“She’s stunning,” whispered Aideen.
Yes. And she commanded him too. With heart thumping an uneven pattern, his feet hurried headlong across the ballroom, dodging the seated matrons.
Someone laid fingers upon his arm; he shook them off. A hand clasped his shoulder; he took no notice. Finest French champagne was proffered on a tray; he’d purely one thirst, one thought as she drifted down the steps, a flawless vision in coquelicot.
Jack waited at the foot of the staircase. Patient, yearning, until her gaze dived.
Those cornflower eyes widened and bloomed as they rested upon him, and he could do nothing but gawp, the former rogue rendered speechless.
He ached to ignore the whole damn ballroom and tug her near but then noticed the two men with raised brows behind her: Rainham and Sir Jago sharing a suspicious nod and…a wink.
Had the matchmaker been matchmade?
“Miss Penrose, Sir Jago.” He made the slightest bow – refused to look away for fear she might vanish, a hallucination of his deepest desire.
“Lord Winterbourne,” she purred demurely.
Lingering over her hand, he breathed in almond and honey, rubbed his thumb upon her glove, leaned forw–
“I was admiring,” bloody Rainham interrupted, “Miss Penrose’s exquisite pendant.”
He dared move his gaze and let out an unwitting laugh.
Against her throat, a silver moth hung upon a red ribbon choker, its eyes jet black. He longed to hook his finger beneath, pull her close, kiss those pure lips. “TheFoppiso magnifico, if I’m not mistaken, Miss Penrose.”
“Just so, my lord. Splendid legs.” And her smile pierced his befogged brain and uneven heart.
“Might I request this dance, Miss Penrose…please?” Surely this time she would agree?
“I would be honoured, Lord Winterbourne.”
She laid her arm upon his, eyes glittering like sun-tipped Cornish waves – welcoming, entrancing, luring a man for eternity.
Strains of a waltz filled the air, at Rainham’s behest, Jack suspected, and he put hand to waist, not lightly as propriety decreed but grasping. Their fingers entwined, a white-gloved palm came to his shoulder and the scent of her skin roused his senses.
Too close, but cares for the guests and ballroom around them had ceased. All he needed was held in his arms. He saw only Tamsyn.
The waltz began, gliding, dipping, their movements as one.
A thousand questions danced through his mind and yet he felt too fearful to break the beautiful silence between them. Their legs brushed. Too close still. They turned and light from the chandelier cast her hair in radiant autumn shades.
“Tam, I never should have lef–”
“Yes. Yes, you had to, Jack,” she countered softly as they spun, feet not needing guidance, all of the ballroom theirs. “I thought to give my rogue his freedom, to let my moth fly free. Righteous and noble perhaps.” She lifted her head. “But not honest. Honesty would have dictated that I declare my feelings. That I bare my heart whatever the consequences.”
“Tam–”
“I will no longer hide my affections.” Her chest rose in a deep breath. “I love you, Jack Winterbourne. I love all of you.”
Her declaration stole his breath.
Every word a balm to his soul, and a deep fulfilment that he never could have imagined, settled and soothed throughout.
Tightening his hold, he whirled her, realised he’d been silent, saw her eyes wrinkle, throat swallow.
His words came without forethought. “I never believed myself capable of love, my heart a wintry affair.” They waltzed alone, no dancers, no crowds, no chatter. “But I now know it was merely waiting till it met Tamsyn Penrose.”
“Oh, Jack. Only say this if you mean–”
