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He watched her hips sway provocatively. Having breakfast alone would be frustrating.
His rich velvet chuckle followed her until she closed the door to her chambers and leaned on it, breathing hard. The man was infuriating! Tolerating him for a long time would be a sour challenge!
She’d ring for breakfast in her room and then she’d get busy with the preparations for the dinner.
The glittery world didn’t appeal to her so much, she realised as she stood beside John, greeting their guests. She organised dinners, garden-parties, tea-parties. She dressed accordingly, played her part and interacted with people without much fuss. She enjoyed socialising, but if she had to live out in the country, it wouldn’t hurt either. She felt glad that she could be this versatile.
She greeted Lady and Lord Stanford, a couple in their forties, with adolescent children, when Philip, or should she think of him as Major Rockfield, approached. He looked gorgeous today, tall broad and with his sleek hair falling to his forehead. His piercing clove-coloured eyes met hers and heat climbed up her spine. Never leaving her eyes, he bent over her gloved hand. His thumb glided over the soft silk warm ever so subtly, it could not be called improper. Her reaction to it was appallingly improper, though! Caught unawares, she flushed and lowered her gaze. How she wished she felt in
different to him!
He greeted his uncle and disappeared in a matter of seconds.
He hadn’t gone far though. He posted himself in a corner of the room and watched her with veiled interest. He shouldn’t be tempted. He shouldn’t go astray. The contact with her skin had been too much for him. She smelled of orange flowers, sweet and irresistible. His damned thumb went on its own accord. When he saw, he’d done it, revelling in her silky skin. This fuss about not letting his uncle alone? Nonsense! He resisted being away from her, albeit he must. He’d never betray his uncle, the man who took him in when he lost his parents. The man who was almost a father to him, who guided him through his adulthood with honour and patience. No. He had to go, before he lost his mind. If he kept away, he’d surely find other interests and forget all about this woman that set fire to his blood as if it was made of dry hay. Too much, too soon!
Tonight she wore a peach coloured silk high-waist dress that brought out the satiny cream of her skin and her generous tempting bosom. Her glossy brown hair up in curls revealed her high appetising neck. She was wholly made for the night.
Smiling at everyone, she charmed every single guest, especially the men. A smile that wouldn’t be for him alone, never. All the men seemed to melt under her attention! He had this inescapable impulse of strangling any male in the room, with a possessiveness he didn’t know he could feel. She brought out everything that was primitive and instinctive in him! How did she do that?
Drinks rounded to guests. Lady Emily, daughter of The Earl of Pendleton, approached with her mother. Now, matchmaking mothers and starry-eyed chits didn’t figure in his priorities at that precise moment. He couldn’t seem to be able to put his emotions in check.
“Major Rockfield! There you are!” Lady Pendleton purred, salivating more than her daughter. “Have you met my young girl?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll correct this flaw.” He answered acidly. Despite being called Major, he chose to dress as a civilian this evening, as uniforms seemed to have a specific effect on women. Best avoided.
Apparently not understanding his meaning, she went on. “Emily, this is Major Rockfield.” The girl curtsied shyly and blushed when he bowed too politely.
“Enchanted, lady.” His dry stance caused her to blush deeper.
“Welcome back to England, Major.” The girl said properly.
He nodded. “Now, if you excuse me,” he cut the chat short. “Lord Stanford is calling me.” He bowed and left before he could be accused of uncivilized. Which was how he felt.
Obviously women would pour over him, Selene thought disgruntled. Handsome as the devil and rich as Croesus, all the mamas of the ton would like to make her daughter the future duchess. Well, it would be preferable if he got married and got scarce in the process. About time he performed the usual family traditions. She tried to convince herself of this, but didn’t reach far. Seeing him with other women didn’t feel comfortable at all.
The butler announced dinner. Etiquette dictated that the lady of the house paired with the guest of honour. Also, the former would sit at the right of the lord of the house, which meant on the extreme opposite of her, to her relief.
In no time, Philip posted himself at her side and she had no other option than place her hand on his sleeve. Any tiny physical contact with him felt impossibly unbearable. It unleashed the most alien reactions in her. This time was no different. She sensed his unique scent, the heat of his body, the ripple of his muscle under the sleeve. Insufficient and overwhelming all at the same time. This constant tension tore her apart little by desperate little. Even pacing slowly seemed a heavy burden with him so close.
“Your dinner seems to be already a success, Lady Crompton.” His rich velvet voice came seasoned with sarcasm when he pronounced her name. Even so, his voice had the expected effect on her nerves.
“Thank you, Major Rockfield!” She responded in kind.
He chuckled with casual dismissal. “A sharp tongue is always preceded by a sharp mind. Am I right?”
“What do you know about me, Major?” She lifted her head to glimpse his eyes, which were fixed attentively on her. “All you see is the smoke of your own prejudices.”
“Do I now?” His brows arched sardonically. “Perhaps I see through the smoke.”
She had no time to refute this, as they’d reached the sumptuously prepared dining room. He led her to her place, bowed and went to sit on his designated chair.
Philip begun to doubt his own sanity. Sparring with her proved to bring so much pleasure that he couldn’t resist baiting her. Each time, he became surprised at how intelligent and balanced she revealed herself to be.
As soon as they sat, the footmen served and conversations became lively. He saw Selene, his moon-goddess, perform the role of Lady of the house to a fault. His piercing clove-coloured eyes were never far from her, as he saw himself as unable to look much elsewhere. Even when he didn’t look at her, his attention fell on her solely. Alright, so she couldn’t be called his. Thinking of her with such possessiveness would become bad habit. She was a witch that was getting under his skin too fast for comfort.
She smiled at all guests, specially the male ones and flirted shamelessly. An acid, burning sensation arose in his stomach at the…generosity she dispensed to them. He tried to divert from the opposite side of the long table and pay some heed to the lady at his side. A difficult task under the circumstances.
Stafford and Pendleton started to demand too much of her attention, since wine flowed freely. Her lips and cheeks hurt with the forced smiles and her neck got stiff with so many nods. If they drank some more, they’d go out of control and she’d need to take preventive actions. She hoped it didn’t come to that.
