Page 58 of The Cornish Mermaid

It was some time before he emerged into the ballroom again.

A promenade around the exterior with his eyes on the dance floor did not reveal Morvoren anywhere. Ysella was dancing with a young army officer, his mother was sitting chattering to his aunt, and his cousin Fitzwilliam was leading a rosy-cheeked young lady over to the refreshments. So where had Morvoren got to?

Automatically he sought out Jasper, who had been noticeably absent from his favorite haunt of the gaming room, but did not find him. A prickle of misgiving slid down his back. Had Flint sequestered Morvoren somewhere private, as so often happened at balls? If so, was it a meeting by mutual consent? He nearly didn’t continue with his search, and would not have, had he not felt that misgiving grow.

He strode onto the dance floor where Ysella and the officer were standing still while another couple danced, and leaned in close to her ear. “Where is Morvoren?”

She peeked up at him. “Outside. I left her resting on the terrace. She’s quite safe. No one else is there.”

He flashed an angry glare at her. “You should know better than to have abandoned her alone outside. How long ago did you do that?”

Ysella had the grace to look guilty. “Barely a quarter of an hour, Kit. She said she would be all right on her own, and Mr. Hartnell had the next dance with me. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’ll deal with you later, young lady,” Kit snapped. “And if you’re not careful this will be the last ball you ever go to.”

Leaving Ysella open-mouthed, he forged his way with long strides across the dance floor and found the open doors onto the terrace. The sun was rising in the east but the tall trees that grew around one end of the terrace had left a pool of deep shadow. For a moment Kit struggled to accustom his eyes to the lack of light.

Then he saw her.

She was standing in a corner beside a table and chairs and she was not alone. A man towered over her and she had her back pressed up against the hard stone of the terrace balustrade. The man had one hand on her shoulder and the other about her waist. The man was Jasper.

Had he come upon an arranged rendezvous between two people intent on love? Upon a young woman determined to make the catch of the year? For a moment, Kit stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as he stared at the tableau before him. And then Morvoren’s hand reached up and slapped Jasper across the face, her voice ringing out across the cool air. “Leave me alone.”

Kit was across the terrace in a trice. He seized Jasper’s shoulder and swung him around before he could think about what he was doing. His right hand balled into a fist as he drew it back and planted it on Jasper’s nose.

Jasper staggered back, releasing his hold on Morvoren, his hand going to where dark blood ran down his upper lip. His handsome, overblown face contorted in a sneer. “I’d call you out for that, you pup, were it not for the sake of my father.”

Was the man a coward? Kit’s blood boiled and he longed for the excuse to take Jasper on in a fight. Swords, not pistols. He was an accomplished swordsman himself and much preferred the cut and thrust of a good blade to the random behavior of a musket ball. But no, Jasper, the craven, no doubt remembering that he had no male heir as yet, was dabbing at his nose with his handkerchief and retreating hurriedly.

Kit turned back to where Morvoren still stood, leaning against the balustrade, her mouth a perfect o of surprise. She closed it as he turned, and a shaky smile lit her face. “I’ve never had a man do that for me before,” she said.

Absurd woman. Kit swallowed. “Any gentleman would have done the same,” he managed, then, to cover his own confusion about the way she was looking at him, “Did he… hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I may have a bruise where he grabbed my shoulder, but I have to say that I was about to knee him hard somewhere that would have hurt him far more than the blow you planted on his nose.” She chuckled. “I’ve met worse predators than him where I come from.”

So maybe her smile hadn’t been so shaky.

Kit felt himself return her smile. “You are a conundrum, Morvoren,” he said before he could stop himself. “I never know how to take you. Here you stand, moments after being almost dishonored, for I’m certain that was what Jasper had in mind out here alone with you, and yet you laugh as though nothing untoward has happened.”

She moved away from the balustrade to the nearby table and chairs, but instead of taking a seat, she put her hands on the table and hoisted herself onto it in a most unladylike way, legs a little apart and slippered feet dangling, the early morning sunshine catching her eyes. “I am a product of my upbringing. And where I come from, ladies know how to look after themselves.” She dimpled. “And we all ride astride.”

“A veritable amazon.”

She nodded, gazing up into his eyes. “You could say that, although we don’t forsake all men as those legendary women did.”

Was she laughing at him? Could she hear his heart thundering? The sound of it filled his ears, so surely, she could. How could she make him feel this way with just a few offhand words? Or were they? He longed to reach out to her, to take her in his arms and kiss those lips and maybe do more than that. But he couldn’t, or he’d be as bad as Jasper, from whom he’d just rescued her. A sudden awareness swept over him of how alone on the terrace they were and of the pressing need to go back inside before someone caught them in a position that might look compromising. That definitely would be compromising.

He swallowed, unwilling to break the spell that had descended with the freshness of the new morning. One short step would bring him close enough to kiss her…

No, they had to go back inside. Breakfast would be served shortly. His mother would notice Morvoren’s absence, and worse, his as well. Ysella needed watching lest she did something silly.

He gazed down into Morvoren’s eyes, so like the color of the sapphire in her necklace, every part of him longing to take her in his arms and fighting with the knowledge that he mustn’t.

Morvoren had no such reservations. She reached out and caught hold of the lapels of his coat. For a moment, he stood staring down at her hands, longing rising through his body in a wave of heat, and his desire pushing at his tight breeches.

Then, with a forceful tug, she pulled him forward that step he’d been so afraid to take. He was up against the table, standing improperly between her legs. His mouth went paper dry and the restriction in his breeches increased.

Her lips, so plump and kissable, parted slightly and the tip of her tongue darted around them. His knees went weak, his breeches became tighter still, and sweat prickled down his back and across his forehead. Why was he reacting like a green boy? Yes, he’d felt lust before, many times, and this was definitely lust, but it was also something else. A yearning for her to be his in every possible way.