“Oh God,” she moaned, her arms reaching around him and tugging him against her as if she was drowning and he was her lifeline.
Everything that followed was a frenzy of movement, as if neither could get enough of the other. He’d done it—he’d acted on the rakish impulse he’d tried so hard to repress since making her acquaintance.
Suppressing the guilt that threatened to surge, Anthony allowed his hands to move down Miss Smith’s back while his tongue roamed over hers, and all he could think of was strawberries. Plump and juicy strawberries, or even better, Miss Smith biting into said strawberries. He’d never considered the possibility that there could be something erotic about food, and yet Miss Smith had changed that for him—she’d spoken of strawberries with that delicious mouth of hers and he knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that strawberries would forevermore be reminiscent of something delightful and enticing.
Tilting her chin for better access, he kissed her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her, though he couldn’t quite place it. He’d thought of honeysuckles earlier, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t roses or lavender either as was commonly used by ladies, but something entirely different—something pure, like the sunset in the evening or the dew upon the grass in the morning. “I love the way you smell,” he murmured as he kissed his way along her collarbone. “Tell me, what is it?”
“Chamomile and honey—from the soap I use.” Her breath was raspy as she spoke, her fingers twining through his hair, holding him against her with a desperation that matched his own. The pulse at her neck was beating fast—he could see it, that rapid thrum of excitement.
Encouraged by her response and by the way his own blood roared through his veins, he grew daring, allowing his hands to slide down her back until he cupped her bottom, squeezing her slightly as he pulled her against his own hardness. Her eyes widened, but her back arched as he’d expected, pushing her br**sts forward and up until they strained against her bodice. “Make no mistake, Miss Smith. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything else before in my life. It may defy logic, but I am powerless to stop it.” He deliberately lowered his eyes to her br**sts, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. “Say what you will, but I know that you feel it too, as evidenced by your eagerness to—”
“How dare you?” she snapped, cutting him off as she wrenched herself away from him, killing the moment and surprising him in the process.
Anthony froze. What the devil was going on? Had she not just been cavorting in his arms as though her life was entirely dependent upon his kisses? Where was the anger coming from? For there was definitely anger. Plenty of it, in fact, as he caught a glimpse of her stormy eyes.
“You . . . you . . . argh!” With a hard shove she pushed him away, just enough for her to escape his closeness. She stopped at a reasonable distance and turned to face him as she held her hands up before her. “Stay right where you are,” she warned.
Her breathing was still coming fast, and there was a blush to her cheeks that put Anthony more at ease, for it suggested that her temper hadn’t flared because of his kiss or even because of what he’d said (though he felt sure she’d have a different opinion on the matter), but rather because she’d just realized that he was in fact right. She pointed an accusing finger toward him. “I had everything worked out before I met you,” she said. “I knew my life wasn’t perfect, but it was one I was willing to accept. My mother was right to warn me about the stories I chose to read. Fairy tales are for children. As adults, we must think rationally and without dreams of the impossible clouding our judgment. I know this, and yet I was still determined to come here this evening—some deep-rooted wish to experience the fairy-tale splendor of the legendary Kingsborough Ball—before I lost the chance forever. The memory of this evening was intended to last me a lifetime. But then I met you and—”
“And?” Anthony asked carefully as he moved hesitantly toward her.
She let out a quivering sigh, and when her eyes met his again, there was desperation there—like that of a trapped animal. “And I found myself hoping for more—wishing for something that isn’t meant to be. Don’t you see? You’ve ruined my life by kissing me, for it will be impossible for my future husband to live up to what we just shared, and because of that, I will have to live with the regret of what might have been had things been different, as will you.”
It was bloody difficult not to smile with male pride in response to her words, but he attempted a serious expression anyway, hoping for a look of concern. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We can be together if you’ll only tell me who you are so I can speak to your father. I’ll ask for permission to court you and—”
“I’ve already told you it’s impossible, so please, stop making this more difficult than it already is,” she said. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave him a sad little smile. “I should probably go.”
“And miss the fireworks?” Anthony asked, knowing full well that he was trying to find any reason to hold on to her for just a little while longer. Perhaps if they spoke some more she’d let something slip—some small detail that would help him find her again, because whatever ridiculous reason she thought there might be for denying his courtship, he was confident he’d be able to fix it once he knew what it was. He saw her pause and decided to press his advantage. “You really can’t say that you’ve attended the Kingsborough Ball without seeing the fireworks.”
She looked skeptical but eventually nodded. “Very well, Your Grace. I will agree to watch the fireworks, but as soon as they are over, I really must take my leave. Are we in agreement?”
“Certainly, Miss Smith,” Anthony said, knowing full well that it was the best deal he was likely to get at that moment.
Chapter 8
“Where on earth have you been?” Louise hissed as she drew up next to Anthony with her husband following dutifully on her heels. With a quick glance in Miss Smith’s direction, Louise narrowed her eyes. “Honestly, I thought you’d changed, but that is clearly not the case, is it?” As much as her words hurt (more so because of the truth in them), Anthony had no intention of having that particular discussion right now and decided to remain silent instead, eliciting a disappointed shake of the head from his sister. “Just so you know, people have been asking about you.”
“What people?” Anthony asked blandly as he stopped a passing footman and began handing a glass of champagne to Miss Smith before giving one to his sister and Lord Huntley.
“The guests, you numbskull, or have you forgotten that you’re supposed to be in the process of hosting the grandest ball of the year, and with the fireworks about to begin—Mama had to make the announcement herself! She was absolutely frantic, and rightfully so.” Louise hit him on the arm, much like she’d done as a child whenever he’d annoyed her.
Anthony groaned and took a sip of his drink. He knew his absence from the ballroom had lasted too long and was unlikely to go unnoticed, especially not by his mother, who was counting on him for support. “I’d best try and find her,” he said, determined to make it up to her. This evening was mostly for her benefit after all—a means by which to help her recover from her loss. Taking Miss Smith’s arm and linking it with his own, he then stepped forward while his sister followed behind with her husband.
With two hundred people cramming together on the terrace, it took a while for Anthony to locate his mother—particularly since it turned out that she wasn’t on the terrace at all but on the lawn below with Winston, Sarah and Casper. There were a few other people milling about down there—especially in the vicinity of the pumpkin carriage. With Miss Smith beside him, Anthony made his descent, arriving at his mother’s side a moment later. “I hope you will forgive my tardiness, Mama, but I was otherwise detained and lost track of time.”
“Lost track of your sanity, I’d say,” Casper muttered, to which Winston elbowed him in the ribs.
“I had hoped that you were past this sort of thing, Anthony,” his mother said, glancing briefly at Miss Smith. “You know all eyes are upon you this evening. To sneak off with any young lady is not only uncouth but could also result in permanent damage to the young lady’s reputation. You must try to be more civilized—you have responsibilities now.”
As if he hadn’t known that. His mother’s words grated, for if anyone had undergone a change of character from one day to the next, it was surely he. Casper could attest to that, as could Winston, for they had both been shocked when he’d said good-bye to his three mistresses, though Winston had been more pleased about it than Casper. This seemed insignificant now however, considering how easily he’d allowed his newly adopted righteousness to slip this evening. “I realize that, Mama.”
“After all,” his mother continued with a note of despair, “the invitation did say midnight fireworks. I waited as long as I could for you to return, but the guests were getting restless and—”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Anthony said, and he meant it. She’d always had her husband at her side whenever she’d hosted such events. This was her first public appearance without him, and Anthony had thoughtlessly abandoned her in favor of kissing Miss Smith. He felt like an ass.
His mother sighed, shook her head a little and then smiled. “Considering your lovely toast, I do believe I’ll accept your apology. Thank you for that, by the way—I know it was difficult for you.”
Difficult?
Nightmarish was more like it. His hands had started to sweat, his cravat had felt tighter than a hangman’s noose, and he’d felt his heart beating closer to his knees than to his chest. Not to mention that the pressure of saying the right thing and not making a fool of himself in front of everyone had made him feel faint. In fact, he was quite certain he’d lost all sensation in his toes for the entire duration of the ordeal.
His thoughts were interrupted by a bright burst of color in the night sky as the first firework exploded with a popping sound. Glancing down at Miss Smith, he saw her eyes light up as she watched the display, and it filled him with deep satisfaction knowing that he’d contributed to this small moment of happiness for her.
“I used to watch this from my bedroom window as a child,” she said, her voice so low and dreamy that Anthony wondered if she was aware that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
He held quiet, hoping that she might say more, but she didn’t, so he eventually whispered, “Your parents didn’t mind you staying up so late?”
She didn’t turn her head to look at him, but he could see that she was smiling. “They didn’t know,” Miss Smith said. “They would put me to bed at a decent hour, but I would stay awake, imagining the extravagance of the ball while I waited—the pretty gowns, the dancing and the soft, flowing music. By the time the firework display began, I almost felt as though I was at the ball myself, amidst the splendor.”