Page 77 of The Bridal Quest

"Lady Swithington?" Irene asked, a little surprised. The woman, until recently married to her second elderly lord, was no longer a mainstay of London society. She had been living with Lord Swithington on his Welsh properties for some years, until his recent death, only rarely returning to London for a Season.

"Yes. Lady Daphne." Francesca looked at her for another moment, then turned back to Irene, offering her a tight smile. "I would have thought that, so soon after Lord Swithington's death, she would not ..." Francesca stopped and offered up a brittle smile. "But of course, I should have known Daphne's mourning would pass swiftly. And she has always been connected to the Lilles. I believe Lady Odelia dotes on her."

"I cannot imagine Lady Odelia doting on anyone," Irene retorted honestly, but she did not pursue the matter. She watched as Francesca glanced around the room, stopping when her gaze fell on the Duke of Rochford, who stood chatting with his sister Callie.

"Well, it is of no matter anyway," Francesca went on brightly. "If you will excuse me, I must check in with all our girls."

"Of course." Irene's curiosity was aroused, but she was too polite to press Francesca on the matter.

The older woman started to walk away, then turned to give Irene a shrewd look. "He may profess no interest in love, my dear, but I think it is safe to say that Lord Radbourne has a decided interest in you."

With a nod, she was gone.

Irene was not alone long. Soon Piers strolled up to ask her for a dance, then stayed to chat with her and survey the scene. And long before the night was over, she had danced with almost every man in the room, including the somewhat intimidating Duke of Rochford. Only one man did not talk to her or ask her onto the floor—the one man she wanted to do so.

Gideon watched her. She knew that, for she had glanced up a time or two and found his eyes on her. They had swirled around the ballroom to the lilting strains of a waltz, each with another partner, but she had been aware the whole time of where he was, and she knew that he was just as aware of her. Yet still, he did not ask her to dance.

It grew close to midnight, when the music would stop and everyone would go down to the lavish supper laid out in the assembly room. Irene was beginning to despair that Gideon would ever appear when suddenly she looked up and saw him walking straight toward her. He did not look to either side or pause to talk to anyone, but kept his eyes on her, his intent clear.

Her hand clenched around her fan, and her stomach began to jangle with nerves. Her eyes met his and held. She felt as if her heart might jump right out of her chest.

"Irene." He stopped in front of her.

She nodded to him, striving for at least a modicum of cool aplomb. "My lord."

Gideon sent a single hard look at Mr. Surton, who had been standing talking to Irene, and the man was quick to take the hint. "Excuse me. I, ah, I must go speak to ..."

His voice trailed off as he executed a bow in her direction and left.

"I believe this is my dance," Gideon said to her.

"Indeed?" She arched an eyebrow, nettled by his tone. "I do not remember your asking me."

"I am asking you now."

She was somewhat inclined to argue, but then she looked into his eyes and the words died in her throat. Desire stirred and coiled deep within her belly, awakened by the heat in his gaze. She simply nodded and took his arm.

They strolled out to the dance floor. His arm was like iron beneath her palm, and Irene knew that her hand was trembling just a bit. She wondered if he could feel it, and if he understood the jittering tumble of emotions that was dancing through her.

She turned to face him, and he took his hand in hers, his other hand going to her waist. They stood poised for a long moment, as the first haunting strains of the violins began, and then the whole orchestra came in with the surging, unmistakable rhythm of the waltz, and they began to dance.

Gideon did not speak, nor did Irene try to find anything to say. There was too much pleasure, too much emotion, in this moment. It was enough to feel his arm around her, his hand upon hers. It was enough to look up into his face and see the hunger that was written there.

She needed no words to know what he felt; the same needs roiled in her. And when, as the song ended, he whisked her out onto the terrace, she went easily.

There were other couples there, enjoying the cool evening air, and Irene nodded and smiled to them, wafting her fan as the other ladies did, in the pretext of cooling her face. They drifted farther down the terrace, until finally, with a glance back at the others, Gideon slipped around the corner of the house, pulling her with him.

His hands clasped her arms, turning her to face him, and he gazed down into her face. "God, but you are beautiful. You bewitched me tonight."

"I did?" Irene could not suppress a slow, satisfied smile. "I would not have known it. You did not speak to me all evening."

"I tried my best not to," he retorted. "I have tried my best all week. Blast it, Irene!" Temper flared in his eyes. "I thought—I hoped that you would care, that you would notice, at least, if I stayed away from you. I danced attendance on those ninnies, praying all the while that you would see, you would realize. But clearly jealousy does not exist in you, at least not for me. I told myself that if you so disliked the idea of wedding me, then I must find another." He glared at her in frustration. "But I could not! I know I will not ever!"

Gideon pulled her to him, and his mouth came down to cover hers. His lips were hot and eager, his kiss searing, and the hunger in it shook Irene down to her toes. She let out a soft noise, and her hands went to his waist, sliding beneath his jacket. He jerked a little in surprise, and she started to remove her hands, but he clasped them in his own, holding them to him.

"No," he murmured. "Don't leave. You have no idea how much I have longed to feel your hands upon me." He nuzzled his face into her hair, moving to lay a soft kiss upon her ear, then turning his attention to her neck. "You've no idea how hard it is to stand there listening to one of them giggle and chatter, and all the time, all I can think of is the line of your throat when you lift her head and laugh, or the soft curve of your breast, or the way the material of your dress drapes around your legs."

She shivered, as much from his heated words as from the silken touch of his lips. "Gideon ..."