An Earl by Any Other Name(25)

"Are you coming on the shoot tomorrow?" he asked.

She gave a little nod, a blush creeping along her nose and the curve of her fine, feylike cheekbones.

"Good." He maneuvered easily, their bodies drifting in the wondrous flow of the waltz's steps. For an instant he was flying, and Ivy was with him. No burdens, no responsibilities, just dancing with a lovely young woman who was everything he wanted and couldn't have.

"I suppose I ought not to admit this." Her admission was breathless. "But I rather like the way you dance. Mr. Hadley was … well, I did not like how much his hands tried to wander." She laughed softly. It wasn't the first time a gentleman had tried to see how far he could go without getting caught.

Leo's eyes narrowed as they continued to spin effortlessly. "Be careful around him. I love him like a brother but if he thinks he has a chance with you, he'll pursue you until you're too tired to run."

"Like a fox run down by hounds?" Ivy asked, shuddering at the image.

"Er … yes, something like that." Leo wished Owen wasn't so damned desperate. He might do something foolish, and the last thing Leo wanted was for that foolishness to be directed at the woman he intended to seduce. 

He was still grinning like a fool three hours later when he eased himself into a brocaded chair facing the fireplace in the picture gallery. The momentary happiness of thinking of Ivy slipped away when he realized he'd much rather have her in his arms. Memories made for colder bedfellows. The other guests had all retired for the evening, but Leo was unable to sleep. A restlessness had stirred to life in him, like the spirit of a dragon slowly uncoiling from its cramped confines. He embraced the accompanying sense of melancholy at being alone.

Moonlight burst through the tall windowpanes, which stretched down the gallery behind him. Opposite the windows was a wall of faces. The illustrious Hampton line-three centuries of history. Even his father, a man genuinely disliked by most who met him, held a place at the end of the hall.

Someday Leo would be immortalized on a canvas and encased in a gilded frame. His children would run through the gallery, toys in hand, as they chased each other and played, the oak-paneled floors echoing with their light steps. He raised his brandy glass to his lips and sipped, imagining his children. They were dark-haired and honey-eyed like their mother. A rueful smile twisted his lips as he realized he'd been picturing Ivy and not Mildred. They would be beautiful children if they were Ivy's. But would they face ridicule and closed doors for their exotic looks?

A door clicked open and a figure appeared at the end of the gallery. The figure clothed in the blue and yellow chiffon gown moved out of the shadows, moonlight revealing it to be Ivy, the very woman he'd been thinking of. She didn't see him as she swept in. The jeweled headband glinted and winked, like stardust kissing her hair as she walked in his direction. She rubbed her bared arms to warm herself. The whisper of the train of her dress on the wood heightened his senses. Leo wanted to kiss her again, needed to kiss her again. I'm not my father. Just one more kiss wouldn't damn me, would it?

When she was close enough for him to speak softly and be heard, he stood.

"Miss Leighton-" he began.

She jumped, one hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. He rushed over, settling his brandy on a side table before he caught her by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to startle you."

"What did you expect when you emerged from the dark like that?" she gasped, eyes wide. "I thought I was alone. You should have announced your presence."

"You're right." He attempted to look chagrined, but he was too pleased to be with her.

She giggled, the sound light and sweet. "I think you did that on purpose," she accused. A ghost of a twinkle warmed her eyes and a bolt of heat shot straight through his body, searing his insides with desire.

"I'll admit to not speaking out at first because I was caught up in admiring you, but I really did not mean to startle you." It was the truth; her vision of loveliness had struck him speechless.

She wrinkled her nose and then smiled. "Very well. I will take you at your word. What are you doing here so late?"

He arched a brow. "I could ask you the same question."

Her lips parted, but whatever she'd been about to say, she swallowed and shrugged.

"I was too restless to dress for bed. During dinner, your mother mentioned the gallery, and I decided to come and see it myself."

"In other words, you were hoping a visit to my ancestors would put you to sleep." It was so easy to tease her.

She scoffed in mock outrage. "I never said that!" She titled her chin and shot him a saucy look that punched him in the stomach. There was something there, at the edges of his memory, so faint, like the first breath upon waking. What was it about Ivy that ensnared him? Colors seemed deeper, sounds clearer, his heart beat like a wild rabbit's, and he lived from moment to moment just to be close to her. A primal urge to catch her, keep her close, filled his being. He knew she was the answer, but he didn't know what the question was. He sought memories he couldn't place, so distant and long ago, they were just out of reach, like he was chasing phantoms of his youth.