The Hamilton soirée wasn’t a large gathering. There were only a hundred people present in the large country house, so there was plenty of room to move around. Guests sampled the array of food set out on long tables, danced in a salon cleared for that purpose, or chatted in small groups. A few stodgy ones glared at the sight of Nicholas and Regina together, but most engaged in wild speculation concerning their first unorthodox meeting.
It had always been arranged that they marry, was theon-dit. He had only been amusing himself with Selena while waiting for Regina to return to London. They had met on the Continent, you know. No, no, my dears, they met at Haverston. He and the Marquis’ son have been quite chummy for years, don’t you know.
“Have you heard what they’re saying, love?” Nicholas asked as he claimed her first waltz. “They have us betrothed since you were in swaddling.”
Reggie had heard some of the more outlandish speculations from her cousins. “Never say so,” she giggled. “My other beaux will be devastated that they never had a real chance.”
“Other beaux?”
“The dozens and dozens who sought my hand.” A few glasses of champagne had brought out the imp in her.
“I hope you are exaggerating, Regina.”
“I wish I were,” she sighed, blissfully unaware of his changing temper. “It has been most tedious, you know, trying to make a choice from so many. I was quite ready to give up…and then you came along.”
“How fortunate for me.” Nicholas was furious. He had no idea that he was jealous. Without another word, he maneuvered them to the side of the room, where he abruptly left her with Marshall and Amy, giving her a curt bow in parting. His back to her, he headed for the card room, where he could get a more potent libation than champagne.
Reggie frowned, utterly bewildered. To tease her about the new gossip, smile at her with great tenderness, warm her with his honey-gold eyes, and then become so angry without reason. What was the matter with him?
Reggie smiled, determined not to let him make her miserable. She was asked to dance again and again, and she renewed acquaintances with the young men who had flocked around her last season. Basil Elliot and George Fowler, two persistent admirers, now dramatically professed their lives at an end because of the Viscount’s good fortune. Both young men swore they would love her forever. Reggie was amused and flattered, for George and Basil were both wildly popular. Their attentions made up for Nicholas’ rudeness.
It was some two hours before the errant Lord Montieth decided to join Reggie again. She had not seen him in all that time, but he had seen her. Time and again he had stood in the door of the card room and seen her laughing up at a dancing partner, or surrounded by ardent beaux. The sight sent him right back for another drink. He was pleasantly foxed by the time he approached her.
“Will you dance with me, love?”
“Will wefinishthis dance?” she rejoined.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t wait for her to accept either but clamped his hand onto her waist and moved her out onto the dance floor. It was another waltz, and he held her much too close this time.
“Did I tell you yet this evening that I want you?” he asked her suddenly.
She had been aware that there was something different about him, but it wasn’t until he leaned close that she smelled the brandy. She wasn’t worried though. No one who could move around a dance floor so gracefully could be foxed.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that kind of thing, Nicholas.”
“‘Nicholas,’” he repeated. “Sweet of you to call me by my given name, love. After all, most everyone here thinks we are already lovers, so it would seem a bit odd for you to call me Lord Montieth.”
“If you don’t want me to—”
“Did I say that?” he interrupted. “But something like ‘beloved’ would be even nicer than just ‘Nicholas.’ I suppose you must love me if you want to marry me. And I don’t want to marry you, but I do want you, love. Never doubt it.”
“Nicholas—”
“It’s all I can seem to think about,” he went on. “I am found guilty, yet I have not been permitted to enjoy my crime. Hardly fair, don’t you agree?”
“Nicholas—”
“Beloved,” he corrected. Then he changed the subject.
“Let’s go see the Hamiltons’ lovely gardens.” Before she could protest, he led her off the dance floor and out of the house.
The gardens were brilliantly landscaped into rolling lawns dotted with trees, man-made ponds, flower beds, a topiary garden, and even a gazebo, so thickly covered by flowering vines that it resembled a tree.
They did not pause to appreciate these beauties. In a twinkling Reggie found herself inside the gazebo, wrapped in Nicholas’ arms, being kissed so thoroughly she was close to fainting.
Moonlight spilled in through the hanging vines, bathing them in soft silver light. Padded benches hugged each short, trellised wall. The floor was wood, smooth and polished. There were large potted plants scattered between the benches, their leaves rustling gently in the warm night air.
Deep down Reggie knew that Nicholas was not going to be satisfied with just kissing her, not this time. It would be up to her to stop him. But a voice inside her demanded to know why she wanted to stop him.
