“Leave it, Tom.”
His only response was to finish the dregs of his glass and straighten his cravat.
“Very well. I’ll stop by sometime in the next few days to see how Mother is recovering.”
“Good night then.”
I could not bring myself to wish him well. Tom’s willingness to support Michael in the man’s shameful efforts to swindle every gentleman of thetonout of their fortune was beyond belief.
In my irritation I swallowed back the remnants of my own scotch before pouring another. I finished that rather more quickly than I ought. In this state I would have no success with my correspondence. Instead, I wandered off to the billiards room for some practice, leaving the letters for another day.
Six
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON – OCTOBER 29, 1812
HUGH
They fashioneda dance floor on their grounds, quite ingenious really. The gardens surrounding the floor were lit by hundreds of torches. They were accompanied by tiny fireflies dancing between them. A massive stone staircase opened onto the dance floor. The banisters were wrapped in garlands covered in jasmine; the blooms perfumed the air.
The night air was unseasonably warm, leaving me covered in an annoying layer of sticky sweat. Rather than dancing, the members of thetonmingled beside the floor; each eagerly glancing toward the staircase leading from inside, waiting for someone. Though I had no idea why my peers were waiting with bated breath, I joined them in monitoring the staircase.
My efforts were in vain. I glanced away right when the quiet murmurs of the beau monde dissipated, leaving nothing behind but the crickets singing their approval.
Turning toward the source of all the excitement, the breath was knocked from my lungs. The masses parted, leaving only the two of us; the most exquisite woman I had ever seen and myself.
Her eyes, a cerulean swirl of sea and sky, caught the torchlight, sparkling just for me. Her midnight black curls were unbound and cascading down her back, ready for my fingers to slip through. The moonlight and torchlight warred for purchase on her pale skin, flickering gold and shining silver. Her wide mouth was bitten to an enticing rich rosewood, lips pressed together in a knowing smile.
I felt my own mouth mimicking hers. I knew it, too. This attraction was unlike any I had ever felt. Heat pooled low in my gut, and my heart hammered in response.
Her form, draped in red silk, was nothing short of sensual. The deep Bordeaux sleeves of her gown fell down her shoulders revealing miles of unblemished skin for my hungry gaze. And gaze I did, appreciating every curve she offered to me.
The silk gown rested low on her bosom and tight across her hips, draped elegantly across her slim waist with heavy skirts falling below. It was like nothing I had ever seen. It was everything I never knew I wanted. Never in my life had I wanted a gown pooled on the floor of my bedroom with such desperation.
With every second of perusal, she made her way closer to me. Her eyes locked on my form, warm with her own interest. Each breath brought her nearer. With each delicate stride, each blink, she became more and more familiar to me. She paused, just out of my reach, and, with a start, I placed her. Miss Katherine Summers.
My lungs protested the recognition, a choked gasp escaping. This magnificent, captivating creature before me could not be the improper girl in soaking lilac muslin I met before.
There was no inducement that could end my open-mouthed stare. Nothing except the act of her brushing past me, reaching a hand out to a gentleman behind me, the one I had not noticed.
Her bare elegant fingertips met a grasp that was not mine. She pulled the man to the floor just as the orchestra fingered the opening notes to waltz. Without hesitation, she pressed her sensuous curves to his form. In answer, he pulled her closer. Her small form tucked against his larger one, slotting together like missing halves.
The envy burned deep in my gut.
Their dance brought them closer to me. Then his dark familiar eyes met mine. And the fury exploded.
Michael.
My Katherine’s luscious curves pressed tightly against my degenerate brother.
He was decked in his best finery, scrubbed and polished to a gentlemanly shine. One hand curled possessively over the curve of her hip while the other pressed her hand to his chest instead of to the side as was proper.
She rose on her toes, still managing the steps with an inhuman delicacy, whispering in his ear.
He smirked in my direction, and she cast her gaze behind her, meeting my own shocked expression. Instead of the knowing smile she offered me before, her lips were twisted into a cruel sneer.
Turning her attention back to her partner, she allowed him to press a kiss to her hand before dropping it to rest on his chest. The move freed his own to slide sensuously into her curls, settling against the back of her neck.
He pulled her wide, lush, lips to his with a hungry grin. Her own hands slid up his chest to tug him down to her. There she met his searing kiss with enthusiasm, tongue, and teeth.
