The Lady By His Side(62)

Being this close, even without any suggestive, seductive caresses, without any further incitement at all, was playing on them both.

Escalating the hunger their earlier touches had irrevocably awoken.

Like a hunting cat, desire—a very different desire to anything previously between them—prowled through them, and he was sufficiently attuned to her, and sufficiently experienced, to know that those increasingly powerful impulses were only going to get harder to restrain, and they weren’t affecting only him.

And therein lay a very real danger.

She was no meek and mild miss. She was no stranger to instigating action, to leading and not simply waiting to follow.

Maintaining control, as he very well knew, often lay in ensuring others didn’t seize it.

But was the danger she posed so real—so immediate? Or would he still be able to leave dealing with her until after they returned to town, as he’d intended and had assumed he could and would do?

They were circling fluidly, revolving down the room. His attention had drawn in to lock on her, on them.

He couldn’t tell where her attention was, but she didn’t seem aware of the others around them any more than he was.

Hmm. He mentally paused, then lowered his shields and opened his senses to all the impacts he’d been holding at bay. And the lure of her, the physical reality of the sensuous woman she had grown to be, flooded his mind; the whirlpool of temptation swirled to the circling of their feet—and nearly pulled him under.

He slammed shut his mental doors at the very last moment. Then slowly drew breath and steadied his giddy head.

Good Lord! Their burgeoning attraction had grown even more powerful—infinitely more compelling than he’d realized.

As the current measure drew to a whirling close, he accepted that talking to her directly about what lay between them had become imperative—he couldn’t afford to delay and risk her seizing their reins.

Given the reality of what he’d just glimpsed, if she tried to seize control, she might well succeed, and he had no idea what would happen then.

He steered their circling feet toward the open doors. When the music ended, he halted and released her, but changed his grip on the hand he’d held and tipped his head toward the front hall. “We need to talk.”

She opened her eyes wide, but then made the decision—a deliberate concession he was intended to see—and inclined her head. “Very well.” She wriggled her fingers, and when he released them, she wound her arm in his.

He started for the doorway, and without a single glance behind, she walked with him out of the room.

Just before they passed beyond the doorway, he looked back, but everyone else had turned toward the piano, where Worthington was being prevailed upon to play; no one had seen them leave.

“Where to?” She slanted a glance at him. “I assume we need privacy?”

He nodded and mentally scanned the house plan they’d worked from during the day. “The conservatory. Everyone else seems intent on waltzing or listening to the music—we should be safely private there.”

But not too private. Unlike the morning room, someone else might walk into the conservatory at any time; he judged that was one risk she wouldn’t as yet be likely to take.

The conservatory lay at the end of the corridor that led right from the rear of the front hall. They passed the music room, and he opened the door with its glass panes, and Antonia preceded him into the humid warmth.

Shutting the door, he surveyed the room.

Greenery abounded on all sides, mostly ferns with the occasional palm lending height. The plants grew in pots of all shapes and sizes placed on a floor of glazed tiles. The central section of the roof was composed of glass panes, and the end wall and half of the outer wall were completely glazed, no doubt affording vistas of the moonlit grounds, of the manicured lawns rolling away to the lake, with the dark shapes of the trees in the Home Wood looming to one side.

The plants were densely packed and had been arranged to create a weaving path that led across and then down the length of the room. Sebastian hadn’t been in the conservatory before, hadn’t explored its amenities.

Antonia walked to where the path turned. Glancing back at him, she waved down the room. “There’s a clearing of sorts at the end.” Without waiting for any agreement, she started strolling.

He followed. Halfway down the long room, the path straightened, and over Antonia’s head, he saw a circular area ringed by low shrubs before the wall of windows at the end of the room. Two white-painted wrought-iron chairs and a small matching table were set against the green backdrop. The spot seemed designed as a place to share secrets.

Antonia led the way into the circle of ferns, some large-leaved, others with lacy fronds that bobbed in the faint currents created as she and Sebastian passed. Moonlight struck through the panes above, bathing the area in a silvery glow. To their left, a narrower path led through the ferns to a door giving onto the rear terrace, presently deserted.