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“To watch the balloon ascent.”
“Infuriating man,” she whispered.
“You still adore me.”
Those words ripped through her chest, and she stared at him wordlessly. Shockingly he gently tapped her chin. Something intense flared through his eyes, and she suddenly felt out of sort.
“You are missing it, Pippa. Look to the sky.”
She wrenched her gaze back to the balloon rising spectacularly in the sky, trying to ignore his nearness and the dizzying current racing through her heart and entire body. He was so disturbing to her in every way, yet she still could not read his intention or understand exactly what he wanted from her.
William was learningthis courtship game was more complicated than he had anticipated. The lovely prey that he had been circling for a better part of a week stood in the ballroom laughing and chatting with a group of friends. How enchanting she appeared, garbed in a dark golden gown which clung to her lush, petite figure. Her raven-black hair had been swept up in a simple chignon, with artful curls kissing her cheeks, a few blooms from some of his flowers woven into her hair.
That tender emotion wrenched inside his heart. Though she had politely thanked him for the flowers yesterday, William wished that he had seen Pippa’s face when she received the bouquet; he imagined her pleasure might have been mixed with considerable annoyance. Had she ripped his note to shreds or had she smiled?
When he’d driven her home from Hyde Park yesterday, she had been silent…almost nervous. Their conversation had been light and almost inconsequential, yet his awareness of her had kept him on edge and his damn heart racing so much it was a wonder it had not expired. When he’d handed her down from the landau, she’d cast him a glare, dipped into a curtsy, and flounced away. William chuckled. He did enjoy her in all her moods, and he missed her.
Of late he had been drinking more than usual but still his sleep had been unsettled and full of dreams of Pippa, her laugh, her smile and of the way they had come together. If his suit was successful, then he was certain that their life together would always be interesting, and he didn’t want her to change.
A desperate hunger crawled through William. He wanted to go to her at this very moment but could not. Everyone seemed to understand that courtship should be handled with a perfect balance of charming sincerity and discretion. A gentleman could not show the lady he was pursuing, or even society itself, that he was completely besotted with her. Amusingly he had discovered that was just another path to ruination. Any too obvious feelings would imply they had already anticipated their marriage vows, and all the blame would fall on the lady for allowing him to take her to bed early.
Damn rubbish. Nor could he ask her to dance again tonight, though he wished Pippa in his arms more than anything else. He would have to dance with another lady first, or even two, before he could ask Pippa again. Dancing only with her again since he had already done so twice was another path to start wagging tongues and rumors surrounding their courtship. A discreet affair could be done more seamlessly. The rules were so damn stupid, but nonetheless he had to follow them so that she did not doubt his intentions when he asked her again to marry him.
“You are truly here,” Wycliffe murmured, coming to stand beside William, where he reclined by the Corinthian columns on the upper bowers. “I had to tell my wife you asked me courtship advice so that her claws did not come out when she sees you sniffing around her friend.”
William shot an icy glare at the earl, indeed noticing that his countess, Prue, watched William with a gimlet stare. He had foolishly mentioned a few times that Wycliffe should take a lover when their marriage had been strained, and the lady seemed determined to always remember it. He mockingly bowed in her direction, and Lady Wycliffe turned away but not before he saw that the corner of her mouth had hitched into a smile.
“Are you certain of this nonsense that I must dance with others?” he asked irritably, tugging at his cravat.
Wycliffe grinned, clearly enjoying William’s discomfort.
“You already danced with Lady Phillipa twice, my good man. I assure you thetonhas already taken note. According to my darling countess, the ‘not dancing more than twice’ rule is really applicable to one night. Dancing twice with the same lady on the same night will raise brows and start tongues wagging and, if you should dance a third time with a lady on that night, then you better have organized the announcement of their marriage. Since thetonthinks you such a right rogue, dancingonlywith Lady Phillipa at every ball will be discussed, my friend. If you ask her again tonight, speculation will run like wildfire. They will think perhaps you are courting her, but few will believe it, not when it is known you are adverse to marriage, so they will make the naughtiest suppositions and perhaps even ruin her with gossip suggesting you are courting her for a dalliance instead.”
“This is such damn nonsense,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her animated expression as she chatted with her friends. “I’ve never gone around telling everyone I will never marry.”
Wycliffe choked and William cast his friend a black scowl.
“Ensure you remove that expression before asking another lady to dance.”
The earl clapped him on the shoulder and went over to his wife, who beamed up at her husband with delight.
Hell. He scanned the ballroom with a measured gaze, wondering which lady he should ask to dance. One of the friends she stood with, or would that still be too close to her? He sought out a dancing partner on the opposite end of the ballroom and spied the lady he’d heard a few gentlemen referred to as this season’s diamond—Lady Priscilla Darby, the daughter of the Duke of Pomeroy. She was rather beautiful with her upswept blonde hair, slim, elegant figure clad in a pale rose-colored gown that flattered her coloring and figure. She was surrounded by ladies and gentlemen all seeming to vie for her attention and she held court like a princess.
Swallowing down his irritation, and slipping on his mask of roguish charm, William prowled over. Lady Priscilla noticed his arrival and her lips parted on a gasp, her eyes widening. He did not mistake the triumph that glittered in those bright gray eyes, or the way she flirtatiously lowered her lashes. He was already mindlessly bored. Gritting his teeth, William secured an introduction, and then requested a dance. A few bucks tried to assure him all her dances were spoken for, but the lady boldly stepped forward and peeked up at him from beneath incredibly long lashes.
“I am free for the next set, my lord,” she said, smiling. “Viscount Prendergast mentioned just now his feet were tired and might sit this one out.”
The viscount flushed and stiffened. William knew no such conversation had occurred, but he only held out his hand to her. “I am delighted.”
Of course, it was a damn waltz.
He swept her onto the dance floor into the sensual dance, doing his best to not look over the lady’s shoulders at Pippa. He moved her with a vigor that had her gasping. Pippa had certainly kept pace with his energy.
“You are an incredible dancer, my lord,” she said flushed, and breathless.
“So are you, Lady Priscilla.”
She fluttered her lashes.
