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“Dammit. They’re light. Women, probably three.” He lifted her off his lap and set her down next to him, jumping to his feet as he tugged her skirts down her legs.
Her right cheek lifted in a cringe as she pulled up her stays and dress. “You still think to attempt propriety? For I am ready to forgo it.”
“I waited an hour up here for you for that very thing. So for your reputation, yes.” He kissed her forehead as he haphazardly yanked his breeches into place. “I’ll go next door. Sit here and leave the door open—they’ll come right in and I’ll sneak out and down the staircase behind them.”
A groan rumbled from her throat. “Maybe I can be the one sneaking away?”
He smirked. “Not plausible. I’m supposed to be out riding with the hunting party at the moment.”
With a quick squeeze of her thigh, he moved out the doorway. At the room across the way, he lifted the heavy oak door as he opened it, minimizing the squeaking hinges to a low grind. He disappeared behind the door with the most mischievous grin she’d ever seen on his face.
He’d said he was never one for mischief, but her husband was certainly prone to it. Mischief she would much prefer to be basking in, fully naked, under his hands at the moment.
With a heavy sigh she plastered her most benign smile on her face and smoothed out her skirts as she looked out the leaded glass window.
She caught her breath just as the troop of giggling ladies cleared the top step of the staircase and tumbled into the hall. The smile on her face widened and she hoped the flush in her cheeks didn’t speak volumes of where her mind truly was.
~~~
The dancing that evening was a mild affair, nothing compared to the previously planned harvest ball that was to take place the next evening after their wedding in the morning. Reiner had coordinated it months ago to coincide with the full moon—long before Sloane had ever stumbled into his life. But now the ball, along with announcing their impending wedding to guests as they arrived, made the perfect opportunity to spook Falsted. Spook him into doing something stupid—like search for the book himself or in a panic, bring Reiner straight to the last unknown man at the helm of the smuggling scheme.
Sloane rounded the corner in the last steps of the dance, and her look caught Lord Falsted just outside the billiards room, staring at her. The bastard.
His glare would unnerve her if she didn’t know Reiner had been watching every step Falsted took since he’d arrived at Wolfbridge. At their last meeting, two months prior, Falsted had indicated there was one last man that Reiner should meet, and that the gentleman would be present at the ball. The last one Reiner needed to know before he dismantled the whole smuggling scheme.
It couldn’t come soon enough.
Stepping off the dance floor as she caught her breath, Sloane wiggled her toes in her satin slippers. Reiner had said the evening would be mild. She shook her head to herself. Mild, if having enough people in the castle that she could have danced with only a quarter of the men before the night’s end could be considered mild.
She’d perfected her steps under the tutelage of her governesses and could physically match the most ambitious of the dancers, but her toes were aching as the evening drew to a close and she had yet to dance with Reiner.
The first strains of a waltz filtered down to her ears from the string ensemble seated high in the minstrels’ gallery of the ballroom. The space identical to the great hall and positioned opposite to it, the ballroom had been finished, whereas the great hall had been left in the splendor of the stone walls and floors. With its polished inlaid walnut floor, the artful plaster reliefs on the tall white walls, and the rows of pillars lining the length of the room, it rivaled any of England’s finest ballrooms.
Couples paired off, moving in front of Sloane onto the dance floor. Perfect. A moment of respite where she could quench her thirst.
As she walked along the border of the dance floor, she ran the tips of her fingers across the front of her lavender satin gown—split in the center front with artful draping of fine white India muslin. Just as she’d reached the nearest footman standing with a tray of madeira and took a glass, setting it to her lips, Lord Apton stepped in front of her.
“Lady Sloane, may I steal you away to the dance floor?” Sweet and far more spry than his aging years should have allowed, Lord Apton was one of the kindest men she’d met during her one season in London. He’d known her mother in her spirited youth and was full of stories of her. Sloane had already danced with him once this eve, but the London rules of limiting dances was eased considerably as they were far from town and she was to be married in the morning.
She finished a long sip of the wine and nodded, setting the glass back on the tray. “My steps with the waltz are suspect, at best.”
He smiled, a twinkle in his grey, aging eyes. “I am willing to chance it.” He held out his hand.
Just as she was reaching for it, Reiner stepped in front of her, half blocking Lord Apton. “Pardon me, Apton, as I have yet to dance with my intended this evening, I would kindly appreciate indulgence on that very score for this dance.”
The twinkle in Lord Apton’s eyes brightened. A man who understood the passions of youth. “Of course, your grace. She is yours.” He leaned to the right to catch Sloane’s gaze. “Do be sure to save a dance for me during tomorrow’s ball, my lady.”
“Of course, Lord Apton.”
With an incline of his head, he walked away.
Reiner turned to her. His brown eyes heated into liquid gold as he took her hand in his and settled his other fingers lightly along her back. “Imagine that—the man thinking he could descend upon you for a second dance—and a waltz, nonetheless.”
He took the first steps forward and her look dipped to his chest as she had to concentrate on the steps he’d taught her weeks ago in the library.
“Eyes up.”
A grin cocked her cheek and her gaze lifted to meet his. Ridiculous that he expected her feet to move with any sense of grace when his golden brown eyes were that voracious on her.
