But she had no answer. She looked as if she danced in a dream. She looked incredibly beautiful.
“Laura.” He had not even realized that his arm had tightened about her until he felt the shock of her breasts touching his coat.
Her lips parted and he was lost. He stopped dancing, drew her all the way against him, and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her deeply, opening her mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue deep inside, straining her supple body to his own as if he would take her into himself.
“Laura. My love,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, his lips still touching hers.
It was then he noticed that her arms were about his neck. Her eyes were tightly closed, he saw when he opened his own, and on her face was an expression of agony.
And he knew at the same moment what he would do, what he must do. What he wanted more than anything else in this world to do.
“Come,” he said, pausing to kiss her lips warmly again. “Come with me.” The music was drawing to a close, he could hear.
She opened her eyes and gazed at him with perfect calmness. Her tears had disappeared.
“Yes,” she said, and when he lifted his arm, she set her hand on it. Her eyes, he saw when he looked into her face, were directed at the floor ahead of them.
She knew that in a more rational moment—tomorrow morning—she would not be able to believe the meekness with which she was going with him. Or the meekness with which she would give herself to him when they reached his bedchamber or wherever else he was planning to take her. She was about to lose her virtue without even a token struggle.
Because she wanted it.
Because she wanted him.
Because she loved him.
Because it was one of those moments in time to be lived to the full and because she would never again have this chance and because it would be one of her cherished memories. She knew it would, even if she must also remember with shame and with guilt.
“Yes,” she had said. She would go with him wherever he cared to lead her and she would do with him whatever he wanted. She would receive him into her body and give him herself.
She knew it was sordid. Correction—tomorrow she would know it was sordid. Tonight she knew only that it was beautiful, what was happening between them. Tonight she did not care about tomorrow.
But when they reached the staircase, he turned to go down, not up. She moved at his side, but she looked inquiringly into his face. He was looking steadily back.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Into the ballroom,” he said.
She tried to draw back then. She would follow him into ruin and disgrace but not into the ballroom. But his free hand came across to hold her arm in place along his.
“Where did you think I was taking you?” he asked. His eyes were smiling at her. “To bed, Laura?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And you would have gone there with me?” he said. “Ah, my love.”
The terror of walking into his bedchamber with him would have been nothing to what she was feeling now. She was invisible no longer—because she was at his side, her arm along his. She knew that everyone saw her. Really saw her. There was an almost perceptible pause in the buzz of conversation when he led her into the ballroom and across to the platform on which the orchestra sat.
“Another waltz, if you please,” he instructed the leader, who leaned toward him.
And then he turned to bow to her and take her hand in his and raise it to his lips.
“Will you do me the honor, Laura?” he asked.
She knew then how Cinderella had felt. Except that she had no glass slipper to lose when she left eventually. She would not think of having to leave.
She knew that everyone was watching curiously as the Earl of Dearborne treated his niece’s governess like a princess.
“Yes,” she said.
