Yet there was also one very hot item, consommé of turtle soup.A staple of the London Tavern, the dark greenish brown broth in silver tureens was being served in tiny bowls one could perch on the side of one’s plate.Of course there were sweets, from rout-cakes that looked to need champagne to wash them down, to seven-layer trifles that went from serving spoon to plate with a heavy plop before being smothered in rich custard.
In the center of each sideboard was a large merchant vessel artistically made entirely of spun sugar.
Jonathan ate a little of this and a little more of that, never one to stuff himself at a public assembly.Over a plate of perfectly roasted cold chicken, he spoke to a Portuguese merchant about the quality of Oporto maps.Then together with a married couple who were friends of his mother’s, he admired the detail on the sugar ships.
He didnotlook for Lise, which required the full exercise of his will.Yet that didn’t stop him from noticing when she slipped away.
It happened while a crowd was surging out of the supper room.Having once more donned their requisite gloves, they were returning to the ballroom for the last hour and a half of dancing.Henrik was deep in conversation with a KGL officer to his right, and Lise was walking beside her brother on his left.The lieutenant, fueled by the potables served with the buffet, including champagne and negus, gestured broadly and laughed, not heeding his sister when she touched his arm and said something.
Behind them, Jonathan watched her abandon the safety of her brother’s side.Shockingly, she didn’t enter the ballroom.Instead, Lise went down the hallway with the quiet purpose of a woman seeking an escape.What’s more, she was going in the opposite direction to where he knew the ladies’ retiring room had been set aside.
Jonathan winced.He should let her go.On the other hand, perhaps she’d been emboldened by her safe return from the terrace at Lord Spencer’s ball.If he hadn’t been the one to happen upon her, some scoundrel might have, and it would have been a very different outcome.
Yet she seemed to think she could slip away from the other guests, willy-nilly.That might be the way they did things in Eutin.But in London, she ought to have been accompanied by a maid at the very least, or another female guest, wherever she was going.Anything could happen to a young woman alone.And usually did!
Which is why he followed her.Leaving behind the low roar of five hundred voices, the constant rustle of silk gowns, and the rhythmic clink of spurs as hussars bowed to partners, he traversed the quiet corridor running parallel to the ballroom.Narrow, utilitarian, it was dimly lit by a single wall sconce every ten feet or so.After all, this was not Spencer House!
When the sounds of the ball had faded to a murmur, he came to the passageway’s end and turned the corner.Lise stood on the far side of a small table with a candelabrum.One of her gloved hands was pressed to the wainscoting as though steadying herself, and she bowed her head, contemplating nothing that Jonathan could see.Nothing at all.Was she unwell?
Before he could speak, she startled at his approach.Turning swiftly, her eyes widened but calmed at seeing it was he.At least she hadn’t been expecting some clandestine lover.
Straightening herself, she said, “You ought not to be here, my lord.”
“Neither should you,” he countered.“And of the two of us, your transgression is by far the greater one.”
“I needed —” She gestured vaguely back the way they had come.“I simply wished for a moment away from the noise and the crush and the,” she wrinkled her nose, “aromas.All those people and yet ...,” she trailed off with a sigh.
“I understand.”He did, because he knew what it was like to feel lonely in a room full of people.Even worse when one was far from home, he imagined.
And then silence.They stood in the dim light, the air between them tight as a drum head.He could see the rise and fall of her breasts, took note of the way her fingers twisted in the folds of her gown.
“I meant what I said,” Jonathan told her, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.“I want you to be happy.I do.But God help me, Miss von Ostenfeld, you do not look to be so at present.”
“Whether I am or not is none of your concern.”There was no bite to her tone, only soft propriety.
“No.It is not.”
She lifted her chin.“Then why are you here?”
“Because I am a damned fool,” he muttered, then more clearly, “Because you left the security of the ballroom.”This was only their third meeting.Why was she important to him beyond measure?
“Because we have a connection, I believe.I’ve felt it and seen it whether you’re taking me to task or dancing with me or even returning my rude stares over dinner.”
She made a small sound, between a laugh and a cough.“Aren’t you calling me rude, as well?”
Inadvertently, he had done.“I appreciated your interested glances during each course at my parents’ table.Just as I appreciate you, if I may be so bold.”
Closing the space between them, Jonathan took hold of her hands and drew her close.Lise said nothing, only watching him with curious eyes, turned sapphire blue when they caught the flicker of candlelight.
He was behaving badly, indeed.He ought to tuck her arm through his and escort her back to the ball.With no harm done.He would do so at once.
But then, ever so slowly, Lise von Ostenfeld parted her perfect lips.He thought he saw the tip of her tongue for the briefest moment.His groin tightened.He might have imagined he’d seen it, but there was no imagining the way she bit her lower lip, as if pondering his next move.When she released it, naturally, he leaned down and kissed her.
For half a breath, she was utterly still — surprised, perhaps, or uncertain.He was about to draw back, when she made a sound low in her throat, making his cock grow hard as a cricket bat.At the same time, Lise began to kiss him back with a ferocity that stole what little sense remained in his head.And it was very little indeed.
Releasing her hands, he wrapped his arms around her, splaying his fingers into her silk gown.Jonathan was rewarded when she clutched at his coat, pulling him closer.
Tilting his head one way, she angled her mouth under his, tasting of champagne and a desperate fervor that matched his own.
