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“Oh, how lovely, Your Grace,” Mary said in a light tone.
“Yes, lovely,” Louisa muttered.
“Miss Drake, may I have the next dance?” Collingwood asked after a glance at Harry.
“Of course, my lord,” she replied with far too much enthusiasm for Harry.
Watching Mary slide a glance toward Collingwood, Harry wondered why they kept looking at each other. “Mrs. Gardiner, may I have the next dance?”
Her smile drooped before she said, “Yes, you may.” Her gaze eased back to Collingwood.
Collingwood held out his arm to Louisa. “Shall we?”
Louisa smiled at him. “I do hope I did not bore you yesterday with my conversation on steam locomotives. I find the topic fascinating and truly believe that someday we shall be carried by locomotives and not horse and carriage.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile as he and Mary followed them to the dance floor. Louisa’s intelligence intrigued him in so many ways. It went beyond book learning. She seemed to take what she read and examine the ideas.
“Oh, no, Miss Drake, it was quite...well, interesting,” Collingwood babbled. “Although I highly doubt people will ever ride in such dangerous contraptions. Goods perhaps, but not people.”
The man had no idea of her intelligence. Collingwood would never appreciate the fact that she could speak of more than clothing and gossip. Perhaps Collingwood wasn’t the man for her after all.
Harry glanced down at Mrs. Gardiner. His sole purpose in asking for a dance was to stay close to Collingwood and Louisa. They lined up across from each other, and he noticed again how Mary’s eyes sought out Collingwood. What were they about tonight?
As the music started, he watched them both now quite suspicious of their glances. He danced around Louisa, inhaling the light scent of lilacs surrounding her. They separated and were back to their partners. Perhaps dancing in the line so close to her had been a mistake. Every time she came near, desire flooded him, making him think thoughts, he should not be having for her.
Once the set finished, he bowed to Mrs.
Gardiner and excused himself. He needed a moment away from Louisa and this crowd. The night had turned rainy. Instead of retiring outside, he moved through the crush to Lord Huntley’s study. The dark room was just what he needed for a bit of privacy and maybe a glass of brandy. A small fire still burned in the room lending just enough light to find the drink.
He had come in here to think about prospective brides. Closing his eyes, the image of Louisa in that pale green gown invaded his mind. The dress cut across her chest, displaying a hint of her luscious rounded breasts. The same breasts he had lovingly caressed and suckled. God, he was a cad. He could still smell the light lilac perfume she wore.
A feminine gasp forced his eyes open. Louisa stood near his chair, her hand over her mouth. “What are you doing in here?”
“What are you doing here, Louisa?”
“I—I was getting a breath of air. You know how I get at balls. The overwhelming smells and the crowds...”
“I know exactly how you feel.” He should rise since she still stood by his chair. But this blasted erection would not ease. It had only become harder since he opened his eyes and noticed her. “There is brandy on the corner table.”
“Would you pour me a glass?”
Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Of course,” he replied tightly. He rose and turned away from Louisa, hoping by the time he reached the brandy, his shaft would be a little more compliant. Glancing back, he found her standing by the fireplace and with the flames behind her. In an instant, he was rock hard and desperate to have her.
The lilac aroma returned as he stepped closer to her. Her eyes darted around the room as if attempting not to look at him. His heart pounded in his chest as he handed the snifter to her. Finally, she looked up at him with those beautiful sapphire eyes.
“Are you unwell, Harry? You have a different look to your face.”
“No, I am not well.” Did he say that aloud? To her? Good God, now she would question him. “Too much to drink,” he muttered.
“I don’t think that is it. What is wrong?” She sipped her brandy, and then her gaze shifted down, and she noticed precisely what was wrong. “Harry?”
He pulled her into his arms, pressed his hardness against her. “This is what you do to me. Every time you are near, I want you. And I know I can’t have you. It’s driving me mad.”
He brought his lips down on hers, harder than he should as if punishing her for his damned desire. This madness was his fault. He was supposed to push her way, but he could not seem to stay away from her. She was the reason he came to town. It had always been this way for him with her.
Send her away.
