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He smiled. Oh! The man was handsome. “Yet you are dancing with me. I thank you then, for placing your honor so close to me.”
He spun her around in a graceful twirl, tugging her almost too close.
“Tell me, Your Grace, have you found your lover?”
His words tore gaping holes in the thin facade of her composure. He had overheard most, if not all, of the conversation with her brother in the gardens. She struggled for equanimity. “That is not your concern, Mr. Tremayne.”
He swung her in a wide, swooping circle. “I find that I have a desire to make a conquest of your lips. I was trying to ascertain your reception to such an advance from a man like myself.”
She could only stare at him as a myriad of emotions coursed through her bosom. “Any such advances would be most assuredly rebuffed,” she said faintly, shocked by the blast of need his words elicited. She quite liked the idea of Mr. Tremayne wanting to kiss her, but her thoughts reeled under the impact of such an acknowledgment.
His eyes gleamed with provoking amusement, but he made no reply.
A curious regret filled her heart when the waltz ended and he escorted her to the side of the ballroom and without further ado disappeared. It wasn’t too long before other gentlemen approached her, claiming dance after dance. Having danced with Rhys Tremayne, she had to socialize and accept their invitations. She swore she could feel the eyes of Mr. Tremayne upon her, but could see him nowhere.
I have a desire to make a conquest of your lips.
His words would now remain interred in the back of her mind.
“I would never grant a man such as Mr. Tremayne intimacy,” she said softly, yet her vow sounded hollow and without substance.
A few minutes after the clock struck midnight, she bid her mother, Daphne, and Lady Mansfield good night.
“My dear, the ball has barely started. Surely you are not already departing?” her mother scolded.
“I fear I must. I am exhausted.” In truth, she was frightfully bored, frustrated by the constant beat of emptiness in her heart, and alarmed by her attraction to Mr. Tremayne. Turning her regard to Daphne, she said, “I miss Nicolas desperately, and I depart for Kent tomorrow. I need my rest before the journey.”
“Of course,” Daphne replied. “I do hope I’ll see you in town for Lady Beauchamp’s soiree next week. It promises to be a marvelous experience.”
After promising to return to town for the soiree, Georgiana hastily departed the ballroom. The hallway leading to the cloakroom was blessedly empty. She would have her carriage summoned and once she reached home, perhaps spend a few hours reading before retiring to bed.
“We did not get an opportunity to fully converse,” a voice drawled, tugging her gaze to the shadowed area of the foyer.
“Mr. Tremayne, I presume?” Though she was quite aware it was he, it would not do to admit she had so easily recognized his voice.
His chuckle was low and amused. “You presume correctly, Your Grace.”
It hovered on her tongue to grant him the privilege of calling her Georgiana. However, that might prove an intimacy she was not ready for. That would be an invitation of sorts to move their unorthodox relationship into the realms of her fevered and scandalous thoughts about this man.
He pushed away from the wall, a languid, graceful move. “Would you take a brandy with me in the library?”
Outrageous. The refusal poised on her tongue. Suddenly a spirit of rebellion sparked inside her. Georgiana wanted to break free of all social restraints, and the ones she had placed on her own rule of conduct…just for a few minutes. Perhaps it would banish the melancholia she could feel piercing her heart. “I believe I will.”
She felt his start of surprise. Clearly, he had not expected her agreement. “It seems I surprise you, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Pleasantly so, I assure you, duchess.” He stepped from the shadows and waved his hand for her to precede him. The hallway was thankfully empty, and she swept past him. Shameless behavior, of course, but she was not a debutante who needed protection from what happened behind closed library doors or in dark corners of gardens. It was as if she precariously walked the fine edge of something darkly delicious. She knew nothing good could come of a closer acquaintance with him, but for the moment she banished the thought.
She felt too vibrantly alive.
They entered the library, her heart doing strange things inside her chest when he closed the door with a soft snick. There was a fire burning low in the grate, and the library was cast in more shadow than light. After pouring what appeared to be brandy in two glasses, he prowled over and offered one to her.
“Thank you.”
There really ought to be more space between them. The fall of the skirts of her gown brushed against his leg. They stood like that, sipping their drinks, and she almost giggled at how odd it all seemed. Finally, his lips curved into a smile as if he picked up on her amusement and how ridiculous it was that they were standing in the center of the room, standing so inappropriately close, sipping brandies, and simply staring at each other.
“You have an inviting mouth.”
Incredibly, a smile tugged at her lips before she could stifle it. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that particular compliment before.”
His gaze dropped to her lips for an infinite number of seconds. With a grimace, he stepped back and downed the content of his glass in one swallow. “I’m beginning to think this impulsive tête-à-tête was foolhardy.”
“And why is that, Mr. Tremayne?” she asked, absurdly pleased with her nonchalance.
“Because I want to taste you quite desperately, and I am not the desperate sort.”
Arousal shivered through her with surprising intensity. A kiss. So simple but so frightfully complicated because he was the wrong man. It’s just a kiss, Georgiana. The notion was mad. It was fanciful, and unbearably tempting.
“I see,” she said softly, unsure if he attempted to kiss her whether she would stop him. Georgiana waited, feeling a bit silly when he did nothing. There was a cool smile to his lips, almost mocking in its effect, and she narrowed her eyes. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking.
“I believe it is time for me to be alone, Mr. Tremayne,” she said and strolled to the windows and pulled the drapes open wider. The sky glowed with stars, and she glided a fingertip across the cool glass pane. How she wished to be outside, lying on the freshly mown grass, staring into the beautiful abyss. Or…how she wished he had been improper and kissed her. Or perhaps she should have offered her lips to him.
It took a few seconds for her to realize she’d not heard the close of the library door signaling his departure. Before she could turn, she sensed that he’d moved nearer. A peculiar longing seized Georgiana, and she stilled. Then she felt him, at once a comforting heat but an intimidating presence. If she were to lean back only an inch, surely her back would be flush along his chest.
He did not speak, and she accepted the silence that wrapped itself around them.
“I’m going to touch you.” It was a statement of intent, yet he seemingly waited for her permission.
Temptation was tugging at her with relentless force. Several beats had passed before the word was dragged from her throat. “Yes.”
She slammed her eyes shut, as he slowly skimmed one of his hands along her hip, around to her stomach, where he allowed the flat of his palm to rest comfortably on her lower stomach, right above the aching surge of need that burned through her body.
I’m not cold… Her every expectation was shattered by the simple touch, and her breathing fractured. Georgiana felt an odd sense of shock. Her breasts were swollen, the tips sensitive. There was a strange ache between her thighs.
It had been so long since she had felt physical pleasure.
The noises of the ball did not penetrate as more than a dull buzz from outside, rendering the library a cocoon. They did not speak, and she continued staring into the matchless beauty of t
he night sky. Yet it was impossible to remove her thoughts from his far-too-intimate touch, one she was afraid of, but hungered for.
Something was happening, what she did not know, but every instinct in her screamed of its danger. Helplessly, as if she was commanded by an unseen force, she leaned back ever so slightly and was rewarded by sheer muscular hardness and a soft groan of pleasure.
