by Gayle Eden
Yes. He was mortal, and yes, no one knew more than she, that there was something there besides title and rep. Rena wanted with long held desperation to know just the right way and wherewithal to take every advantage of these moments and this chance. She never had been anything other than who she was either, though much of that was stifled during these occasions, because of social rules.
Furthermore, she had never been a silly woman, nor one who took things overly serious. Yet to engage a man like this, his interest, and hold it, was a walk down a blind alley for her. She had no earthy idea even from his devastating smile and jesting, or the subtle compliments and flirting, how transparent or how careful she should be, in showing her true attraction to him.
She said whilst thinking all of that, “That is good to know, milord, as men and women seldom get the opportunity at society functions to interact beyond bounds of rules and proper politeness. Yes, it does limit ones prospect to erase misconceptions and see beyond social masks.”
That gaze went over her face again and Verena got the notion that he was too was reading and weighing her words and meaning, before he said, “Let us correct that then, shall we?” he asked, “Are you chilled out here, would you like to reenter the ballroom?”
She looked at the crush, which was spilling more, and more out the side doors as guests sought to make room for dancers and more arrivals. “I am in no hurry to enter.” Her smile touched him as she looked back. “Though the snow is picking up and I doubt my hair will stand up to getting wet.” She touched a long curl. “It is normally stick straight, and I shall appear quite bedraggled.”
He tossed the liquid from the cup and set it down, offering his arm. “I believe I can find us a haven to converse and remain dry. Though I doubt your assessment of what wet hair would result in is true. I have seen your hair uncurled once, at some summer gathering, and it is quite lovely.”
She murmured her thanks and let him lead her inside, basking mentally in that compliment, and because of the crush, slid her hand from his arm. Nevertheless, she felt a discreet hand on her spine as he steered her to some destination he could likely see because of his superior height.
* * * *
Leaning inside the card room doorway, Jerome glanced over at Bram, who was watching the pair make their way through the crowd as he was. “It must be the season of miracles. I cannot believe that the old boy has finally realized he is not ready for night caps and toddies.”
“It saves us the trouble of playing matchmaker as planned.” Bram grinned and raised his brow. “When Rena called my attention to him, I was trying to remember if you said you’d bring him over or not, but didn’t spot you anywhere…”
“I was trying to get through that crowd and had, when I noticed him looking at her, and there she was looking at him, and when he began to cross that room, I thought, at last, Lucas’s blood is red after all, and has stirred enough to prod him to action. I have never understood what held him back, until perhaps this year.”
“You said that you caught him watching her for years. I have a notion that my sister did likewise, and do recall her not so subtly mentioning him. He does have a rather fierce rep. Can’t expect a gel with no title and only a modest fortune to put herself out to a man like him, in any event.”
“Lucas also is an expert shot, has a mean left hook. “ Jerome snorted. “I have seen him at his estate in Surrey and he works like the very devil. No idle lord that, and not just with numbers and investments. He would out last two dozen of those bucks out there, in any physical contest.”
“Well,” said Bram, “you have been around Rena enough to know she would never do for those males who either put women on a pedestal or expect them to do nothing but gossip and shop. She is expert at riding and shooting, and plays a mean hand of cards, not to mention the dear thing is quite game for a laugh. I admit that I am cautious there, just in case your assessment of Lucas is a bit generous, Rena can hold her own, but I’d hate to see her fall for a man who wanted the typical ton deb.”
“Trust me,” Jerome straightened and unfolded his arms, seeing Lucas lead Verena through a door at the end of the ballroom. “Lucas went after what he wanted when he slaved to save the family fortunes and improve them for future generations. A man who is that driven, that focused, and one who has been observing her for so many years, has some inkling to what he’s risking rejection for.”
* * * *
The four gentlemen who had been relaxing in the ivory and blue sitting room rose to their feet when Lucas and Rena entered. They bowed and quickly set their drinks down, no doubt noticing the cool stare in his eyes before they nodded to her also, and left.
Lucas removed his jacket, which was damp from the fine snow and put it over a chair back, near a blazing white fireplace. He watched her set the fan down and remove her gloves, then stand by the mantle warming her hands.
The tie slipped his hair, and he tucked it in the jacket pocket, scraping those long strands back and feeling that they were somewhat damp too. He could still hear the music clearly as his gaze scanned the room, with its two chairs flanking the fire, two settees facing each other beyond that, and much seasonal décor in the fat ivory candles on the mantle, silver ones on tables, with bowls full of orbs made of white rosebuds.
When he looked at her again, she had her hand upon the mantle and was looking around too. The firelight glowed in her hair and put a shimmer on that gold gown. Her skin was flushed from the change of temperature. Her gaze, when it met his where he stood only two feet away, was a true topaz.
He watched her stare flicker over his unbound hair and then the simply tied cravat. Something tensed him, as she seemed to scan across his shoulders in the white shirt and down him. Then she was meeting his gaze again. Lucas realized that she thought to have done that visual examination of his assets so quickly, he would not have noticed.
However, a man who was as aware of a woman as he was of her, not only noticed, but felt it like a touch. He was certainly glad he had not let himself go as so many men his age had, and as he assessed the merest spark of heat in her gaze, he was doubly thankful for all the physical labor and sports he applied himself to.
“Will you be in town for the entire week?” He walked to stand beside her, his hand on the mantle as he flickered his gaze into the fire.
Her tone was slightly gruff, “Yes. We have decided to remain in London and not trouble the servants at Brydon House in the country. The duchess is getting older and well, it is usually just Bram and I for Christmas any way. If we are in town, he can amuse himself… And you, what do you do on Christmas?”
He flickered a side-glance at her. “The same as every other day, I believe.” His grin was sardonic. “I give the staff that day and the day before off, so I am usually holed up in the study.”
She tisked and her eyes teased. “That is not right, my lord. You should at least take Christmas off.”
He savored that teasing look then glanced at the flames. “I have been on my own since I left school. I suppose it becomes a habit to occupy oneself…”
“Well. You should join Bram and me this year. We may not entertain in high style, but I do believe we manage to amuse some people. I think he has invited Jerome also. The three of you could get up to cards and what not. Our staff is also off. We manage to scrounge for ourselves in the kitchens. Bram is a good cook, though please, don’t put that about, it would destroy his rep—”
He chuckled and nodded. “Thank you, for the invite, I may accept.”
“Do.”
He dropped his hand from the mantle and asked, “Do you have a full schedule for the next few days?”
She winced. “Yes. Two more balls and a supper at the duchesses, then there is…”
“—perhaps we shall see each other, then,” he cut in and bowed. “But in case we do not. May I have this dance?”
She looked up at him. Her expression was solemn as she nodded and moved a foot closer, resting her hand on his shoulder, and clasping the
other. “If I waltz horribly, 'tis Bram’s fault. He is the one who insisted I learn the new dance.”
Lucas had his hand on the small of her back, her scent, and the feel of their palms stirring him as he began the gliding steps to the music. “My housekeeper taught me.”
She chuckled and he smiled, looking down at her. Twirling and turning to the rise of music, which had the whimsical sound of fairies and falling snow.
Maneuvering them around the furnishings, he shared her laughter again, as they had to make up their own pattern to avoid chairs and tables—the statue whose folded arms held an ivy bough.
Lucas had been right, she moved well, even in such limited and awkward space. She moved sensually. He felt his blood surging and felt alive, as he never had with this woman in his arms.
When she bumped the back of the settee and stumbled a step, he pulled her closer to him, much closer than would be allowed in a ballroom. Feeling her breasts in the gown brush his thin white shirt, he took advantage to sweep his lips across her temple as he turned his head to direct their next path.
Somewhere in the next moments, as he felt the swirl of her skirt, and his head filled with subtle citrus, his body aware of hers moving under his hand, lightly brushing against his, Lucas realized she had slid her hand from his shoulder to rest over his shoulder blade, which kept the contact between their chests close, at times brushing as he contrived their steps.
The music was slowing to a light lilt of flutes and softening, so that it faded enough to bring the crackling warmth of the fireplace and the harsh beat of his heart to his ears. With that came the thickening and shrinking of the awareness between them. He heard her breath quaver out and felt a like tremble in her frame.
Lucas ended the dance by the fireplace, but for suspended, heavy moments, they did not move. Finally, her head tilted back and his lifted those inches to meet the gaze he knew instinctively was coming.
Between his lashes, he eyed that mouth, which she must have laved recently for the lower lip glistened, then met her gaze that revealed sheen of sensual heat.
His head was lowering gradually, the pull of that hunger to kiss her, and the tightening of anticipation in his body somewhat intoxicating. More so, when he felt her leaning toward him, her hand sliding down between his shoulder blades.
The abrupt blast of noise and laughter that came from the door being thrown open, sent them apart as if ice water had gushed from the floor. Lucas glared at the young bucks who were on either side of a lady, known for her fast ways and sexual exploits. Each young man carried a bottle of champagne in his hands. He was aware that Verena had tuned to the fire and was looking into it.
The group stopped dead at his icy stare, all amusement fading from them for a moment, but since they had left the door wide open, the noise jarred and invaded, shattered the enchantment and intimacy.
One of the chaps was saying something to him, the other trying to turn them all around, whilst the intoxicated Lady seemed oblivious and laughingly played between them.
Lucas turned and collected his coat, sliding it on before picking up Verena’s gloves and touching her arm, keeping his back to the rude group while he watched her pull them on.
Her fingers fumbled, trembled. He felt like tossing all three misfits out the door on their arses. He could not bloody believe that he had been robbed of a moment he’d hungered forever for.
Tucking her hand on his arm, he guided her around the room, opposite the group, who glanced at him then shrugged and flopped down on the seating.
Out in the ballroom, the roar of noise was even more glaring and nerve wracking. Particularly since he felt as if his skin would burst and could tell she was breathing deep and calm, trying to perfect the composure she was known for.
Lucas ignored anyone looking at them as he led her some distance, finding a bit of space by those pillars, although still having to lean down and speak near her ear to be heard and be discreet.
“Shall I return you to the duchess or seek your brother for you?”
She turned her head to husk near his ear, “I shall be fine and make my way myself. Please, you must join the men at cards as usual. I do not think the duchess will stay much longer in any case, her bones ache and the crowd gets too much for her. Please tell Bram I will get a lift home with her, and see him later.”
Lucas nodded though held her gaze as he lifted his head. He conveyed the message that he would rather be back in that sitting room with her, rather be kissing her, which was plain since his gaze did flicker to her mouth. He discreetly found her hand and held it for a few moments before releasing it and heading off toward the card rooms.
* * * *
When he had gone, Verena braved the mass of bodies to reach the duchesses side. She caught the hand signal that the woman wished to leave and helped her up, saying loudly in her ear that she would be leaving too, and join her. The older woman smiled and then winced as she took a few steps.
Realizing she’d have to clear the way for them both, Verena cast a last look over her shoulder as she took the woman’s arm, seeking and finding that tall and dark hared man standing just in the doorway.
She nodded and turned to continue her way before checking if he nodded back. The frustrating trek served to calm the turmoil in her body and ease some of the heat in her blood.
Still later as the duchess’s coachman was taking her home, after dropping off his mistress, she lifted the window flap and felt the chilly air and kiss of snow, which was gathering and tumbling down from a dark sky. Rena remembered every word, every second, every feel of him, from his strong hand to the shift of his powerful legs when they moved. She remembered his wintry scent of mint and brandy, and the warmth of his hard chest against the tips of her breasts. The deep thud of his heart.
She closed her eyes imagining perfectly the deepened violet of his eyes when he had been inches from kissing her.
“Please, please…” She lifted her lashes and whispered in the empty coach, “Let this happen for me. Give me this one Christmas wish.” She dropped the flap and leaned her head back, not stirring until the driver stopped and the footman opened the door. As she smiled politely and nodded to Bram’s servants, Verena’s mind was chanting repeatedly, let us see each other again—soon, very soon.
Chapter Three
Lucas awoke late and took breakfast in his sitting room, having come home in the wee hours of the morning. He had indeed joined the viscount and Jerome at cards, but his game was off, his concentration wrecked, and after losing a large sum. Which Jerome benefited from, he left with the pair to go a less fashionable address in the east end.
Somewhere in the midst of sitting in a smoky house of Eros, he had realized the men were above stairs lost in flesh, so he’d left and absently walked for blocks, half hearing the orange sellers, street patters, and carolers.
He glanced aside at times, at the young prostitutes calling from beneath street lamps, or a burst of noise from the opening and closing doors of the gin houses. He was aware and not aware, of other well-dressed men who spilled from hacks to slum, or shadows in alleyways of women plying their trade, the distant ring of church bells, which announced midnight.
The snow had picked up, wetting his caped greatcoat and tapping at his beaver hat, but hands in his pockets, he attempted to walk off the tension in his body, and dampen some of that intoxicating excitement that went through him whenever he thought of that look in her eyes, the feel of her in his arms.
Lucas had stopped at some point, leaned against some dark empty brick building, and lit a cheroot. He lost track of time then too, replaying those moments with her. And he began to walk again later, when his mind wanted to picture his hands easing that gown down and his mouth wrapping around the taut nipples he could feel through her thin gown.
Once he had reached home, he muttered something to ease Cubbage’s fussing at his wet coat, and having obviously been out in the chill a long time according to the butler.
He sent Feyer away when the v
alet had offered to assist him undressing, once he had gained his chambers. He had stripped to his trousers and sat on the edge of his bed, his hands rubbing as his face before he lay back, knowing that he would get scant sleep.
His body and mind were restless, and he wanted to be past that polite stage. That place where what they said to each other must be couched in careful language.
Bloody hell, he had thought, sometime in the night, staring at the ceiling. He knew he must make an impression that dispelled all that society painted him on the surface. Moreover, he was no sporting young buck to patiently pay court for weeks, months and years.
He did not want to waste moments, opportunity, his chance at sweeping this woman off her feet, and yet he wanted her. He wanted her. He also wanted to know everything about her.
Sometime near dawn, the adrenaline left him as sheer exhaustion took him over. Sitting now and drinking strong coffee, the papers untouched by his empty plate. He stared at the thick white snow that would coat the landscape come evening, and he did not want to have to wait until Christmas to see her again.
“Your bath is ready, my lord. “
Lucas glanced at Feyer, at least noticing the slim and straight man carefully kept his face impassive. He supposed that he had been acting out of character of late, and the man, as well as his entire staff was in some confusion. Even when he had worked grueling hours and the demands of society tested his temper, he did not take it out on them.
When he stepped through the door here, he dropped his polite and distant mask, because his servants knew him likely better than society did. Some of them had known his parents who were social creatures that spent much of the fortune on living the high life, and little time assuring he had had anything left. His staff was loyal and he thought, proud in many ways, that he was who and what he was.