Dancing with her after weeks of avoiding doing so in any manner that would be considered close, knowing now that he would damn himself to hell twelve times over if he withheld from doing so one more time.
He was through resisting her, avoiding this, ignoring what could not be denied. Just seeing her at this moment, across the room, engaged in conversation with Amelia and Kitty, he could have proclaimed his love and adoration. Shouted it until the words shook the chandeliers and flickered every one of the candles. He could have dropped to his knees and begged her to take him, poor excuse for a partner and lover he would be, but willing to be anything and everything she wanted.
This was madness.
This was love.
“You do know that we all know about this, yes?”
Aubrey nodded as Francis came to stand beside him. “You’ve all made that perfectly clear, yes.”
“And you don’t care.” There was no question in the words, purely a statement, an observation of the facts as they stood.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Good.”
He glanced at Francis, smirking slightly at the grunted reply. “Is it?”
Francis nodded, watching Grace as well, or perhaps Janet, as she had now sidled up to Grace and the others. “I remember, you see, when Tony first suggested that you could fall in love with Grace. I remember the look on your face, and the quite respectful defense you gave for her, all things considered. You would have sold your soul to avoid anyone even suspecting you had any attachment to anyone, let alone her.”
“It wasn’t personal,” Aubrey murmured, fascinated suddenly by the turn of Grace’s throat. “I barely remembered her. And yet…”
Francis sipped whatever he was drinking, then prodded, “Yet…?”
Aubrey shook his head. “It wasn’t as terrible a thought as I’d made it out to be. And I knew that then. The moment he’d said her name, the thought was in my head, and I couldn’t recoil as much as I thought. I didn’t recoil at all. And then I came to know her, and…”
“And you were off like a shot,” Francis finished with a low laugh. “Right in her direction, ready to fall.”
“Hardly so eager,” Aubrey protested, smiling to himself, “but more or less, yes.”
Francis shifted beside him and gestured towards the group they watched. “It’s always more or less, and we’re never quite sure. But you seem fairly set on a course, which is more than I can say for Henshaw.”
Aubrey jerked and looked at the other man in surprise. “Henshaw?”
“Of course.” Francis glanced at him, then snorted to himself. “You haven’t noticed, have you? Never mind, then. Settle your own matters, Ingram, and then, when you can see the rest of the world once more, I’ll let you in on that little secret.” He nudged Aubrey forward with surprising force. “It’s a waltz, man. Go to it.”
The musicians began the strains of the next song, and Aubrey found his feet carrying him to Grace without any direction from him. His heart pattered to the cadence of the song’s introduction, and the strangest heat began to pound with it from the center of his chest and out to his fingertips.
He reached Grace in moments, and she turned towards him only a breath later, eyes bright.
“Will you share this waltz with me, Miss Morledge?” he heard himself ask, though he hardly sounded like himself. The man doing the asking did so softly, tenderly, and with far too much fervor.
He was far more collected and aloof than that, wasn’t he?
Surely, he knew what he was doing, didn’t he?
Grace’s lips parted, then curved. “Aubrey,” she whispered, his name sending a jolt of pleasure into the sole of one foot, “we’ve already assessed my dancing. Thoroughly.”
She thought he was assessing her still? Blessed goddess, could she not see that he had not had a mind for flaws or tasks of any sort for weeks now?
There were no flaws. There were no faults.
There was only Grace.
He shook his head slowly and reached for her hand. “This isn’t about that,” he told her gently. “This is for no other reason than that I want to dance with you. For the sheer pleasure of the experience of being with you.”
She exhaled roughly, her hand sliding into his, the friction of their gloves together creating sparks that crackled somewhere within his chest. Her eyes stayed on his as he led her to the floor, and he realized one particularly startling thought.
He hadn’t a bloody clue what he was doing.
Except that he wanted this, wanted her.
More than anything.
He put his hand at her waist, curving it around to her back, swallowing hard as she drew closer to him, placing her hand the same on his. She would feel the tremor in his hand upon her, feel the pounding of the blood in his veins, knowing just how affected by her he was. She would know everything if he went through with this. If they truly waltzed…
He exhaled once, then swept her into the dance, giving himself up to it completely, wholly, and irreversibly. Around and around they turned, following the same pattern as the other couples in the room, though he couldn’t see any of them. He couldn’t hear the other steps or swishing of skirts and could barely hear the music they danced by.
Hearing was not nearly as important as seeing at this moment. As feeling. As being.
Grace exhaled audibly, an almost emotional sound. “I didn’t think you would dance with me,” she admitted, her tone higher than he was used to.
“Why not?” he asked as he turned her. “Why would I not?”
“Didn’t you once say that in dancing with me, they would know how you felt?” She dropped her gaze to his chin, her cheeks beginning to brighten with a blush. “Whatever it was you felt?”
Aubrey found himself smiling, and his fingers drummed slowly against her waist. “I did say that.”
Grace stilled as much as was possible while still waltzing like an angel. “And?”
“They will know.”
Her eyes raised to his at once, almost alarmed.
He smiled at her expression, shaking his head. “They will see,” he whispered, turning her in a particularly swelling motion, his fingers latching onto hers overhead. “And I don’t care that they do.”
Her jaw dropped, then slowly spread into the most beautiful, beaming, dazzling grin ever known to man. “You don’t?”
Dazed by what he had witnessed, he could only formulate the shape of words, not give voice to them, for the space of several frantic heartbeats. “No,” he eventually managed, his voice resembling the sound of a wave dashed on the sea. “In fact, I may even be glad for it.”
Grace’s eyes crinkled in delight, the dark depths drawing him in until he was lost. “Glad to have them see how you feel about waltzing with me?” she teased.
Could she not know? Could she not see and feel, and practically taste this need he had for her?
Then he felt it. The throbbing pulse at her back, right where his hand sat, pounding furiously against his palm. Through the fabric of gloves and gown, he could feel the beating of her heart over that of his own, and he became entirely attuned to it, fixated on it, encouraged by it. This madness he felt and was consumed by was gripping her, too.
He was not alone in this.
She was with him.
“Glad,” he told her, dropping his voice lower still, “to have them see the way I look at you. To have them know what you make me feel. To let them bear witness to the incomparable joy that being with you gives me.” He swallowed as emotion began to fill him, grounding himself by the joined pounding of their hearts. “To be seen in the depths of complete adoration, Grace Morledge, for no one else but you.”
Grace’s breath caught on a faint sob, and he squeezed the hand he held tightly, wishing with the desperation of the damned that they were alone in this room, in this place. In any place at all.
Holding her in this form of the dance was not enough. He needed her closer, needed to cradle her against him, to draw
her in until he could not remember how to exist without the feel of her. To kiss her in a thousand different ways and a thousand different places, to bear his heart and soul to her in whatever long-winded attempts at sonnets and pathetic declarations of love and devotion his unworthy lips could form. To sit beside her with their fingers entwined, letting the silence speak for itself.
To make vows, plans, and dreams together.
To be with her.
Simply to be.
Anywhere, anytime, anything would be enough so long as he had her.
Whatever he had wanted, whatever he had planned, it all faded into nothingness. The woman in his arms was more than anything he could have had, created, or brought about, and he would be fortunate beyond his wildest imaginations if only he had half as much love from her as he felt burning through him.
Round and around they danced, slowly pulling each other closer, drawing together helplessly, legs brushing against each other as they moved, eyes steady on each other. He could count every one of her breaths, and she would know how his heart thumped. He memorized the shape of her lips down to the smallest detail, and she might have drawn the exact shade of his eyes from memory.
Lord, to be so lost in another person as to be unaware of anything or anyone else!
Perfection. That was it, that was the feeling between them, the notion swirling about his head and his lips and filling his lungs. Perfection in its most ideal form.
Remarkably, not in her. Obviously not in him.
But in them.
In this.
This was perfection, and how he loved perfection.
The sound of applause accompanied his epiphany, and he found that blissfully apt, until it dawned on him that the waltz had finished, and the music was no more. His ears resumed their usual abilities, and his head swam with the motion his body no longer engaged in. He was still breathless, Grace was still incomparable, and he was still in love with her.
Aubrey stared at her, lost as to how to proceed. Racing off with her into the night was surely frowned upon, and yet…
He slowly drew his hand from her waist, pulling back and dying a slow death as her hand slid against his side. He let his hand move to her arm, fingers trailing along the length of her glove until they captured her own. He held her gaze, her eyes black as the night, then bowed deeply over her hand, and kissed the back, wishing he had the power to reach the skin beneath.
He lingered, whispering a benediction against her hand, then drew up and sighed as her fingers curled tightly against his in a grip that would have shaken a saint to his core.
“Aubrey,” Grace whispered through her full, unmoving lips.
He swallowed, shaking his head, beyond words. Even her name was too much to manage at this moment, but he smiled. Smiled with all the tenderness a man is capable of, with the warmth of summer, the bliss of spring, and the passion of a kiss.
With all the love in existence.
He led her from the floor, and reluctantly returned her to Janet’s side. No one said a word, but their eyes said volumes.
They knew.
And so did he.
Chapter Twenty-One
If all good things must come to an end, why do we engage in them at all? Perhaps we should refrain and save ourselves the trouble.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 11 July 1815
Had there ever been a morning as glorious as this one?
Had he ever paid any particular attention to them?
Aubrey grinned as he moved from the breakfast room to the front of the house, exhaling with satisfaction, confidence, and some excitement, he could easily admit. He glanced at himself in the looking glass in the hall, nodding at himself, though he could have been the proverbial Society puppy with his boyish grin.
Clipped footsteps approached, and Aubrey turned to greet them. “I’m going to make an offer, Locke.”
“To me, sir?”
Aubrey looked at his butler wryly, then sobered at once. “Well, no, Locke. I cannot say I had any idea you were so inclined, and I do feel that I would receive many askew glances for offering for my butler.”
Locke stiffened, his face turning red. “Sir…”
“You’re the one who said it, Locke,” Aubrey pointed out with a shrug. “I was only correcting you.”
The butler heaved the long-suffering sigh of those cursed with insolent dependents. “Yes, sir.”
“But no, you will be happy to hear that I am going to offer for Miss Morledge.” Aubrey grinned with the delight he could barely contain. “And I think she might accept.”
Locke did not look remotely convinced, and Aubrey wondered if he had finally pushed the man past his limits.
Aubrey raised a brow. “You think not?”
“I cannot speak to the lady’s tastes and preferences, my lord,” Locke replied with a slight bow as Aubrey slid his arms into his greatcoat. “I fear I have no way of knowing how likely she is to accept such an offer.”
That was rather a lot of speaking for his butler in response to anything Aubrey said, and he narrowed his eyes at the older man. “But?” he prodded.
Locke’s mouth quirked, and Aubrey gaped at the sight. “But it would be most fortuitous for all of us to have Miss Morledge as our mistress, sir.”
“Did you just smile at the thought, Locke?” Aubrey accused, not bothering to hide his excitement.
The butler maintained a steady, placid expression. “I might have done, sir.”
Good heavens, he’d finally done it. He’d cracked the façade of his butler at last.
Breaking generations of tradition and protocol, Aubrey clapped his butler’s arms in both hands. “By Jove, Locke, I do believe the future is looking quite bright for us.”
“If you say so, my lord,” came the doubtful reply.
This day was destined to be one for glory, he was sure of it now. Grinning, Aubrey nodded to his butler and turned to go. “Tell Sundrey to set out my best clothing, Locke. We will feast tonight!”
“He’ll be delighted to hear it, my lord.”
Aubrey chuckled to himself as he strode from the house, climbing into the carriage, and setting off at once. He’d been of the same mind for the past two days but hadn’t been able to take it up without making inquiries with his solicitor and the like. The details had to be seen to, and he needed to be prepared in all things before taking himself off to Trenwick on such an errand.
There was no telling how the buzzard would react to hearing such news, which was why Aubrey had set into motion several contingency plans and additional measures.
And now he would be able to proceed.
He’d have asked Grace first, but with Trenwick as her father, he’d have to do this according to his tastes, and those would not involve Grace at all.
Surely, she’d forgive him for that, given the end result would be the same.
From the moment he’d let her out of his arms after the waltz at Sterling House, he’d known his life as he had known it was over, and that he was at the start of a new one. He had to have her, and he would not stop until he did. He had to give her himself, and he had never been more willing to do anything so self-sacrificing. It did not even feel like a sacrifice, but an offering wherein he would come out the more fortunate party.
Aubrey Flint was diving headfirst into the ocean of love, marriage, and Grace Morledge.
May he drown in such depths and never come up for air.
He was shown into the house at once, Bennett never revealing a word or giving him the slightest sign of encouragement. Clearly, he would need to double his efforts to win over this butler as he had his own.
“His lordship will see you, sir,” Bennett informed him before Aubrey could request a meeting and escorted him to the study.
“How did he…?” Aubrey asked in a low tone.
Bennett silenced him with a look. “He’s in a right state, my lord,” came the almost whispered reply. “None can say why.”
Aubrey stiffened, his jaw tightening. �
�Grace?”
Bennett shook his head. “None can say, sir,” he said again.
“Marvelous,” Aubrey muttered, straightening his waistcoat and adjusting his cravat. “Thank you for the warning.”
The butler knocked at the door, then showed Aubrey in.
Trenwick rose behind his desk, expression set as though in stone. “Fortuitous arrival, Ingram. I was in the process of sending for you. Sit, please.”
The hair at the back of Aubrey’s neck and along his arms stood on end, the clipped, cool tone warning him off of his course. He sat without response and folded his hands in his lap, waiting for his host to enlighten him.
“I will not engage in politeness, my lord,” Trenwick began as the door closed. “I pray you will forgive me for it, but there is far too much to discuss and I am eager to get on with it.”
Aubrey nodded once, hands tightening in anticipation.
Trenwick pressed his fists into his desk, leaning on them, eyes hard on Aubrey. “Something has come to my attention, Ingram, and it could not wait. I could not believe my ears when I heard it, and I thought it must be slanderous falsehood. So, you can imagine my surprise when my own investigation into the matter revealed it to be true.”
Good heavens, what was this? How could he have known when there had been nothing at all to tell? Aubrey swallowed and made no reply, did not move his head or any other part of him. He could not risk revealing anything of his own, not yet.
Trenwick needed no reply, and his eyes hardened. “Were you aware, sir, of my daughter’s involvement in a particular circulation known as the Spinster Chronicles?”
The first emotion was that of profound relief, followed very quickly by equally profound panic.
“I had discovered that recently, my lord, yes,” Aubrey admitted evasively, taking to express truth without elaborating on it.
My Fair Spinster Page 28