t notice? Well, come along then.”
As Michael moved closer to her, that spark, whatever it was, flared up inside of him again.
Lord Gifford moved aside and allowed Michael to step forward. “Miss Lilly Bridge, it is my honor to present to you the younger son of my good friend, the Duke of Cortland, Captain Michael Redmond. Captain Redmond, this is Miss Lilly Bridge, the niece of Lady Eleanor Sheffield.”
Graceful and poised, she curtsied low before him. Michael took her hand briefly. He wanted to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist, but he dared not.
Next time.
Her name was Lilly, like the flower of innocence. It was perfect for her. She smiled at him as if they shared a secret. Then she commented on the candles and the warmth of the room. Michael leapt on the opportunity to offer to escort her away from her chaperones.
She would not refuse. There was a pull between the two of them. Neither of them would resist it.
Winging his arm to escort her to the other end of the ballroom, he was acutely aware of her delicate hand as she slid it into the crook of his elbow. He had escorted ladies thusly hundreds of times before, but never had he felt the rightness of the noble gesture as he did then. When he thought they might be jostled by the crowd, he reached across with his other hand to protectively cover hers.
This brought them closer together. Her perfume was a mixture of citrus and something warm, something subtle that he couldn’t identify. The scent of her made him think of sunshine.
Michael garnered two glasses of champagne and then located a quiet place to sit. He wanted to keep her to himself—he wanted to know her.
She, apparently, was perfectly fine with this.
The rest of the world disappeared while they sat together. All that existed in those moments were her eyes, her voice, her lips. Intent upon this woman alone, he managed to mute the chattering of the other guests in the ballroom, the sounds of the dancers, and even the full orchestra as they played their lively tunes.
Surprisingly, they talked, almost like old friends. But they also flirted like future lovers.
Could it have been fate that brought them together? Did he even believe in such a thing?
He learned she was adventurous and kind-hearted. She loved her family but wasn’t afraid to meet new people. When he spoke of the war, she listened with compassion and understanding, not pressing him for details. She was graceful, warm, and beautiful. She possessed a sense of humor.
They spent an unfashionable, if not scandalous amount of time in each other’s company that night.
He spoke of his estate, Edgewater Heights. “I do have a property of my own…south, but closer to London. I hadn’t thought about settling down there yet.” The second the words left his mouth, a different perspective of Edgewater Heights began to evolve in his mind. As a young bachelor, he’d only considered the property as a source of income, a financial asset. He had a duty to visit and ensure it was cared for properly. But in this moment, he could picture it as a home, a future home for himself and his family. Until now, he’d kept the concept a distant probability. But meeting this particular woman, looking into her eyes, and listening to her sweet voice, an image began unfolding in his mind.
He suddenly could envision very blond children running about the grounds. He could picture Lilly nurturing the garden, decorating for Christmas.
Warming his bed.
Throughout the evening, he managed to claim three dances (scandalous!) and take a few turns about the room.
Eventually, they slipped out to the garden for a stroll in the cooling air. And again, she tucked her tiny hand through his right arm.
Shebelongedat his side.
They walked quietly, enjoying the fragrant breeze and moonlit gardens. The energy sizzling between them rendered moot the need for polite conversation. Finally, he halted and turned her so they stood face to face. Keeping one hand on her arm, he let his other drift to her waist. The smooth silk of her dress was light and flimsy; he could feel the ridges of her corset beneath it.
