The Lady In Question

by Victoria Alexander

  “I do indeed.” For a long moment they stared into each other’s eyes. His heart thudded in his chest. The room around them seemed to dim and vanish. The world, and everything in it, was of no consequence. Nothing mattered beyond the two of them.

  He barely noticed when the music stopped. Reluctantly he released her and stepped back.

  “How very odd, I find it difficult to catch my breath,” she murmured. “It has been such a long time since I’ve danced a waltz.” She caught her mistake and cast him a teasing smile. “At least a quarter hour or so.”

  “Then perhaps you should like a breath of fresh air.” He offered his arm. “Would you accompany me to the terrace?”

  “I get in rather a lot of trouble on terraces,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “It is a beautiful night,” he said in a tempting manner.

  “Indeed it is, my lord, but” — she leaned toward him confidentially — “surely you realize if you and I are seen leaving together it would quite ruin my reputation.”

  “Of course.” He cast her a resigned smile and pushed aside his disappointment. He couldn’t blame her. It wouldn’t be her reputation at stake, after all, but her sister’s.

  “Still…” She paused and he could read a myriad of thoughts in her eyes. Indecision and temptation and, at last, a glimmer of resolve. His hopes rose.

  “However” — she smiled in a too-innocent manner — “if you should feel the need for fresh air, I would encourage you to retire to the terrace.” Her gaze met his and she waved her fan before her face in a slow, seductive manner that would scarcely move a breath of air but was doing rather remarkable things to his insides. “One never knows who else might feel a similar need.”

  “I see.” He nodded thoughtfully. “And perhaps I should bring a glass of champagne with me?”

  “Or two. To sustain you, of course, against the night air.”

  “Of course.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. He breathed in the scent he could recognize in his sleep, felt the warmth of her hand through her gloves, lost himself in the deep blue of her eyes. In the slight puzzlement, the touch of apprehension and the cautious anticipation he saw there.

  Her gaze locked with his and, without warning, the moment between them changed, lengthened, stretched endlessly. He wanted to pull her into his arms right here, right now, taste her lips, feel the warmth of her flesh beneath his hands, mold her body against his. Right here, right now, and the rest of the world be damned. He didn’t care about impropriety or her uncle or his work or her husband or his friend. And he knew, from the look in her eye and the slight intake of her breath and the heat that flashed between them, without question, without doubt, she felt the same shocking connection.

  He held her hand a beat longer than he should have. She pulled away a moment later than she should have.

  “I…” She shook her head slightly as though to clear it, and he resisted the need to do the same. “Perhaps we shall meet again, my lord.”

  “Sooner rather than later, I should hope.”

  She nodded, smiled and took her leave, leaving a distinct air of confusion in her wake. It would have been quite satisfying if he hadn’t been more than a bit befuddled himself.

  What exactly had just happened here? They were playing a game of sorts, flirtatious and entirely lighthearted. At least, it had started as a game. And a dangerous one at that.

  Still, was it wrong to want to be with her as himself and not as an elderly servant? Wrong to wonder where things between the two of them might lead? What the end result would be between Lady Wilmont and Viscount St. Stephens? It was not especially wise, perhaps, but wrong? He had no idea. It might well be inevitable.

  He strolled toward the terrace and grinned to himself, resisting the oddest urge to whistle.

  Welcome to the game.

  Chapter 9

  “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d meet me.”

  “I wasn’t entirely sure I’d meet you either.” Delia sipped her champagne and studied the viscount curiously. What game was this man playing? Not that she really cared. She was rather enjoying it all.

  She had taken the time to find Cassie in the library and quiz her about the charming viscount. Cassie couldn’t so much as remember his name and pointed out, once again, if she could not remember a gentleman he was not worth remembering.

  In this particular case, Delia suspected Cassie was wrong.

  They stood in the shadows in a far corner of the terrace, just out of the pool of light cast by chandeliers placed along the stone balustrade. Delia and Cassie had been aware of the benefits of this particular spot for years. It was discreet but not overly secluded, with a conveniently placed stone bench. If one wanted to cast caution aside, there were any number of spots in the garden, most notably the mazes, as well as a variety of other well-placed benches, that provided far more privacy.

  However, this spot on the terrace was the perfect location for a rendezvous one did not want to get out of hand. Especially when one was pretending to be one’s sister and, thanks to said sister’s poor memory, had no idea how far things had progressed with the gentleman in question.

  St. Stephens chuckled, a rather nice sound that warmed her down to her toes. “I’m not certain if I’m relieved by your hesitation or disappointed.”

  “Relieved, my lord?” She raised a brow. “Because of that stuffy, narrow-minded nature of yours?”

  “It is my greatest fault,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Somehow I doubt that,” she said wryly. He couldn’t possibly be as stuffy as he claimed. If he were, he would not be engaged in a private meeting with an unmarried woman.

  In truth, he was rather amusing, this unknown lord who apparently was in the midst of an ongoing flirtation with her sister. Or at least thought he was. She and Cassie had talked well into the late hours last night and Cassie had spoken of any number of prospective suitors who may or may not come up to scratch this season, and may or may not be worth the effort at any rate, but she hadn’t mentioned St. Stephens. Which meant Cassie’s affections were not so much as mildly engaged. St. Stephens’s intentions, however, were unknown.

  “And your disappointment?”

  Although how Cassie could fail to mention St. Stephens, even in passing, was something of a mystery. He was entirely too handsome to be overlooked, and wonderfully tall, with the most intriguing gleam in his eye, as if he could see right through her and knew all her secrets.

  “The reason for that, my dear Miss Effington, is obvious.”

  And liked what he saw. “Is it?”

  “I quite treasure the opportunity to be alone with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” His brows drew together as if her question were phrased in a language he didn’t speak.

  “Yes.” She bit back a grin. She hadn’t been at all forward with a man until she’d met Charles. Now it appeared to be an altogether natural way of dealing with situations like this. And extremely enjoyable. “Why do you treasure the opportunity to be alone with me?”

  “Well.” He thought for a moment, as if desperate to come up with a suitable reason for being alone with a woman in the shadows of a terrace short of stealing a kiss. Delia suspected, or perhaps hoped, that would be at least part of his answer. “You are lovely.”

  “Tsk, tsk, my lord.” She shook her head in mock dismay. “Is that the best you can do? I expected something far more original from you than that.”

  “Did you? Very well. I should hate to disappoint you.” He set his glass on the bench, leaned back against the balustrade and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me think for a moment.”

  “My, that is flattering.” Delia wrinkled her nose and sipped her champagne.

  “It’s not all that difficult. I do enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

  “I see. It’s my stimulating conversation, then?” Cassie had always maintained the most successful way to flirt with a man was
to provoke him to discuss his favorite subject, usually himself.

  “Most certainly.” St. Stephens nodded.

  “Coupled with my knowledge of current affairs?” Cassie’s interest in what was going on in the world extended no further than the latest gossip and the newest fashion.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And my understanding of the workings of nature as well?”

  “The workings of nature?” He frowned. “I’m not certain —”

  “Oh, you know.” She glanced upward. “The stars, the moon, that sort of thing.”

  “Not at all.”

  “No? I thought certainly you would leap at that particular reason.”

  “No.” His voice was firm. “When I am on a terrace, on a night like this, with you, Miss Effington, I am scarcely aware of anything but you. I note the stars only in the way in which they reflect in your eyes.”

  “My eyes?”

  “Indeed.” He straightened and stepped closer. “I cannot see their color at the moment, but I know, because I have gazed into them before, your eyes are blue as an ocean. And here in the night, the stars shine in them like fairy lights upon the water.”

  “Fairy lights, you say?” It was nothing more than flirtatious banter, yet it was hard to resist the fanciful nature of his words. And harder still to resist the oddly serious note that underlaid them.

  “I have always been quite fond of fairy lights,” he murmured, moving nearer. He stared down at her. “And then there’s the moon, of course. The way the moonlight touches your hair, a kiss, perhaps, of magic.”

  “Magic, you say?” He was very good at this. “But there is no moonlight tonight, my lord.”

  “And yet, I know.” His voice was soft, seductive…irresistible.

  He lowered his head toward hers. She strained upward to meet him.

  Without warning, she realized she’d been in precisely this position before.

  She drew a sharp breath, stepped back and downed the rest of her champagne. “Sir.” She set her glass firmly on the balustrade. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage.”

  He narrowed his eyes in obvious confusion “What?”

  “I said” — she swallowed hard — “sir, I fear you have me at a disadvantage.” She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

  He frowned. “Do you have something in your eye?” He stepped closer. “Can I be of help?”

  “Of course I don’t have something in my eye.” She huffed in frustration and stepped away. “I shall try this once more.” She squared her shoulders. “Sir, I fear you have me at a disadvantage.”

  “Blast it all, woman, what are you talking about?” He stared. “I certainly don’t feel as though I have you at any disadvantage whatsoever. In truth, Miss Effington, I fear you have me at a disadvantage.”

  At once the absurdity of the situation struck her and she laughed. “Perhaps, I have, my lord. How does it feel?”

  “Confusing. Annoying. Irritating.” He smiled grudgingly. “Intriguing.”

  “If that intrigues you, you might appreciate this as well.” She drew a deep breath. “I have a confession to make and I neither make them lightly nor well.”

  “Then I am honored you have chosen me to confide in.”

  “I hope you will continue to be honored rather than insulted. You see, my lord, I fear my memory has failed me.” She paused to gather her courage. It was bad enough that she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t, but she preferred not to compound her sins with additional pretense. Besides, Cassie really didn’t remember him. “You have my most sincere apologies, but I cannot recall meeting you.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief. “You do not remember our dances together?”

  She shook her head. “I am sorry, but no.”

  “But surely you recall that this is not the first time we have retired to a terrace?”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No indeed.” He shook his head and sighed with disappointment. “I warn you, Miss Effington, I shall be shattered if you tell me you don’t remember sharing a kiss on a terrace very much like this under stars very much like these.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” Or rather Cassie didn’t. “Are you certain?”

  “I most certainly am.”

  “You’re not confusing me with someone else, perhaps?”

  “Never,” he said staunchly.

  “I can’t imagine anyone forgetting something like a kiss,” she murmured.

  “Nor can I. It’s not at all flattering, you know. A man likes to think his kisses are memorable.”

  She would have to throttle her sister when she saw her. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Neither do I. I am crushed.” His shoulders drooped in an exaggerated sigh, then he straightened. “Perhaps you just need something to refresh your memory.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. His gaze locked with hers and the odd drowning sensation she’d had when she’d first looked in his eyes tonight gripped her with a vengeance. His voice was low, intense, intimate. “I know I shall never forget.”

  For an instant, or perhaps forever, she stared into his eyes. She had made one horrible mistake with a man that had changed her entire life and no matter how appealing the idea of becoming an experienced woman was, she truly hated to make another mistake. A voice in the back of her head, the same voice that had warned her against involvement with Charles, screamed this man was every bit as dangerous. Possibly more. Yet, something somewhere deep inside, something perhaps nearer her heart, urged her onward, and she had the strangest feeling this was no mistake.

  This was right.

  His lips brushed against hers and her eyes closed. Her body melted at the mere suggestion of his lips near hers and she knew she was lost.

  And didn’t care.

  He paused and she felt him sigh against her. “I fear I too have a confession to make, Miss Effington.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Now, my lord?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Neither of them moved.

  There was little more than a breath between them. “Are you certain?”

  “Unfortunately, I am.” Regret sounded in his voice.

  If she reached upward the tiniest bit, she would be the one kissing him. Would he insist on confession then? “If you tell me I have you at a disadvantage, I will not believe you.”

  “It’s not that, although I suppose I have, in truth, had you at a disadvantage all along.”

  She rested her hands on his jacket. His muscles tightened beneath her touch. “Wouldn’t you rather kiss me first and then confess?”

  “Good Lord, yes.”

  “Excellent.” She pressed her lips against his.

  He hesitated, then pulled away slightly. “But I can’t. Your memory is not failing, Miss Effington.” She felt his muscles tense against her and wondered if he was bracing himself. “We have never actually met before.” He held his breath.

  “I see,” she said slowly. “Then why —”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “It was rather amusing at first and I was curious as to how long it would take for you to admit that you didn’t remember me. It did take rather a long time, you know.”

  “I was trying not to be rude,” she said in a lofty manner.

  “You were most polite. It was a silly game, but rather fun nonetheless.” He smiled sheepishly. “I was carried away, and I do apologize.”

  She should be annoyed with his deception but instead was relieved and rather pleased. It was one thing to flirt with a man who had kissed your sister, and something else altogether to kiss a man who had never met your sister at all.

  “Then we have never danced before tonight?”

  Yet they did dance together with an ease born only of practice or nature. As if they were meant to dance together.

  “Nor have we met on a terrace beneath the stars?”

  He shook his head. “I am most sorry, but no.”

  Even so, it was a meeting lacking in the awkwardness of m
ost first meetings. As if indeed they had met and talked before.

  “And never shared a kiss?”

  “No. To my everlasting regret, no.”

  “I see.”

  She could put an end to this. Now, this very minute. Turn and walk away, and not even he would blame her. Still, his sense of honesty would not allow him to kiss her under false pretenses. It was quite an honorable thing to do and really rather impressive. Why, the man should be rewarded. Or, at the very least, given an opportunity to atone for his sins.

  “Then this, my lord” — she slipped her hands up and around his neck — “shall be our first.” She met his lips with hers.

  He hesitated for less than a heartbeat, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. His lips were warm and firm and tasted delightfully of champagne, or perhaps starlight. In spite of the forward nature of her actions and his obvious desire, the touch between them was light, tentative, cautious. The last time she’d been kissed it had led to passion and scandal. Now she wasn’t sure where this would lead. His lips pressed harder against hers and she realized she didn’t care. Desire and need swept through her and her restraint snapped. Regardless of what might happen between them, she wanted this, wanted him. Wanted his lips pressed against hers, his tongue meeting and mating with her own, his body firm and strong against hers.

  His hand splayed across the small of her back and held her tight against him. Her hands clutched at the back of his neck and she clung to him as if he were the answer to her prayers. Or her life. He slanted his mouth harder over hers, and one kiss turned to another and another, until she thought she would surely swoon of the sheer bliss of his mouth on hers, of being in his arms.

  At last, he slowly raised his head. “Well…”

  “Good heavens.” An odd note of awe sounded in her voice.

  “I know I shall surely remember that,” he said under his breath.

  “As will I.” She sighed and wanted nothing more than to remain in the warmth of his embrace. Forever.

  He released her with a reluctance she shared. They stepped apart and she struggled to catch her breath.

  Silence fell between them and stretched, long and awkward. She wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but it was obviously much more than a kiss. Her legs were unsteady and her heart pounded in her ears. She had known passion and desire before, but this was different. This reached inside her, past mere passion and ordinary desire to something deeper, richer, terrifying. To her very soul, perhaps. Who was this man?