by Candace Camp
It was good, she told herself, to be reminded that Fitz Talbot was simply a man who could not keep from charming any woman around him. And any woman who let herself take him seriously was quite foolish.
Eve was pleased to see that once the dancing began, neither Lily nor Camellia wanted for partners. A quick check of their dance cards showed her that they had not agreed to dance more times than was correct with the same man, and they had sprinkled several older, stodgy gentlemen in among the younger ones.
“You are very popular girls,” she said, smiling. “But you’re quite right to save a dance each for your cousins, Sir Royce, and Lord Humphrey.” She did not add that she was equally pleased to see that Mr. Carr’s name was entered for only one dance on Lily’s card. The less said about that, the better.
First Mary and Sir Royce danced alone, and everyone watched, smiling. When the orchestra struck up the second tune, however, a number of others took to the floor. Eve watched Lily and Camellia join in the country dance. The earl was partnering the new bride, while Sir Royce danced with Vivian. Lord Humphrey, stately and faintly old-fashioned in his formal black knee breeches and coat, led out Lady Sabrina. She glanced around and spotted Fitz forming a set with his aunt, Lady Kent, on his arm.
After that, he took to the floor with one lady after another. Eve found her eyes coming back to him time and again, even though she knew it was foolish to do so. He was an excellent dancer, and every woman who danced with him was soon smiling and laughing, even the stiffest of matrons. Eve watched the way he bent his head closer, as if his partner’s words were too precious to be lost, the way his smile lit his face. She could not help but wonder if one or another of these women had indulged in something more than flirtation with Talbot.
Somewhat to her surprise, the squire came up and jovially asked Eve to dance. Had it been one of the younger men, she probably would have refused, for she feared it was not a chaperone’s place to be dancing. However, she could scarcely turn down an aging gentleman such as the squire, so she took his arm and spent the next few minutes in a lively country dance. They formed part of the set with Fitz and his cousin Charlotte, and as the dance ended, Eve and her partner happened to stroll off the floor beside Fitz and Charlotte.
“May I have the honor of the next dance, Mrs. Hawthorne?” Fitz asked when the squire bowed to them and moved back to join his wife.
Eve’s heart sped up, and she glanced down, afraid that it might show in her face exactly how much she would like to accept his invitation. “I’m not really here to dance but to look after Lily and Camellia.”
She glanced around, searching for the two girls, and found them chatting with the earl and Mary. Fitz followed her gaze and grinned.
“I think they are taken care of.”
“Goodness, yes,” Charlotte agreed. “They’ve enough relatives here tonight to keep even them out of trouble. You should dance, Eve; it’s a celebration.”
Fitz held out his hand, his blue eyes twinkling at her in that way that could make the iciest woman smile. Eve hesitated, her chest tightening with anticipation and yearning. Charlotte gave her an encouraging wave forward. Eve turned and put her hand into Fitz’s, walking with him onto the dance floor. As the couples gathered on the floor, Eve realized belatedly that the next dance was to be a waltz. She cast a glance toward the side of the ballroom, but Fitz, correctly interpreting her look, tightened his hand on hers.
“Oh, no, you can’t change your mind and leave me standing here on the floor,” he told her, his dimple deepening in his cheek. “Imagine what people would say.”
“Did you know this was a waltz?” Eve shot him an accusing look.
“Is it?” He glanced around as if surprised. “Ow!” He turned back to her, laughing. “Did you pinch my hand?”
“I did indeed.” Eve lifted her chin pugnaciously. “For putting that innocent look on your face. Really, Mr. Talbot, you are a . . . a . . .”
“Bang-up cove?” He offered helpfully. “An out-and-outer?”
Eve swallowed a giggle. “No. I would say something more along the lines of a deceiver.”
“You have the oddest opinion of me. One can only wonder why you agreed to waltz with me.”
“I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t know it was a waltz when I agreed.”
The music began, and Fitz took her hand, his other hand going to her waist. It was nothing, Eve told herself; she had waltzed with other men many times. A major’s wife did not lack for dancing partners among the junior officers. Other men had put their hands upon her waist to guide her around the floor, and it had never caused her pulse to speed up or her insides to melt. There was no reason she should feel that way now.
Yet she did.
“Your reputation will not crumble,” Fitz assured Eve as his hand tightened fractionally on her waist, and they started around the floor.
Fitz was an excellent dancer, which came as no surprise to Eve. Still, she was not prepared for how very light and effervescent she felt as he swept her around the floor, how her heart seemed to lift within her. She could not keep from smiling up at him, and she remembered how Mary had simply glowed as she had danced with Royce, gazing up into his eyes. But no, she thought, she could not look like that. Mary’s glow had come from love; what she felt was just . . . bedazzlement.
The difference, of course, was that being dazzled didn’t last, no matter how fresh or glorious it might feel. Still, for the moment it was wonderful. So Eve gave herself up to the pleasure of the waltz, letting the music fill her and the look in Fitz’s eyes warm her.
Her mood lowered somewhat when she glanced to her right as they turned and saw Lily dancing with Neville Carr. Lily’s face was bright, her eyes sparkling, and Eve’s heart sank. Exactly what she had feared was happening. As Eve was well aware, dancing with a handsome, charming man was a powerful thing emotionally. While Eve herself might be old enough and experienced enough to know how fleeting the feeling was, she was certain that Lily was not.
After that, Eve kept an eye on the couple. When Lily and Carr left the dance floor, she would have to join them, she thought. A third person’s presence was the surest deterrent to romantic flirtation. But when the dance ended, Fitz tucked her hand in his arm and began walking toward the open terrace doors.
Eve tried to tug her hand away, and Fitz glanced at her in surprise. “It’s a lovely evening. A stroll along the terrace would be refreshing.”
“No, I can’t. I should get back to Lily and Camellia.”
“You can spare a few minutes away from them. I am sure they will be kept quite busy on the dance floor. And, as Cousin Charlotte said, there are plenty of assorted relatives about to keep an eye on them.”
Eve looked around and spotted Lily chatting with Mary and Royce. Neville was by her side, but as Eve watched, he bowed and moved away. Eve glanced back at Fitz. She wanted to go with him, and he was right—for the moment, at least, Lily was being watched over by other relatives. There was no need to hover.
She gave in, and they started once again through the door. There were several other couples on the terrace, escaping the stuffy ballroom. Eve and Fitz strolled along, looking out over the garden. Torches burned along the main path down into the garden, illuminating the fountain and the curved stone benches that surrounded it.
A little to Eve’s surprise, Fitz did not suggest they go down into the garden but simply continued along the terrace. The sounds of the party faded as they drifted farther away.
“You look uncommonly beautiful tonight,” Fitz told her.
Eve shrugged it off with a laugh. “’Tis the gown. Vivian insisted I borrow one of hers.”
He cast a sideways glance at her. “Believe me, it is not the gown. If the elegance of the gown was the only consideration, Lady Sabrina would be the loveliest woman here, and we both know that is not the case.”
Eve smiled. No doubt it was wicked of her to enjoy his dismissal of Lady Sabrina, but she could not help it. Every time the woman had looked at Ev
e tonight, Eve had felt as if Sabrina was measuring where to stick in the knife.
“Be that as it may, I fear that the gown must be the reason for the change in my appearance.”
One side of his mouth curved up. “I admit that the color suits you better than brown or gray. But I think the fact that you are letting yourself enjoy the festivities has something to do with the alteration. You spend too much of your time doing things for other people and not tending to yourself.”
“Now you sound like Vivian. I was, I must remind you, hired to look after Lily and Camellia.”
He cocked one eyebrow. “That included arranging the flowers? Writing out the place cards? Helping Mary negotiate with the cook and butler?”
“There was a great deal to do. I could hardly stand by and watch everyone else work. I will remind you that Vivian helped as well.”
“I know. And from what I know about you, it is exactly what I would expect you to do. But you do not always have to be working. You can have fun sometimes as well.”
“I do. I am.” They had reached the end of the terrace, where another set of stairs led down into the side garden of the house. Eve turned to face Fitz, her back to the railing. “I thank you for your concern about my . . . happiness. I think perhaps I have forgotten, a little, how to have fun.”
“From what I saw of Mrs. Childe, I imagine it is difficult to have fun in that house.”
“It is. Poor Julian.” Eve sighed. “My little brother—he is the child you saw me playing with.”
“At least he has a good sister.”
“Yes, but now I have left him.”
“And your tender heart feels bad about that, I imagine.”
“Yes, of course. I cannot help but feel that I deserted him.”
“You have your own life to consider. And he is, after all, Mrs. Childe’s son.”
“Yes. And he will be leaving next year for school.”
“Ah. Then he will make his escape as well.”
“Yes. Though I have been told that school is a miserable place for many boys.”
“I wasn’t miserable there.”
Eve chuckled. “I am sure you were not.”
He shrugged. “I know. I have been told that I am disgustingly lacking in sensibility.”
“No, not that. You’re just . . . you’re the sort of person who makes friends even if he doesn’t know anyone. Who takes boring situations and makes them fun.”
“Well, one has to, doesn’t one? Otherwise you’d be left with only boredom.”
She smiled up at him. “True.”
It would be so easy to get lost in his eyes, Eve thought. So easy to remember the way it had felt to be in his arms, to have his lips against hers. She had told herself she would not think about that evening at the inn, but here, alone with Fitz in the dim light of the moon, it was hard to keep that promise.
She knew he wanted to kiss her. She had known it when he invited her out onto the terrace. If she turned away now, he would accept it. He would not hold her against her will. But deep inside, Eve also knew that she did not really want to leave. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to bring up in her again all of those wonderful, powerful sensations.
A breeze skimmed across her, lifting the loose wisps of hair around her face and brushing her bare arms. Eve shivered.
“Here.” Fitz took her hand and led her toward the stairs going down into the side garden. “I know where it’s warmer.”
There was enough light from the moon to see the path that led through the low bushes and plants to a walled enclosure against the side of the house. Fitz opened the iron gate, and they slipped into a small garden.
The wall around them was about four feet high, so that there would be sunlight during the day, but the plants inside were protected from the wind and cold. Fitz led Eve to a low bench that sat against the house, facing west. As they walked past the rows of plants, sharp, distinctive scents rose from them, mingling in the air. Eve thought she detected . . . was it sage? Rosemary?
“An herb garden!” she said with some delight. “We must be in an herb garden.”
He smiled. “You have a good nose. The garden is dear to Cook’s heart. In the dead of winter she will accept dried herbs, but most of the year her seasonings come from here. Wait.” He reached out and stopped Eve as she started to sit, then pulled off his jacket and laid it on the bench. “There. I cannot have you ruining your dress.”
“Now you are ruining your coat.”
He shrugged. “Ah, but I don’t look as lovely in this coat as you do in that dress.”
Eve had to laugh as she sat down. “Do you have an answer for every argument?”
“I try to,” Fitz admitted agreeably as he sat down beside her.
It was warmer there, for the wall cut off the breeze, and the air was pleasantly redolent of the herbs. Eve drew in a breath. “It smells delightful.”
“I’m glad you like it. It was one of my favorite spots when I was a boy—perfect for being a medieval city or a fortress. A castle.”
“I can well imagine.” Eve thought of a black-haired, blue-eyed boy playing there, fending off attacks with his wooden sword, and a soft smile touched her lips.
“It was built centuries ago as a winter garden for one of the ladies of the house. When I was young, it held the last-blooming flowers of the fall, the less hardy shrubs. But when the present cook came here ten years ago, she wanted it for her herb garden. Since she cooks divinely and is willing to live in the hinterlands, a garden seemed a small price to pay.”
Fitz pulled off his gloves and took Eve’s hand, pushing down the long, elegant glove that ran up almost to her elbow. She glanced at him, startled. “Fitz!”
“Eve.” He looked at her, eyes twinkling wickedly, then returned to the task of pulling off her glove, fingertip by fingertip.
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked a trifle breathlessly. “’Tis most improper.”
“’Tis not the most improper thing I could do.” He stroked his thumb and forefinger along each of her digits, shoving the thin kidskin down, and each slide of his fingers sent a sizzle of heat straight through her.
She should jerk her hand away, Eve thought. She should jump up and leave. But still she sat, her hand in his, watching him strip away her glove. And as she watched, the heat in her abdomen coiled and grew. His fingers were slow and sensual, all of his attention focused on baring her hand, as if it—as if she—were the most important thing in the world to him. She could not help but think of his hands stripping away other pieces of her clothing with that same care and attention.
When he was done, he laid her hand in his palm and traced his forefinger down the back, following the delicate bones out to each of her fingertips.
“You have elegant hands,” he told her, and raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss upon her palm.
“Fitz . . .” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak.
“So slender and white and soft.”
Eve looked down at her hand, resting in his much larger one. He had placed her hand so that it aligned with his, finger upon finger, pale and delicate against his slightly darker and rougher skin.
“Have you ever realized how enticing evening gloves are, so soft and supple, like a second skin? They cover half your arm, the tops easing down in gentle folds, as if they might slip off, and yet they stay there, revealing only that strip of skin between them and your sleeves. It makes a man’s mind stray. I have been thinking all evening of slipping that glove from your hand.”
Heat rose up her throat, though the dark hid her blushes. It seemed absurd that his words alone, the barest touch of his hand, could spark desire in her like this. Yet she could not deny that she trembled inside.
Fitz kissed her hand again, then touched his mouth to each finger. His lips were velvety and warm upon her flesh, and she did not protest when he turned her hand over and pressed his mouth to her palm, then to each fingertip. By the time he finished, her breath was fast
in her throat, her pulse pounding. As if he knew the state of her pulse, his lips moved to the tender skin of her inner wrist, kissing the narrow blue vein.
A soft sigh escaped Eve’s lips, and her eyelids fluttered closed. Slowly he kissed his way up her arm, pausing to trace a design with the tip of his tongue on the inner surface of her elbow. Lost in pleasure, she did not pull away when his mouth left her arm and moved to the bare skin along her collarbone but only tilted her head to the side to allow him better access.
His mouth teased and tasted her, moving along the hard ridge of bone beneath the soft skin, coming at last to Eve’s throat. She felt the flush of heat that lit his face, heard the rasp of his breath, and she could not help but feel a flash of delight to think that he was as affected by this moment as she was.
“Eve,” he murmured against her throat. “Sweet, sweet Eve.”
She felt herself bending, yielding, melting. He lifted his head, his hand going to her cheek, and Eve turned her face to meet his kiss. They kissed slowly, lingeringly, savoring every facet of their pleasure. The sharp odor of the herbs mingled with the scent of him. The cool evening air brushed her overheated skin. The dark, encompassing night wrapped around them, hiding them from the rest of the world.
Eve was no longer thinking about what she should be doing or whether this was right or wrong. Her world was narrowed down to this—this moment, this kiss, this way she felt. Hunger and eagerness rose in her and was matched by him. Their kiss deepened, their mouths melding. Fitz pulled her up and onto his lap, breaking their kiss only long enough to reposition her. He curled one arm behind her back to brace her as his lips once more sank into hers.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Eve clung to him. His free hand came up to rest at her waist, his fingers digging in a little, and as their kisses became longer and more passionate, his hand slid up, moving over her stomach, caressing her, and finally coming to curve around her breast. Eve twitched a little in surprise. It wasn’t that Bruce had never touched her there—he had, usually with a kind of desperation—but his touch had never made her feel like this.