“I handled it.” His grip on her tightened, his nostrils flaring as rage turned his eyes a beastly shade of black. However dangerous Wrengate had looked, this topped it, prompting Samantha to turn more fully toward him. Her palm settled gently against his cheek as she calmly repeated, “I handled it.”
His ragged breaths stirred the hot air around her. “You’re certain?”
Her nod wasn’t met by conviction exactly, but it was enough for now. There would be no altercation, no threat of Adrian losing his head, no reason for either of them to worry about Wrengate for the rest of the evening. They could discuss what had happened later, when they returned home.
“I think I’d like to dance with you now,” she said at the sound of a waltz starting.
The satisfied curve of his lips matched the roguish gleam in his eyes. He offered his arm and she looped hers through it, allowing her to press up against his powerful frame. The added closeness brought a whiff of his custom-made scent with it. She inhaled, the fragrance of sandalwood mixed with bergamot and musk casting a spell on her senses.
Her fingers curled over his forearm, puckering the sleeve of his superfine wool jacket.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the suggestion you made before we left home,” he murmured, leading her onto the dance floor.
His words, filled with daring promise, danced across her nerves and sent her pulse racing. She did her best to school her features as they took their places across from each other. “What suggestion would that be?”
A soft growl accompanied the heated look he gave her. “I think you know, but I’ll be more than happy to remind you after this set.”
The bothersome heat in the room became an inferno. At this rate, he’d have to mop her up once the dance was over. She cleared her throat. “I do believe a bit of cool air would do me good.”
His teeth flashed. “So you do remember, you teasing minx.”
Her chance to respond was lost as the dance commenced in earnest and he swept her into his arms. Skirts swirling, she spun as he led her about the floor. Hands clasped, their steps in perfect synchrony, they transformed into one singular unit.
Keith Orwell scanned the note he’d just been given by one of the maids.
Meet me in the conservatory in half an hour. I’d like to speak with you in private. E.
His stomach tightened in response to the promising words, for while his dance with Lady Edwina had been delightful, Wrengate’s decision to step in and steer her away from Keith as soon as it ended had smarted.
He’d not had the chance to speak with her since though he had caught her gaze from across the room on a few occasions. It bothered him that he’d lacked the backbone to stand against the duke. To do so, however, might have a negative impact on Luxury Imports, in which case Keith would be faced by his father’s ire as well.
But now…
If Lady Edwina had the courage to summon him, then he would answer her call. Indeed, the very idea of being alone with her, of possibly holding her in his arms, of something…more…made him turn toward their designated meeting spot without second thought.
Never before had he wanted something as much as he wanted her, and after all he’d been through — after all he’d endured in that horrid war — he would let himself live a little. Even if it were only for one night.
14
Her gaze locked with Adrian’s, Samantha lost herself in a private world where nobody else existed — a world in which his every heartbeat matched hers. He was her life, her future, her everything. The joy she’d found because of him, because of his overwhelming love for her, was endless.
It would soon increase with the birth of their child.
A lovely notion that made her smile with added warmth.
He answered with an affectionate smile of his own, the ardor he’d put on display a few moments before now dormant. “Nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing you happy, Samantha.”
The words were like a tender embrace. Made emotional by it, she managed a hoarse, “I feel the same about you,” before glancing sideways to hide the threatening tears.
They’d come so far together, the fact that they were here, free and able to dance among the aristocracy, was no small thing. How horribly wrong everything could have gone — how close they’d both come to death.
Unbearable.
Her hold on his hand tightened, steadying her and easing her mind. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and prepared to face him once more when a face in the crowd nearly caused her to stumble.
She recovered with ease, but only thanks to Adrian lending support. Her gaze snapped to his, all sentimentality drained from her mind. “Harlowe is here.”
It was almost as though she hadn’t spoken. Only the slightest twitch at the edge of Adrian’s lips informed her he’d not only heard but acknowledged her comment. And then he asked, “How do you wish to proceed?”
