His eyes remained on the small party a bit longer before finally returning his attention to Clara. ‘Well, we could stand here for the rest of the night watching your friend, or we could dance. I think we should dance.’
Since the Dowager was going over to Harriet, Clara was certain she would find a way to make the girl feel appreciated. She looked back up at Charles. ‘Are you asking me to dance?’
‘Would you like me to?’
He had a habit of doing that—of posing a situation and then making her feel in the end that somehow it was her idea because she would be the one doing the asking.
‘Yes, Charles. Why don’t you ask me to dance?’
‘Mrs Sommersby, would you do me the pleasure of dancing with me...if your card is free, that is?’
She looked at the white silk of her glove on her empty right palm. ‘You are in luck, Mr Whelby. It seems that I have the next dance free.’ Women of her age weren’t asked to dance as frequently as the younger women were. Each time she was asked, it felt like a treat.
He held out his arm and escorted her to the dance floor where they took their places. When the dance began, Charles took her hand in his. ‘I knew I would see you here,’ he said. ‘You’re quite predictable, you know.’
‘How very boring of me. Next week I will shock you and I will not be in attendance.’
‘You’ll pass the time attending another private ball and staying out much later than one should, I’m certain of it.’
‘Perhaps I will shock you and simply remain at home.’
‘On an evening when entertainments are offered? That would shock me.’
They separated with the movement of the dance and, as they did, she had the oddest sensation that someone was watching her. As she scanned the crowd of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, she knew she was being foolish and was proven so when she didn’t make eye contact with anyone.
They came back together once more in the movement and he narrowed his eyes on her. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No, it’s nothing. What have you been doing with yourself since you’ve been back avoiding me?’
They separated once again.
‘Well, let’s see. I’ve been reading all my correspondence that has piled up on my desk. Oh, and I had breakfast in the garden at The Fountain Head while I met with your cousin, Phillip.’ Charles was one of only a small handful of people who knew she owned the hotel. ‘Apparently, more and more people from Bath have taken to having breakfast in the garden lately. Friends are telling friends. Which is good news for the owner.’
‘I’m sure the owner is quite pleased. Did you enjoy their new offerings for breakfast?’ she asked as he came up once again at her side.
‘There wasn’t anything that was new since the last time I was there.’
They separated once more and anger started to rise up inside her. She had specifically told Phillip she wanted to expand the menu and he had agreed he would. It was times like this when she regretted having her cousin manage the establishment. Perhaps if they weren’t related she would have a manager who did not see fit to go against her wishes.
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes. It was the usual fare of Sally Lunn buns and bread.’
She wanted to storm off the dance floor and go over to The Fountain Head to demand to know why he had disregarded her request. As it stood, she was now dancing with her hands balled into two fists. Why was it so difficult for a man to realise that she knew what she was doing?
Clara stared off into the distance as she shouted things at Phillip in her head that no lady should ever say out loud. Then she caught the eye of a gentleman standing at the edge of the dance floor and her breath caught in her throat.
Mr Lane was here. And all she could think about were his parting words to her. ‘The next time I see you I’m going to kiss you.’
Chapter Seventeen
She was in green satin. Lane had wondered what colour Mrs Sommersby would be wearing on his walk over to the Upper Assembly Rooms. What someone was going to wear had never been any of his concern before, but tonight he kept trying to imagine what colour silk or satin would be against her skin.
When he entered the building, he was hoping he wouldn’t find her in the ballroom. It would have been easier if she were in the card room. No one danced in there and he was fairly skilled at cards. But when he spied her on the dance floor with the impeccably groomed, middle-aged gentleman, he was not surprised. Mrs Sommersby would indeed be a woman who danced. And once he spotted her, he didn’t want to look away.
The desire to kiss her deeply and passionately while holding her in his arms had not diminished. If anything, in that gown and under the glow of the candlelight, he wanted her even more.
How she managed to spot him in the middle of the dance was a mystery. Lane thought he had blended in completely with every other man in the room dressed in fine black evening wear. Yet somehow during one particular sequence of the dance, she had turned her head and looked directly at him. And in her eyes, at that distance, he saw the spark of recognition and then a flash of excitement before she was forced to turn away with the movement of the dance.
Not wanting to distract her and risk her stumbling, he backed further into the crowd and was rewarded for the kind gesture by the fact that he saw her searching for him a few more times before the dance ended. When she gracefully lowered herself into the final curtsy of the minuet, Lane had the strongest urge to walk up to her, grab her hand and pull her out of the room to some secluded area in the building. He wasn’t joking when he had told her he was going to kiss her the next time he saw her. He’d thought about it for most of the day.
As she walked off the dance floor with her partner, she flicked open her fan and surreptitiously scanned the room once more as they slipped into the crowd. Lane had no idea who the gentleman was. He had appeared to be very attentive to her, although he did notice that the gentleman had said something to her that had angered her. A protective instinct welled up inside him and he had to stop himself from going over there and demanding the man apologise.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d followed a woman around at a ball. There was a very real possibility that he never had. After leaving the Foundling Hospital his life had always been consumed with work. Entertainments such as this were infrequent and he usually spent them in the card room. But tonight, skulking through the crowd to watch her was his preferred way to spend the evening. Hell, she was the only reason he was here.
Somehow her eyes found him through the crowd when he got about twenty feet away from her. Something intense flared between them and he didn’t miss when her tongue peeked out and briefly touched the dip in her top lip.
He wanted to taste that lip and the plump one below it. He wanted to savour the feel of her lips against his and slide his tongue over hers to see how she would respond. Two gentlemen came around from behind him and blocked Lane’s view of her as they walked in her direction.
When she came back into view, she was standing in the very spot she had been in, looking stunning in her green-satin gown with her white-silk gloves that had fallen below her elbows. But now she was all alone. The gentleman she had been dancing with was no longer by her side. Whether it was intentional or not, he couldn’t tell, but her gaze slid slowly down his body and it became impossible to swallow.
This was it. She was all alone now. This was what he had come here for.
He approached her slowly, holding her gaze and thinking that she might disappear back into the crowd if he rushed this. When he was less than three feet from her, Mrs Sommersby’s gaze dropped to his mouth. Did she want him to drag her out of the assembly?
‘Mr Lane.’ Her voice was smooth like fine brandy and it had the ability to stir his soul with just the sound of his name. As she dipped into a shallow curtsy and lowered her head, he had the perfect view of the smooth, tempt
ing skin of the upper swells of her shapely breasts and had to rub his gloved fingers across his palm to quell the itch to touch her.
‘Good evening, Mrs Sommersby.’ It came out surprisingly composed considering the inner turmoil he was in, knowing that somehow tonight he was finally going to kiss her. ‘You look very fetching this evening.’
‘Thank you. You look quite dashing, yourself.’
A deep sense of satisfaction came over him when she called him dashing. He wasn’t as impeccably turned out as her dancing partner. It had taken five tries to get the fall of his cravat just the way he wanted it. And it was obvious from his valet’s expression that Winston had wanted to choke him with it by the time he left his room tonight.
Lane had never been a man who women fawned over. Whether that was from his appearance, his nature or his questionable birth he would never know.
‘I saw you dancing,’ he said.
‘I saw you watching.’
‘I couldn’t help it. You are a vision in green.’ He said it with a smile so that perhaps she wouldn’t realise how true he found that statement. ‘I was told by a gentlewoman with a rather rambunctious dog that this was a nice place to spend an evening.’
‘You were?’
‘Yes, she informed me of it behind a hedgerow near the Crescent.’
‘You remembered.’
‘I did.’
She turned her body and he walked beside her through the crowd, happy to allow her to set their course.
‘Have you been here long, Mr Lane?’
‘Not very.’
‘I confess it surprises me that you are not spending your evening in the card room.’
‘There is nothing that interests me in that room.’
‘And in this room?’
‘I find there is something in this room that interests me very much.’
She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. ‘Something?’
‘Someone.’
‘Ah, I see. You seemed to have disappeared from the streets of Bath as of late. I thought you had left town. I was disappointed we hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.’
‘I’ve been consumed with work.’
‘Your investments.’
‘Yes. Success only comes from long hours and dedication.’
There were four tiers of benches that lined the outer portion of the room and she headed towards them.
‘And you’re successful?’
‘Very.’
‘It hasn’t escaped my notice how committed you are to your work.’
With her hand, she gestured towards the empty seats at the end of the second tier. ‘Shall we?’
He might get a reprieve from dancing after all. Nodding his agreement, he waited for her to sit and then took the end seat beside her. She pushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and he couldn’t help notice her thighs were outlined in green satin that shimmered in the candlelight.
The movement of her hand as she opened her fan broke his concentration.
‘It feels nice to sit down. This is the first time I have taken a seat all night. One of the advantages of my age is that I do not need to stand about waiting to be seen.’
‘You make it sound as if we have one foot in the grave.’
‘We don’t. But I am far closer to it than you are.’ She continued to fan herself and looked about the room from where they were sitting. Her skin was smooth and she only had a few small lines by the corners of her eyes. There was no grey in her soft brown hair that was styled up, exposing the long curve of her neck. Her movements were spry yet graceful. She had so much energy that reverberated around her.
‘That is the second time you’ve mentioned your status as an ancient crone to me.’
‘I don’t think I phrased it exactly that way.’ The soft breeze she was making with her fan carried a hint of her fragrance on it.
‘Why do you believe that we are so old?’
‘I didn’t say old. Perhaps just advanced in age. And I was referring to me, not you.’
‘It’s all the same.’
‘No. It’s not.’ She turned at her waist to face him. ‘How old are you, Mr Lane? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘I turned seven and thirty recently.’ There was no record of his birth. He knew the year and was told the approximate month. The date of his birth along with whether his mother had given him a name was something he had always wanted to know.
Her expression softened. ‘I am five and forty. So perhaps I am an ancient crone to you.’
It couldn’t be. She didn’t look a year older than he was.
‘Speechless, I see.’
‘I just... I... I assumed we were the same age.’
‘I will take that as a compliment.’
‘You should.’
She leaned close to him and her shoulder pressed against his. Even through the satin of her gown and his tailcoat sleeve, Lane could feel the passionate heat spread from her body to him. She must have felt it, too, since she glanced at the area where their bodies were touching.
‘Now that I have cured your desire,’ she whispered to him behind her fan, ‘please don’t feel obliged to remain here with me. I understand.’
‘That has changed nothing. If anything, sitting this close to you while you are in that gown has made me want to kiss you even more. And make no mistake, Mrs Sommersby—I will be kissing you some time tonight.’
Her eyes flew to his and then dropped to his lips. What he wouldn’t give to kiss her right now.
‘But how could you still want to? I am so much older than you.’
‘You are not that much older and, in addition, you telling me your age has not changed anything about you. You are still the most captivating woman I know.’
‘Then you must know very few women.’
‘Do not do that. Do not try to diminish yourself to me. I will draw my own conclusions about you.’
‘By the flattering glow of candlelight, you may think you have not changed your mind. But when the sun comes up, you will find you see a different portrait.’
‘You truly have no idea how much I wish I could kiss you now and prove you wrong.’
Her breath caught. He heard it. And it gave him immense satisfaction.
As if to give herself time to regain her composure, she looked away from him and out into the crowd. Eventually her gaze settled on a small group of young dandies that were surrounding a tall, thin blonde woman whose hair was woven with a pale pink ribbon in it. He couldn’t understand why this particular group had captured Mrs Sommersby’s interest, until he spotted Miss Collingswood, standing slightly off to one side. It was as if she were part of the group, yet somewhat removed at the same time. An outsider. He knew very well what that felt like, especially in grand places such as this with members of the ton practising their stinging judgements based on things that were out of your control.
‘Who are those people with Miss Collingswood?’
‘That’s her sister Ann. The gentlemen are Mr Baxter, Mr Ross, Lord Harris, and Mr Warren.’
‘That is her sister?’
‘Yes, yes, I know she is a diamond of the first water.’
‘I was going to say they look nothing alike.’
She looked over at his profile. ‘Oh.’
Knowing that it was best if he kept his eyes on the group of young people and not on the woman beside him, Lane tipped his head closer to hers so their temples were almost touching. ‘Do not interpret that to mean that I have designs on your Miss Collingswood. My desires, as you know, lie elsewhere.’
The fluttering movement of her fan stopped for a breath.
‘If that is her sister,’ he continued, ‘why is she doing nothing to include Miss Collingswood in the conversation? I would think she sees that Miss Collingswood is being ignored.�
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‘That is my feeling on the matter.’ Her attention was back on the party in question. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mr Lane? Would you treat them that way?’
Any time anyone asked him about his family, it still brought a painful constriction to his heart, even after all these years. Some day he would find a wife, have some children and know what it was to have a family of his own. Until then, it was something he would not dwell on.
‘I have no brothers or sisters,’ he replied. ‘And you?’
‘I have an older sister.’ Her eyes remained on Miss Collingswood’s party. ‘Mary was always the prettier one. She was always very comfortable conversing in crowds. I was not.’ Their eyes met briefly and he sensed a sad nostalgic wave come over her. She adjusted her seat on the bench and looked back out at her young friend.
‘I find it hard to believe that you are not accomplished in conversing in a crowd. And I also believe it isn’t possible that your sister is prettier than you.’
‘You flatter me again, sir.’ She gifted him with a smile that shone in her eyes. ‘Over the years it became easier to speak in groups of people. It happened after I married my husband, God rest his soul. But even now, I actually prefer smaller intimate groups of people I am well acquainted with than standing in a group with virtual strangers. I suppose I have become skilled at hiding that part of me from the world.’
Miss Collingswood looked sad. Everyone was laughing at something her sister had said, but Miss Collingswood looked lost in her own thoughts. No one seemed to notice. No one seemed to even see her standing there.
‘I know what it is like to be ignored,’ he said. ‘To feel as though you don’t quite have a place in the room. As though maybe your place isn’t even in the room.’
He wasn’t sure why he had admitted that to her. He never liked to think about what it felt like to be a bastard.
She reached out and squeezed his hand that was resting on his thigh. ‘There are occasions when people can be so thoughtless.’
By the time he looked down, her hand was back on her lap.
The gesture was probably intended to be one of comfort. He hadn’t had much experience with physical gestures of affection. But the brief contact of their gloved hands brought a warmth that spread through his entire body. It was too intimate.
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