Page 69 of Appointment in Bath

A smile pulled at Meg’s mouth. This time it was genuine. “You can’t only dance with me.”

He smiled back at her. “I easily could. I’ll wager you’re a splendid dancer.”

“I’m untested outside of the schoolroom.”

“You’ve never been to a ball? Or an assembly?”

She placed her cup and saucer back onto the tea tray. “I’m not formally out.”

“That shouldn’t matter in the country.”

“Everything matters when it’s a lady’s reputation in the balance. My father is quite strict. He doesn’t desire that I make a f-fool of him in public.”

Ivo’s smile vanished at the suggestion. “You could never.”

“I would,” she said. “Merely by having freckles and red hair. And by stammering. I’m no conversationalist, Ivo.”

He gestured to the space between them. “What is this if not a conversation?”

“It’s not the same. You’re…”

“Odd. As we’ve established.”

She huffed a laugh. “I was going to say that you’re my friend.”

“That too.” He gazed at her warmly. “By God, it’s good to see you. If you only knew how I’ve longed to see your face. How many times I’ve tried and failed to ride to that blasted river in order to meet you there.” His smile softened. “I’ve missed you, Meg.”

Meg’s heart swelled in spite of herself. “Oh, Ivo…I’ve missed you, too,” she confessed. “I wish…”

He gently took her hand. His own hand was large, and strong, and faintly callused. The hand of a gentleman who could be as powerful as he was tender.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe.

“What do you wish?” he prompted, a husky quality in his voice.

She curled her fingers around his. “I wish we could see each other in a m-more public way. I don’t like to feel as though I’m a secret.”

He leaned closer to her. “Then come to Beasley tomorrow night.”

“How?” she wondered.

“How indeed?” The pad of his thumb moved over the back of her hand in a slow caress. “The dancing should commence between half past eight and nine. I can send a gig for you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You can’t. If my father or the servants were to see—”

“So what if they do?”

“My father would be furious. And you can’t make an enemy of him. Not at the very moment you need his help the most. I won’t let you do it.”

His gray eyes gazed into hers with a soul-stirring warmth. “What a dear soul you are. To think of me instead of your own pleasure.” Lifting her hand, he bestowed a kiss on the curve of her knuckles. “But you have to come, Meg.”

The touch of his lips inspired a reckless impulse within her. It was foolish to even consider it, and yet…

She didn’t see why she shouldn’t.

Beasley Park and Letchford Hall were neighboring estates, after all. What did it matter if it was dark? Or if it was snowing? She wasn’t made of spun sugar. She was a country girl born and bred.

“I will come,” she promised. “Leave it to me.”