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“I’ve spent many evenings in here alone, and the shadows of the night don’t frighten me.” Felicity waved them off. “Goodnight, Mrs. Grayson. Tomorrow will prove a busy day.” Perhaps now she could concentrate on the poetry book lying forgotten on her chair. Lord Byron’s words were quite exciting.
And perhaps she could breathe now that Bartholomew had quit the room. What a ninny she’d become around him. Like a feather-brained girl just out of the schoolroom because one man had shown her a few minutes of kindness here and there.
Get your head out of the clouds, Felicity, lest you bring about your own disappointment.
No sooner had she poured herself one last glass of punch and had settled on a low sofa than the captain returned to the drawing room. She started and stared as her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “I didn’t expect you’d be back so soon.”
“Neither did I, but when Luke’s head hit the pillow, he was off into dreamland. And I heard Mother snoring next door. Perhaps that rum is more potent than we thought.” His grin bordered on the wicked. “But I don’t mind conversing with you and waited for just such opportunity.”
“Oh?” Her hand holding the book of poetry trembled. “Whyever for?”
“Why not?” Instead of occupying a chair or the sofa his mother abandoned, he dropped onto hers. A cushion of space separated them, and suddenly she was near drowning in his big presence. “Did you receive the gown today?”
“I did.” Heat sank into her cheeks. “Thank you. I would tell you, again, that’s it’s much too extravagant, but my vain little heart truly wishes to wear it in two days.”
“I imagine you’ll look gorgeous in it.” He waggled his eyebrows. “At the bottom of the box should be matching slippers. I asked the modiste to surreptitiously take your size.”
“That’s most generous of you.” She laid her book down on the empty cushion for fear she might drop it.
“I’m happy to do it if only to let you indulge in one of your unspoken fantasies.”
She snorted. “Which would be what?” And how would he even know the secrets of her heart?
“To experience an event that mirrors what the ton throws as well as to wear a fine gown and play a grand lady,” he replied promptly in a whisper that sent a thrill down her spine.
“Such silly notions.” When she waved a hand in dismissal, he caught it in one of his and elicited a gasp from her.
“Dreams aren’t silly, Felicity. I’m happy to grant you as many as I can.” He stood then and brought her into a standing position at the same time. “Do you promise to save me a dance on Christmas Eve?”
Her heart beat frantically behind her ribcage until she feared it might burst from her chest. “I can if you don’t mind me stepping on your toes or missing steps. It’s been even longer since I’ve had reason to dance.”
“Then we must rectify that immediately.” Without another word, he led her around the grouping of furniture to a relatively clear spot in the drawing room. “Shall we indulge right now?”
“Here?” There was a decided squeak in her voice as he slipped a hand to the small of her back. “There’s not enough room, surely.”
“Not for a modified waltz.” His eyes darkened to sapphire as he lifted their joined hands and then guided hers to his shoulder. “One doesn’t need much floorspace to dance with a beautiful woman in his arms.” With a grin that put tremors of need through her lower belly, Bartholomew set them off.
She had no recourse but to follow where he led. Not that she minded. The dance was this side of scandalous and their bodies brushed each time they went about the tight circles. What was more, Bartholomew continuously hummed the notes of what she assumed was a popular waltz. Through it all, he held her gaze until he pulled her closer and put his lips to the shell of her ear. Could he feel the trembles coursing through her body at his daring?
“Luke couldn’t stop talking about the kiss you gave him.” His whisper warmed her ear, the breath skating over her cheek. The circles they made grew smaller and smaller, so close they merely swayed over the floor, turning every now and again. “I’m pleased you’re so kind to him, that you include him.”
“Why should I not? He is your son, an extension of you, and you are the son of my employer.” Seemingly of their own volition, her hands crept over his shoulders, briefly exploring the breadth of them. The warmth of his skin beneath the lawn shirt urged her onward; his spicy, citrus scent nearly addled her brain.
“I’d like to hope you might think a bit more fondly of me than that, dearest Felicity.” With every word, his lips brushed her ear.
She shivered from the exquisite intimacy of it. Had he meant to use that word as a term of endearment? “Of course I do.” The fingers of one hand drifted to his nape and she furrowed them through his hair, momentarily losing herself in his presence. “Are we not friends? Is this not Christmastide?”
The small exhalation of his exasperation tickled her skin. “I had hoped you might feel something more for me than that.” He encouraged her even closer with slight pressure at the small of her back, and when she came, he eased his other hand along her side and rested it at her hip. “Or do you require a reminder?”
What did he wish for her to say? Surely he wasn’t fishing for a compliment. “That’s not necessary, of course.” She couldn’t bring herself to pull back and peer into his face for fear he was making jest of her. Instead, she let one hand wander downward to slide along his chest. This close to him, the outline of his flat, hardened nipples showed through the thin fabric of his shirt. Oh, this man’s body was both fascinating and frightening, but she wished to explore it, nonetheless. “I well remember what it feels like in your embrace.”
“But there is always something more to learn… and experience.” He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back until she met his gaze. Need blazed in the deep depths of his eyes, the same coiling hunger that was beginning to build inside her belly. “And we are beneath the mistletoe.”
“Why are you doing this?” Suddenly, Felicity had to know. Was she but a mouse, a toy to a cat, or did he feel something for her beyond that of a relief from boredom or a shield from his mother’s matchmaking attempts? “Why have you singled me out, paid attention to me? I’m no one.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He slipped his fingers along her cheek until he cupped it. Those digits slid into her hair, and he held her hand in his big, calloused palm and smiled down into her face. “Everyone is important to someone. To that end, it’s beyond me why men have chosen to overlook you, the rose in the midst of wildflower field.” Then slowly, carefully, watching her the whole time, he lowered his lips to hers.
Felicity melted into him, and when he wrapped her more fully into his arms, she looped hers about his shoulders and set out to kiss him back. Yet Bartholomew surprised her once more. As if he had all the time in the world, he wished to apparently render her senseless with a series of deep, drugging, languid kisses that had her reeling from the mastery of them. Over and over, he moved along her lips, nipping, teasing, licking, and when he finally let her up for breath, he looked in her eyes with questions, speculation reflected in his.
