Page 30 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

Mr Stewart looked as if he was going to protest, but with one last glance over Jane’s shoulder he nodded.

Jane stepped forward, glad to be out of the heat of the glasshouse, and dreading what a state she must look after panicking for ten minutes in the humid air. She had only taken one step when the door to the ballroom opened again and a group of women flooded out onto the terrace.

‘What do we do?’ Jane felt the evening couldn’t get any worse. Here she was standing in the shadows with a notorious rake, probably looking dishevelled and as if she had been up to no good for the last half an hour. Mr Stewart hesitated, looking her up and down. He must have come to the same conclusion, for he groaned quietly and pulled her back into the glasshouse.

He shut the door gently behind them and then gripped her hand, leading them away from the windows so they would be less likely to be observed.

‘Stay quiet,’ he murmured in her ear, leaning close so his voice was just audible. Jane felt the heat of his body and had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him.

They were standing behind a raised bed, planted with exotic flowers, the petals bigger than anything Jane had ever seen before. It would be a fascinating place to see in the daylight, but right now she wished more than anything to be back in the safety of the ballroom.

‘We’ll be out of here soon,’ Mr Stewart whispered, misjudging the distance between them and brushing his lips against her ear. A shiver of anticipation ran down Jane’s spine and she found herself recklessly reaching out into the darkness. Her hand found his shirt and she felt his muscles tense as he became aware of the contact. She was surprised when he didn’t move away. Instead, he shifted his stance just a little so he could rest his hand on the small of her back.

Jane felt all the breath leaving her body. It felt exquisitely intimate, standing here in the darkness with Mr Stewart, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her back, separated only by the thin fabric of her dress. She wanted more than anything in that moment to tilt her chin up and seek out his lips with her own.

Trying to banish all thoughts of kissing Mr Stewart, she shifted again, a small gasp escaping her lips as her hip bounced off the raised flower bed and the ricochet pushed her further into the arms of the man behind her. Glancing up, she could only see his silhouette in the darkness, but she had the impression he was feeling the same pull, the same attraction she was.

‘Jane,’ he murmured, one hand pressing into her waist and pulling her tighter to him. She wasn’t sure if it was the darkness, the heat or the heady scent coming from the flowers but she felt as though reality was being swept away and she was floating into a place where anything could happen.

Jane raised herself up on her tiptoes and at the same moment Mr Stewart lowered his head, seeking out her lips in the darkness. The kiss was gentle, so full of promise that Jane yearned for more. His lips were like velvet on hers and as he kissed her she felt her body surrender and melt into his.

They both stiffened as the door to the glasshouse opened and light flooded inside. Quickly, they moved apart as much as they were able, but Jane’s body was still pressed against Mr Stewart’s in the confined space. For a long moment Jane could think of nothing but how right it had seemed, being in his arms, and then the reality of their situation came crashing down upon her.

‘This is my pride and joy,’ the voice of their hostess, Lady Framlingham, rang out clearly. ‘Of course, it is better viewed in the daylight, but I do often walk through here at night, marvelling at the flowers and the exotic plants.’

‘It has the feel of a jungle,’ another woman said as the group entered, closing the door behind them.

‘Over the years we have collected more than four hundred different exotic plants. I would wager we have the most comprehensive collection in England.’

Jane wondered if they might pass by into the second of the interconnecting buildings, allowing Mr Stewart and her to slip out. As much as she secretly yearned to be kissed again, the sensible part of her knew it would be disastrous to be caught by the group of matrons traipsing through the glasshouses. It would mean certain ruin for her and, even though she did not plan to marry, she did not want to be sent home from London in disgrace and shunned evermore by polite society.

The group of women took their time admiring the flowers by lantern light. At one point one of the ladies moved closer to where Jane and Mr Stewart were standing, hidden by the drooping leaves of some exotic plant. Jane felt Mr Stewart’s arm tighten around her and pull her closer, as if instinctively trying to protect her, but thankfully the woman moved away before they could be discovered.

‘We need to get out of here,’ Mr Stewart whispered into her ear as the ladies moved further into the glasshouse.

Jane nodded, looking over at the door. It was no distance away, really. Perhaps twenty long strides and they would be out in the air.

Carefully they picked their way back through the plants, stopping every few seconds to ensure Lady Framlingham and her friends were still occupied elsewhere.

They were almost at the door, almost to freedom, when Jane felt her nose begin to itch. There was a lot of pollen in the glass house, and she must have brushed up against one of the flowers. The urge to sneeze was overwhelming, and despite her best efforts Jane could not hold it in.

She sneezed. The sound was so loud it was as though someone had let off a gunshot in the enclosed space.

Mr Stewart didn’t lose a second. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled, running out of the glass house and along the terrace. Whipping open the door to the ballroom, he stopped only to release her hand and place it lightly on his arm, and then, as if they had been doing nothing more than strolling on the terrace, he escorted her inside.

Jane felt a mess. Her hair was flattened to her head, damp with the moisture from the glasshouse, and she knew her skin would be flushed. If anyone took a closer look at them, it would quickly become apparent something untoward had happened.

‘Ah, it’s our second dance, Miss Ashworth,’ Mr Stewart said, calmly leading her to the dance floor.

‘We’re dancing? Now?’

‘It’s a quadrille,’ Mr Stewart said, the pleasant smile not dropping from his lips. ‘By the end, every dancer will be gently perspiring and we will not look so out of place.’

The had taken their first steps when there was a commotion at the door leading to the terrace from the ballroom. Jane tried her hardest not to look, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye. A murmur of excitement was slowly spreading through the ballroom as Lady Framlingham imparted her news.

‘Don’t look,’ Mr Stewart instructed, ‘But Lady Mountjoy is waiting for us to finish dancing.’

‘Oh no, what have I done?’