Feminine eyes spied on him from the rims of feathered fans, and lady beamed at him. Another shiver crawled up his back. Unless he found a way out of the ballroom, soon he’d receive more invitations than he’d ever in all his life.
“Are we going to stay in England?” she asked. “Or shall I prepare to cross the Channel?”
“Maybe.” He slithered behind the curtains of a window at the end of the room, turned the latch, and breathed in a fresh waft of air. “The garden.” He wasn’t simply fleeing. He hadn’t had the time to see the job the gardeners had done.
The scent of honeysuckles teased his nostrils. When he shut the glass door behind them, the music subsided.
“Better,” he muttered.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Her arm coiled around his more tightly while she watched the lights in the garden.
“I hate to admit it,” he said, climbing down the few marble steps towards the gravel path, “but Benedict did a great job.”
The rose bushes had been trimmed, and even though they’d suffered from his negligence, the emerald leaves shone in the moonlight, and small budding roses braved the chilly air. Even the benches had been scrubbed and repainted, and the moss had disappeared from the statues. His mother would love it.
Amelia rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad Mrs Armstrong isn’t here. She wouldn’t have allowed me to walk alone with you.”
Her small hand curved over his wrist, and a shot of sheer need started a fire in his blood. But it wasn’t just that. There was something else. A fierce desire to protect her, to be at her side. His heart gave a lurch when she gazed up and smiled, and suddenly, he felt like he could move a mountain with one hand.
A lump grew in his throat. “If you want to dance, you don’t have to hide with me.”
“There isn’t any other place I’d rather be.”
The lurch became a full pounding. Energy rushed through him.
The fountain gleamed into view when they rounded a corner. Moonlight played with the sprays of water and turned the drops into glittering pearls. The white marble shone with star-brightness, and a tug stirred in his chest. His parents would love to see their fountain restored to its original beauty. It should’ve been him to take care of the fountain, not Benedict. He deserved the pain that a pang of shame brought to his heart.
“Beautiful.” Amelia released his arm and rushed towards the fountain in a flutter of skirts and golden curls.
Her dress dipped low on her back, exposing her creamy skin, and a new heated flush of desire went through him. Bloody hell, he was becoming all moody and mushy.
Sitting on the edge of the fountain, she removed a glove and touched the water. “I love this fountain.”
He sat next to her and stretched his legs. “My parents were particularly attached to this fountain.”
Her cheeks flushed, and a gleam lit her eyes. “I understand them. It’s a gem, and I love the statue in the middle—”
Christopher cupped her face and kissed her. Her soft lips stilled for a moment before parting for him. The smoothness of her skin sent shivers of pleasure straight to his aching groin. When the tip of her tongue came out and traced the seam of his lips, he couldn’t keep his distance any longer. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer until her breasts were flattened against his chest.
Her arms circled his neck, and she reclined her head as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Little moans escaped her, and each sound was like a caress over his shaft. His erection pressed against the fabric of his trousers. When her thumb stroked his jaw, he leaned against her touch.
He kissed her deeper, a frenzy possessing him. The kiss turned into a clash of teeth and lips. Her hands ran over his chest and tugged at the lapels of his shirt.
Fireflies fluttered around, and from the trees came the cricket’s song. It was as if nothing else existed but the two of them in this magic bubble, away from the crowd and the music.
When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on hers. She was panting, deliciously lifting her chest. The rounded swells of her breasts peeked from the rim of her bodice.
“It was amazing,” she whispered. Her warm breath feathered on his neck.
Christopher couldn’t restrain him. He stroked the top of her breasts gently, and she sucked in a deep breath. The neckline dropped another inch. The pink edge of her chemise spilled out of the bodice. With his other hand, he undid a couple of buttons on her back until the dress loosened. She flushed again, lips parted, and he couldn’t stop himself.
He devoured her pretty mouth while he slipped a hand beneath her bodice. Her back arched when he cupped a soft, soft breast. Its tip hardened eagerly under his touch. A shiver coursed through her when he teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It begged to be taken into his mouth. He wanted to explore every inch of her and taste her between her legs. A painful twitch shocked his shaft, and a hard ball of emotions clogged his throat.
What was about her that he couldn’t behave like a gentleman? She might’ve offered herself to him, but he wasn’t in the habit of dirty-puzzling with a lady in a public place where everyone could see them. He withdrew his hand, but she stopped him.
“Don’t. Please,” she said.
“Anyone can see us.” Gently, he slipped his hand out of her dress and buttoned her bodice.
