Nicholas descended the stairs to the ballroom. He made his way through the costumed guests. Lord Ludlow, in a musketeer costume, which made his shoulders look narrow and his knees knobby, wasn’t dancing. He stood looking dejected with a group of people. Carrie was not among them.
Was she waltzing? Nicholas searched the dance floor. It was easy to find her, her glorious hair piled high and decked with flowers. He swore under his breath. Not only was she waltzing, but with the worst rake in London, Julian Barraclough, and his hand wandered where it shouldn’t.
Every muscle tensed as Nicholas pushed through the swirling dancers. They stared at him in his black and white evening wear, and some called out to him. Gwen knew he would be here tonight. Was this to provoke him? He would speak to her later. He did not need his sister meddling in his affairs of the heart.
A fool could see he was in love.
He reached Barraclough and Carrie. “Unhand Miss Leeming, sir,” he said, stepping in front of him.
A collective gasp came from the surrounding dancers. Some men laughed and called encouragement.
“What, Pennington? Have I trod upon your turf?” Barraclough asked. When he dropped his hands, Carrie spun around. Her eyes widened.
“Nicholas.”
“I believe you have confused the waltz with something else entirely,” Nicholas said to Barraclough. Julian looked as if he’d argue the point.
More couples dancing around them stopped to watch with titters and guffaws.
Barraclough stepped back. “A duel at dawn would bore me,” he said. “Much better sport to pursue.” He bowed to Carrie. “It was my pleasure, Aphrodite.” The dancers parted as he made his way through them and disappeared into the games room.
Nicholas grabbed Carrie’s hand and led her from the floor.
“Nicholas?” Carrie began again.
A footman opened the French doors, and Nicholas led her out to the terrace.
Fine, misty rain fell. Nicholas found a sheltered corner, partly in shadow. He gently removed her lacy white mask. Her gaze met his, as soft as a caress.
“Carrie. I love you, sweetheart.” He drew her into an embrace, his cheek against her hair. “You crept into my heart from our first meeting, my love. And fool that I was, I fought against it. The thought of losing you almost crushed me. Will you promise to spend your life with me?” He drew back and grazed his knuckles gently along her cheek. “You are my life. I need you as much as breathing.”
She reached up and smoothed his hair with her hand, her eyes telling him what he wished to know. “Oh, Nicholas, I love you so.”
He drew her close, his face against her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers, he gently kissed the warm skin beneath her ear, slid his lips across her soft cheek, kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. Then he took her mouth in a long, passionate kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, her body cleaved against his.
Carrie reached up to touch his cheek. “You are real. This isn’t a dream.”
“No, my love.” Nicholas kissed her again. He held her sweet chin in his palm and ran a thumb over her full bottom lip. “Will you marry me?”
Another couple ventured out to brave the weather.
Carrie threw her arms around his neck. “Oh yes, Nicholas, yes!”
“Shall we tell my sister?”
“I’m sure Gwen will approve. She is no longer my chaperone. I have continually disappointed her.”
“Nonsense, she’s loved every minute. Have you spoken to Ludlow?”
“Yes. I told him I couldn’t marry him. He was unhappy, but I don’t think really surprised.”
“Perhaps not.” Nicholas had torn his presumptuous letter up.
“He’ll meet someone else. Someone who loves him.”
“Yes, darling, and that’s the last time we shall mention him.” He pulled her against him and kissed her again. His arm at her waist, they turned back to the door. He saw they were in imminent danger of a soaking as the rain grew heavier. Puddles formed over the terrace floor. “You’ll wet your slippers.” Nicholas swept Carrie up into his arms and made for the French doors.
A loud sigh came from farther along the terrace, where the woman and her companion sheltered from the rain.
