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Giles was confusing and infuriating, but, having found him again, now she missed him. She wanted to talk to him as she had once done every day. Not about anything of huge significance, just to exchange ideas and jokes and confidences.
Everything seemed extraordinarily flat. She had failed Giles with her lack of trust and she had let her judgement be clouded by jealousy.
What if he had been killed in the Peninsula? Stop it. He could have stayed at home and equally easily have been killed in a riding accident or crossing the road...
And then a small group near the entrance moved aside, laughing. The sound caught her attention and she looked across and there, framed between two gorgeously liveried footmen, was Giles. She should not be happy to see him, but she was. Laurel told herself that it would give her the opportunity to put him firmly in his place if he took any more liberties after that kiss in the labyrinth, for one thing, which might also serve to calm her own rather overheated imagination. And there was the undoubted satisfaction of having both a smart hair style and a gorgeous gown of silver net over a pale aquamarine underskirt and no longer looking like a country cousin. That was all it was, perfectly justified feminine pride.
She watched Giles talking to a group near the entrance. The men were laughing, the ladies smiling and flirting their fans, quite at ease. She had no experience in dealing with men, not handsome men who seemed to find her attractive. Giles should be feeling as wary of her as she was of him with their truce and understanding so new between them, yet he had kissed her, paid attention to her, in a way that confused and excited her even as she told herself that she should not want his admiration or his kisses. And perhaps he would not want to offer either if he knew just how she had felt, that long-ago summer’s afternoon.
But I still want him. The thought was like bubbles of champagne rising through her blood. I do not know this adult man, I do not know if I should risk my heart by getting any closer, but...
Common sense went straight out the door as though a footman was holding it wide for that very purpose. Laurel stepped forward, knowing that it was not at all the done thing for a lady to walk towards a gentleman across a crowded room. She should wait patiently, pretending not to notice his presence until he sought her out, but knowing that perfectly well did nothing to fix her disobedient feet to the spot. They took her diagonally across the floor towards Giles as he walked towards her. They met in the middle, already laughing at each other, and he caught her outstretched hand in his.
‘My dear Lady Laurel—what have you done to your hair?’
With the laughter in his voice all the years apart vanished like smoke. She was still the girl who had wanted him for ever, he was still the young man who had teased her, been kind to her, been her friend. Only now they were adults. Laurel had no idea what Giles felt about her, but she knew that she wanted him in a way that girl had been too young to understand. She could not have him, of course. He might flirt, he might forgive, but he would be seeking a bride from the new crop of girls making their come-out next Season.
But that was in the future and this was now and she was just light-headed enough to disregard the consequences to her own heart when the evening was over. ‘Do you not like my new style, Lord Revesby? It is all the crack.’
‘It is ravishing, my lady. Simply ravishing.’ He came close and lowered his voice to little more than a murmur so that she had to lean towards him to hear. ‘I especially like the way it is cut short at the side of your neck. It exposes so much soft white skin. I want to bite it,’ he whispered, so close now that his breath burned trails of sensation across her skin, as intimate as his fingertips would have been.
Against the fine lawn of her chemise her nipples tightened and fretted, the sensation so insistent that she glanced down, certain that they must be visible through chemise and bodice lining and silk. When she looked up, blushing, Giles was watching her face, and she knew he had let his gaze drop to her bosom as he imagined the effect his words were having. She might not be able to read his mind, but she could read his desires very plainly indeed.
‘Is there a terrace here?’ he asked.
‘I... Yes, there must be, don’t you think? The French doors are open all along that back wall. Why?’ She knew perfectly well why—this was Giles up to mischief, but very grown-up mischief.
‘Because I want to make love to you out there,’ he murmured. ‘Because I want to find a shadowed corner, lit only by the reflected glitter of the lanterns on a pool of water. I want to strip off your gown and take your breasts in the palm of my hand and lick your nipples until you—Good evening, your Grace. I was just saying to Lady Laurel what an exquisite room this is.’
‘Wicked man.’ The Duchess fetched Giles a sharp rap on the knuckles with her fan. ‘You were telling Lady Laurel how her beauty enhances my room. At least, I hope that is what you were saying to account for that blush.’
‘Your Grace is, of course, correct.’
The Duchess raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘Flim-flam, you are humouring me, don’t think I do not know it. Just like your father—and I am sorry to hear that he is laid low. It must be bad if the poor devil is reduced to drinking spa waters.’ She looked Giles up and down. ‘You’ve changed, Revesby. Still, as you were a scrubby boy when I last saw you, that is no surprise. Has your time in the Portuguese Court taught you more than how to do the pretty with duchesses? I seem to have heard rumours that you were a very dangerous young man. Lady Laurel, I caution you to beware.’
‘As Lady Laurel is English, not French, she is in no danger, I assure you, your Grace.’
‘Not from your weapons made of steel, that is true.’ The look that the Duchess gave Giles was unmistakably flirtatious. She gave him another tap with her fan and moved on, chuckling a little.
‘Was she referring to—?’ Laurel searched for an acceptable phrase and failed to find one. ‘Parts of your anatomy?’
‘I believe so. Please rest assured that I am completely disarmed tonight.’
‘Even on the terrace?’ Why was Giles flirting with her when there were so many other younger, prettier women in the room, or when older, very attractive ladies such as the Duchess seemed so very willing to trifle with him?
‘You are in no danger from me, Laurel.’
‘No?’ she murmured, suddenly chilled. She realised that she had been too overwhelmed by finding him again to wonder too deeply about his kisses. He’d had her explanation of what had happened that long-ago day and he had been concerned about his father and, perhaps, disorientated by being back in England after so long. All those things could explain why he had forgiven her so easily for the misunderstanding, had wanted her company, her kisses.
But now he had no anxieties about the Marquess, he was clearly at home and comfortable in society, so why was he apparently so pleased to see her and so passionate in his whispered flirtation? Had Giles come back from Portugal the libertine she had so falsely accused him of being, or was it possible that he had other motives for paying attention to the woman who had sent him into exile in the first place? Revenge, for example. She could hardly blame him.
‘Laurel? Is anything wrong?’
‘No. No, of course not.’ She was being foolish. This was Giles, for goodness’ sake, her old friend restored to her. He could not have changed that much—and she owed him her trust above all else. ‘I am simply not used to all of this.’ She waved a hand around the crowded reception room, with its beautiful, chat
tering, laughing, confident people in their silks and superfine and their jewels. ‘I am a country mouse, used to little local assemblies and domestic entertainments. And I am not used to flirting.’
‘I am going too fast,’ he said, almost to himself.
