Page 24 of A Duke in Autumn

“Your Grace, it is delightful to see you here tonight. And you also Lady Eugenia.” His eyes met hers as he rose from the bow, his fingers tightening on hers for a moment, then those golden eyes slid from her face, down over her body, following the lines of the gown, which fell, clinging in all the right places, just as she had designed it to. The heat in her cheeks redoubled. “Might I say how absolutely beautiful you look this evening, Lady Eugenia?”

She cast her eyes down for a moment, the habit of modesty taking hold. A tiny, barely audible chuckle escaped him, and she snapped her eyes up again. She was, now, utterly certain that he was the one who had arranged the gown that she wore, the gown that was allowing her to live one of her dreams, of wearing something quite daring, which she had designed herself.

“You may, although I may disregard your words as simply the flattery that a man is expected to give any woman, as a courtesy.”

“Ah, but I never indulge in that kind of flattery. I am unchivalrous enough to prefer not to lie in the cause of etiquette. I reserve my compliments for the truly deserving. And, in that gown, you most definitely deserve compliments. I suspect that you will draw the eyes of every man here tonight.”

Eugenia swallowed, and ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. His eyes followed the movement. Annoying man! He was being predictable. On impulse, she spoke the first thought that arrived in her head.

“But surely, Your Grace, that is the effect that a well designed and constructed gown is supposed to have? Is not a modiste’s highest ambition to create a gown which transforms the wearer into the target of unadulterated admiration? If you believe that has been achieved, in this case, then I must make sure to tell Madame Bergeron of her success.”

“It is true that a modiste aims for exactly that, and is to be congratulated on achieving it – but… it is not always the modiste who designs the gown in the first place – does not the designer also deserve congratulations for their skill?”

A shiver ran through her – he might as well have told her, outright, that it was he who had purchased the gown which she wore – for only a person who knew that someone other than the modiste had designed it would think to make such a remark. Yet she could say nothing of it, here, surrounded by others, without revealing the gown’s scandalous provenance. His words forced her to accept his compliment – for what could she say but to agree with the sentiment of his words?

“They do indeed, Your Grace, although it is rare for a gentleman to consider such matters.”

“Perhaps, then, I am not entirely a gentleman?” he paused for a moment, his eyes full of laughter, then went on, “but I believe that we have previously established that, here at these very Assembly Rooms, have we not?”

Her mind went instantly back to that previous Ball, to that moment in the shadowy colonnade when he had suggested that he kiss her. She flicked her fan open and moved it, driving cool air across her heated cheeks.

“We have. And I do believe that you have just amply reinforced the truth of my contention on the matter.”

“That is excellent – I would not wish to be inconsistent, or to disappoint a Lady. Might we continue this delightful conversation whilst we dance? For I hear the orchestra starting up for the next set.”

Part of her wanted nothing more than to dance with him, whilst part of her wanted to run from the room, to escape his clever conversation, and the odd sensations that he caused in her body. But she could not, of course, politely refuse.

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

He led her towards the area cleared for dancing, and turned her into his arms. It was a waltz. At the realisation, heat flooded her yet again. To be held so close to him was intoxicating, and likely to make it even harder for her to concentrate on maintaining polite conversation. Of course, she could not be sure that a conversation pursued with him, at such close quarters, would actually remain polite. She would not be surprised by anything he might say, given his propensity for defying propriety.

They began to move, and she was lost in the sensation, drowning in the scent and the closeness of him. She met his eyes, and somehow, everything else seemed to fall away, as if they were utterly alone. That wry smile twisted his lips, and the spark of mischief lit his eyes.

“Lady Eugenia, in keeping with the fact that we have already established that I am no gentleman, I feel at liberty to inform you that I have the strongest urge to pull you far closer to me than propriety dictates as acceptable. In that gown, your beauty entices so much, that I could very easily forget myself. I am most tempted to be scandalous.”

Eugenia discovered that finding words was difficult – the image created by his words excited her, and the thought of being pressed against him as he suggested left her feeling faint in the most delicious of ways. She forced words to come, forced herself to think of something, anything, other than what it might feel like if he acted on his desires.

“Pray, resist that temptation, Your Grace. I have no wish to become the target of gossip or worse. And, I must warn you, if you did anything which made me the subject of scandal, my Mother would visit her wrath upon you – and that is a thing most definitely to be avoided.”

She had startled a laugh from him. His smile broadened, and he shook his head a little.

“I will take your warning under advisement. If your mother’s wrath bears any resemblance to that of my mother, then it is a warning to be heeded. So, I will refrain from being scandalous mid-dance, where there are far too many eyes to see. But that will not prevent me thinking of what I might desire to do…”

No, and it will not stop me thinking of such things either, now that you have planted the thought in my head.

They flowed on, the music seeming to lift them effortlessly into some other place, where the things Eugenia imagined might possibly be made real, as the sketch on the paper had been transformed into the gown she wore.

“Indeed, what happens in our thoughts may be a very different matter from what we actually do.”

The music moved towards its conclusion, and he allowed the last turn to bring them to the doors into that shadowed space they had visited at the previous Ball. Without stopping, he turned her through the doors, and spun her along the colonnaded space, until they stopped, deep in shadow.

“It may, but I find that my desire to align the two is winning, at this moment.”

She had found herself with her back to a column as they stopped, and now, instead of releasing her from his grasp, as would have been proper, he instead stepped forward the last little bit required to press her body between his, and the column, then bent to bring his lips to hers.

Every part of her body seemed more intensely alive than ever before – it was as if his touch was a lightning bolt, its force rendering her motionless. His lips were soft against hers, yet demanding, and the warmth of his body, heated from dancing, conveyed itself to her, where they pressed together from hip to shoulder. He traced the edge of her lip with his tongue, and she gasped slightly, astounded by the pleasure that such a simple thing could provide. His tongue took advantage of her opened lips, and slipped into her mouth, exploring gently.

Her head spun – the taste of him was as nothing she had ever tasted before, and his hands holding her felt wonderful. She melted against him, her lips moving against his in instinctive response, and a groan escaped him.