“Do you think so?” she said, a tiny smile hitching her mouth at last.
He swept her deftly past a few other couples, feeling as though her smile had given his feet wings. “Yes, I do. But I want to see all of you, underneath the mask too.” He peered at her. “What colour are your eyes?”
“What colour are my…? Oh, for goodness’ sake!” She laughed. “They’re grey, if you must know. Plain, dull grey.”
“There is nothing the least bit plain or dull about you, pretty lady. Least of all your eyes.”
He was holding her far closer than would be acceptable in an ordinary ballroom. Instead of maintaining a proper distance between them, he pressed her against him. The gentle curve of her waist beneath his hand was the most heavenly shape in the world. The soft brush of her bosom and the occasional press of her thighs made him lightheaded. And the scent of her hair—God! He wanted to dance with her forever, and he wanted to be alone with her right now. She was like a tempting little sweet that he didn’t want to devour quite yet.
It was then he noticed the curtains on the far side of the ballroom stirring and realised the doors to an outside terrace must be open. How perfect.
Carefully, he swept her through a series of turns across the ballroom and right through the curtains. They danced out onto the narrow terrace—empty, thank God, of other guests—and came to a sudden halt. She looked up at him, surprised and apparently amused.
“That was neatly done,” she said on a breathy little gust of laughter. “You had me out here before I could protest.”
He grinned at her. “Did you wish to protest? We can go back inside if you’d prefer.” His left hand still enclosed her right, and his right hand rested at the dip of her waist, ready to dance her away. But she shook her head, smiling.
“No, it’s nice and cool out here,” she said. “I could use a breath of air.”
He’d have kept holding her if he could, but she began to move away from him, and he had to let her go. She leaned her forearms on the stone balustrade and looked out into the night.
It was a beautiful night. Slightly warm, with a fat pearl of a moon and a few stars dotting the velvet night like bright silver pins.
“I don’t feel like I’m in London at all,” she said. “It’s as quiet as the country. Perhaps that’s the Garden of Eden down there.”
Gil joined her and looked down at Grayson’s garden. It was too dark to make out much other than the tops of the trees and the shapes of a few shrubs.
“Do you think there might be a serpent about?”
She turned her head and smiled at him. “I think there might be a few, actually.”
He laughed and moved closer, his eyes eating up everything about her, the pleasing daintiness of her, the grave mouth that was even lovelier when it smiled. A lock of mahogany hair that tumbled over one creamy shoulder. He stepped forward and lifted the errant strand in his fingers. She shivered as his knuckles brushed her bare skin.
He wanted to see her without the mask so much he ached.
He lifted his hands and undid the ribbons of his own mask, tossing it aside and letting her see him first. She tilted her head to one side, eyes glittering through the feathers as she considered him. Although he felt faintly embarrassed by her perusal, he was warmed too by her attention. He did not consider himself to be particularly handsome, but he had learned over the years that women found him attractive; that for some strange reason, they liked his big body and his rough-hewn features.
“You look like a pirate,” she said, very serious.
What on earth did that mean? Did she like the look of him or not?
Then she smiled. A slow, shy smile that transformed that grave beauty into something quite dazzling. “Wickedly handsome,” she added softly.
That’s more like it, he thought, grinning.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly,” he said, making her his best bow. “Gilbert Truman, the seventh Earl of Stanhope, at your service. But seeing as this is a very improper sort of affair, you may as well call me Gil.”
“Pleased to meet you, my lord,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “Gil, I mean.”
“Your turn,” he said, gesturing at her mask.
She paused for a long moment.
He saw her swallow. Noted with curiosity that her hands were fisted in her lap. So nervous! This was not his usual sort of flirtation at all. He felt an odd pang of conscience. Perhaps he should take her back to the ballroom, masked and uncompromised?
But no. Not now. She was lifting her hands to the ribbons of her mask, and he was so desperate to see her face that he abandoned any thought of gallantry then and there. Even though he saw that her fingers trembled as she loosened the knot at the back of her head.