She hesitated with quiet consideration as they glided over the polished floor. “I sacrificed the opportunity for a life of my own, for a family of my own. For a chance to truly get to know you.”
Philip’s muscles relaxed. She had not been in love with Lord Brightstone. It sounded as though they were hardly acquainted. Without thinking, his fingers skimmed over the tantalizing place between her shoulder blades, a caress that whispered over petal-soft skin.
Cecelia drew in a soft breath, her mouth parted in such a way that he wanted to taste her, to find out if she was as sweet as he suspected. The waltz wound to a close and rendered the set far shorter than it had ever seemed before.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dreamy in that way women looked when they longed for romantic words and a passionate kiss.
“Would you like some fresh air?” Even as he asked, he led her toward the adjoining room where the French glass doors opened to the long terrace.
He wanted to be alone with her, under the cover of night, where watchful gazes lost visibility.
She allowed him to guide her to the exit, but her steps slowed as they neared the doors. “We cannot go out there together.”
He leaned toward her and whispered, “No one knows who you are.”
Little prickles of goosebumps showed on her skin. Still, she worried her lower lip with the edge of her teeth.
“You go first,” he said. “And I will follow.”
That appeared to put her at ease. Finally, she nodded, slipping outside alone and swallowed up by the darkness. Philip allowed several minutes to pass before going outside as well. At present, there were no other couples. Yet. Masquerade balls were notorious for luring amorous lovers into the shadows.
He would very much love to engage Cecelia in one of those lurid trysts.
Except that he needed a wife, not a mistress. And he was not that man anymore. It had been ages since he had done anything that would support his reputation as a rake.
Cecelia stood at the center of the railing on the terrace, in the most visible location. A splash of silver moonlight framed her as though it shone for her and her alone.
He smiled, determined to lure out the flirtation and wit he had seen slivers of throughout the evening. He approached her as she turned to face him. His pulse thrummed faster at her startling beauty, the way the moonlight turned her skin to cream and how the robes she wore parted over her arms to reveal a hint of one smooth shoulder.
“I trust you are somewhat recovered from our dance?” He asked.
She ducked her head. “I had never before considered the waltz to be so intimate.”
“Did you find it agreeable?” He asked.
Her chest swelled as she drew in a deep breath and returned her gaze to his. “Yes.”
“You danced beautifully.” He joined her at the terrace railing and put his hands on the cold stone.
“You are too kind.” She shifted somewhat closer to him, so he could smell the sweet lilac scent surrounding her. “I confess I usually took the lead when dancing with my sister.”
Ah, so she had most likely not danced the waltz with another man before. He had been her first.
That thought made his blood race even hotter. “Thank you for not trying to steal my role in the dance,” he murmured.
“You are far too strong a partner even to try.” She considered him with something of a shrewd expression. “To think you told me you didn’t care for dancing.”
“But Demetrius does, remember?”
“Ah, yes,” she replied. “What else does Demetrius do that Lord Brightstone does not?”
A lot.
From what he gathered of Lord Brightstone from Cecelia and the little bit of talk there was about him, the man was as stodgy as they came. Still, regret hovered like a nagging fly in Philip’s awareness. She would soon know that he was not Lord Brightstone. At the unmasking.
But now was the time to try and win her over, so she would forgive the duplicity.
Philip took her hand and guided her from the center of the terrace in silent answer to her question, pulling her into the shadows. Cecelia gazed up at him, their stares locked.
