Unforgivable(58)
“It’s a speciality of mine. Keep your eyes peeled for a terrace, won’t you?”
A shadow passed over her face at his reference to Grayson’s ball, but there was a gleam in her eyes too, and he couldn’t regret mentioning it. For all the lies between them, that night was still a precious memory, if a bittersweet one now.
He turned her again—a mistake. “Oh no, look, Gil!” she cried “There’s that red-haired chap! How mortifying! You should take me back.”
“Absolutely not,” Gil replied, unrepentant. “If I take you back, I shan’t get another chance to dance with you tonight. And he was late, Rose. It really doesn’t do to keep a lady waiting.”
It was only when the words were out that he realised how very foolish they were. He half expected her to say something—You should know, or maybe, At least he didn’t keep me waiting for five years—but she said nothing. And after an awkward pause, the uncomfortable moment passed.
“Dancing’s easier with you,” she observed after another circuit of the floor.
“Is it?” He felt absurdly pleased by that, and celebrated by sweeping her round in a flashy turn that made her laugh again. He thought—again—how lovely she was when she laughed and wished it could be like this always between them. “Perhaps,” he mused, “it’s because your body knows me.”
“My body knows you?” she repeated dubiously.
His mouth quirked. “Our bodies have more than a passing acquaintance by now.” He leaned closer and murmured in her ear, “All those nighttime encounters they’ve been having.”
She shivered at his breath in her ear, and when he lifted his head, she was blushing fetchingly. He felt himself grow hard at her reaction and drew her body closer, indecently so, to hide his predicament.
“Let me show you what I mean,” he said. “For example, when I do this”—he pressed his hand against hers to indicate the direction of their next turn and swept her round—“you know exactly what to do, don’t you?”
She peeped up at him from under her lashes. “Yes, I see what you mean.” Her eyes brimmed with laughter as she added, “And I rather think your body has decided it’s bedtime again.”
He grinned. “Are you referring to the unexpected guest that I’ve been pressing against your skirts, my lady?”
She gave a little snort of a laugh—it was a most unladylike laugh and one that he recognised as uniquely hers. He remembered James deriding it all those years ago, but the familiar, irrepressible sound of it delighted him.
“I’d have thought you’d grown another leg, my lord, if my body didn’t know yours so well.”
He laughed again, a shocked, happy laugh that made the dancers around them turn and stare, some with curiosity, others with disapproval. Gil didn’t care. He couldn’t give a damn what anyone thought right now when she was looking at him with that carefree expression.
“I want to kiss you very badly,” he confided in her ear. “Right here, in the middle of the ballroom.”
“Now that you mustn’t do,” Rose whispered back, eyes sparkling. “By all means, rub against my skirts for relief, my lord, but a public kiss would be truly scandalous.”
They kept up the same silly nonsense all the way round the ballroom, right up to the end of the dance, and when he led Rose from the floor, Gil felt more lighthearted than he’d felt in months.
“Who is your next partner?” he asked, casting an eye around the assembled guests.
“Actually, I do not have a partner for the next dance.”
He felt like cheering at that but limited himself to a small smile as he lowered his head and spoke in her ear. “Shall we take a walk round the gardens, then?”
She grinned up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but before a word emerged, another voice interjected.
“Good God! Is this Lady Stanhope I see before me?”
They turned simultaneously to face the owner of the voice.
“Nev!” Rose cried and stepped forward.
It was Sir Neville Grayson. The thin, handsome face that usually wore an expression of utter weariness wore an expression of fond indulgence now.
“Darling!” he said. He took the two hands that Rose held out to him and kissed them before turning his gaze to Gil.
“Good evening, Stanhope,” he said with cool politeness. “I see you’ve brought your wife to town. Not before time, old man.”
Gil bristled. Grayson must have known about Rose’s disguise at his masque that night. “I fail to see what business that is of yours, Grayson,” Gil replied rudely. He laid a proprietary hand at Rose’s waist.