WANTON (23 page)

“We can do it again someday.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he responded.

If she had her way, they’d be repeating the conduct for the rest of their lives. But she didn’t dare say so.

She let out a very unladylike yawn. “I’m fading fast.”

He leaned nearer and kissed her cheek. “Goodbye.”

“Not goodbye,” she countered. “You mean good night.”

He paused for an eternity, then mumbled, “Ah...yes, good night.”

She rolled over to find him balanced on an elbow, looking decadent and dashing and so very, very handsome. A sliver of affection roiled her, and it grew and grew until she didn’t know what to make of it.

Their joining had changed everything. She was connected to him as she’d never be with another. She was his and he was hers, and they would be together forever. No one could keep them apart.

He slid off the bed, and she watched, unmoving, as he straightened his trousers, as he grabbed his clothes and tugged them on.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said.

In light of what they’d shared, it was the strangest comment ever, but she haltingly replied, “I’m...glad too.”

“Remember: No regrets. You promised.”

“No regrets, Lucas. Never.” He started out, and she called to his back, “Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

“What about it?”

“Lord Westwood’s ball. You swore you’d waltz with me.”

He scowled. “I guess I did.”

“I’ll pencil you in on my dance card.”

“You do that, Miss Hubbard. And wear that silvery-colored gown of yours.”

“The silver one? Why?”

“It’s my favorite, and I want to waltz with the most beautiful woman in the room. In fact, I insist on it.”

“Silver it is, then, Mr. Drake. Silver it is.”

He brushed his fingers to his lips and sent a kiss winging toward her. Then he spun and left, and she snuggled down, listening as the quiet settled.

With him gone, there was an immediate and disturbing sense of finality in the air and, suddenly, she was suffering from an unnerving impression that she’d never see him again.

Of course she would! Currently, she was emotionally distraught, but it would pass. She’d see him the next evening. He’d sworn he’d be there, and perhaps the proposal would come then. She’d be expecting it, and she’d dress with the intention that it would be the magnificent moment for which she’d been impatiently waiting.

He couldn’t possibly refuse to do the right thing—not after such a riveting experience. He’d be eager to have her as his wife. She had no doubt.

Yet as she tugged the covers more tightly around her, as she fell asleep, she was frowning. She tossed and turned, her dreams chaotic and disordered and terribly, terribly sad.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course, darling.”

Amelia leaned nearer to Barbara and whispered, “When a man and a woman become...well...intimate...”

She couldn’t continue, and Barbara laughed. “Amelia, you look as if you’re about to burst into flames from embarrassment.”

“Is it always special between them?” she forced out.

“Do you mean every time they perform their sexual behaviors?”

“I guess.” Amelia patted her hot cheeks and shook her head with chagrin. “I’m not schooled enough in amour to know what I’m talking about. Don’t pay me any mind.”

Barbara studied her, those shrewd eyes digging deep, then she said, “With certain lovers, it’s simply physical conduct and nothing more. With others though, it’s always stupendous, but those experiences are very rare.”

“What causes one to be more extraordinary than another?”

“I’m not sure, but I suspect some people possess an invisible chemistry. Some have it and some don’t. Does that help?”

“Yes.”

Amelia stared out at the packed ballroom. She was scanning the crowd, trying to see the door. The waltz set was starting, couples pairing up, but there was no sign of Lucas, and a sliver of unease crept down her spine.

She’d been on pins and needles all day, pondering him, wondering if he’d stop by Barbara’s house for an
official
visit. Whenever the knocker had been banged, she’d jumped, positive he’d come to publicly claim her, or perhaps that it was her brother come to announce that Lucas had approached him to ask for her hand.

But Chase hadn’t appeared, and Lucas hadn’t arrived.

She hadn’t told Barbara what had happened. It had been such a private, remarkable event that she couldn’t bear to share the details with anyone. If there was a niggling voice taunting her for a fool, telling her she’d misjudged, she shoved it away.

For a brief second, she closed her eyes and remembered how Lucas had gazed at her, how he’d brimmed with fondness and affection. It hadn’t been faked, and she hadn’t imagined it.

She didn’t know what to do with all the turmoil roiling her. With each movement of her body, she could feel the soreness between her legs, which was constant and gripping evidence that she belonged to him.

Yet what if he didn’t view it that way? There was that odd moment when he was leaving, when he’d said
goodbye
rather than
good night
. She’d replayed that exchange a thousand times and couldn’t deny that there had been a definite air of finality in his words.

What if he’d left London as he’d been planning? What if he’d ruined her, then totted off like the cad he was renowned to be? What if...what if...

The instant the frightening doubts assailed her, she pushed them away. She wouldn’t think badly of him, wouldn’t believe the worst. His entire life, he’d been denigrated and disparaged.
She
wouldn’t malign him. Not ever. From now on, she would always be his best friend and champion.

The orchestra was ready, and the beginning chord was sounded. Her heart sank, her pulse pounding with a sick dread. It took every ounce of fortitude she had to keep her smile firmly in place, but she might have been made of glass. Given the slightest encouragement, she would shatter into pieces.

How could he deceive her? How could he fail to arrive?

She’d been so confident in her assessment of their situation.

Barbara glared at her and frowned. “I thought you were dancing the waltz set. I thought your card had been signed.”

“I don’t see him,” Amelia miserably replied.

“What sort of rude oaf would leave you standing here alone? Why ask you if he doesn’t intend to dance?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It most certainly does. Who is it? Do I know him?”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Amelia mumbled.

Suddenly, there was a murmuring in the crowd. Heads were turning, a path clearing so someone could get through.

Amelia glanced over at the commotion, and...there was Lucas!

He’d dressed in full evening wear, a black velvet coat with tails, a cravat stitched from miles of Belgian lace. Diamond studs pierced the cuffs of his shirt. His shoes had been buffed to a lustrous shine.

She’d never seen him looking so grand, hadn’t known he owned such fabulous clothes. He made such a point of disdaining the members of the
ton
that she always forgot—for all his complaining—this was his world and these were his peers.

Her jaw dropped. “Lucas?”

He clasped her hand and gave a perfect bow over it. “Miss Hubbard, I apologize for being late. There was a terrible crush with the carriages outside.”

“It’s...it’s fine. The waltzes are just starting.”

“So I hear. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

She was so shocked that she was trembling with what felt like dismay.

There was not a single resemblance to the lazy, insolent libertine of her acquaintance. He appeared rich and dashing and more handsome than any man had a right to be. Because he frequently scorned his family and his lineage, it was easy to discount his actual position, but his current attire underscored the vast differences between them.

Why would he ever wed her? He was an earl’s son, a viscount’s brother, and she was a schoolteacher and orphan with no ancestry that could be mentioned in polite company. He could pick a bride from the most elevated circles. He didn’t need to stoop so low. Why would he?

Her composure flagged, and she was very close to running out of the room in shame. Then...he smiled, his blue eyes glittering with an intensity that informed her he found her to be beautiful, that he’d come especially to be with her, that there was no other woman in the kingdom he wanted to be with more than her.

“You wore the silver gown,” he said.

“Just for you.”

Barbara took that moment to lean in. “Lucas Drake! As I live and breathe! Look at you. My goodness!”

“Mrs. Middleton.” He nodded at Barbara, being very correct, very formal.

“Amelia,” Barbara scolded, “there are obviously a few things you haven’t told me.”

“Obviously,” Amelia agreed. “You don’t have to know everything, do you?”

“I have to know
some
things—such as how this happened.”

Barbara waved her fingers toward Lucas, trying to indicate the elegant transformation, but there were no words to describe how magnificent he was.

The orchestra began to play, the couples whirling as if they were marionettes being pulled along by the tantalizing rhythm.

Lucas’s smile widened. “May I have this dance, Miss Hubbard?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Drake.”

He grinned a heart-stopping grin. “I really can waltz.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” she saucily retorted.

“Yes,
we
will.”

He placed a very proper hand on her waist, and she laid a very proper palm on his shoulder. As if by magic, he whisked her into the color, motion, and joyous movement.

Very quickly she realized that Lucas hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed to be an accomplished dancer. He was commanding and confident and very light on his feet, and Amelia only needed an instant to decide that she was—by allying herself with him—once again immersed in the most spectacular, most wondrous experience of her life.

Nothing that occurred in the future would ever, ever compare.

* * * *

“Would you look at that?”

George Drake was standing at the edge of the ballroom, watching as the couples twirled by in a fast, dizzying wave.

Lucas was in the middle of it with Miss Hubbard. Under Barbara’s tutelage, she’d blossomed into a raving beauty, wearing Barbara’s gowns and jewels as if she’d been born to the attire.

As to Lucas—with his blond hair and blue eyes—he could have been an Olympian god come down to Earth. Honestly! He was remarkably majestic, but then, it was easy for him. He resembled his glamorous mother in nearly every way.

Together, Lucas and Miss Hubbard were the most striking pair on the floor, like a prince and princess in a fairytale, and it was impossible not to stare. Everyone else was turning too, transfixed by the sight. Partially because Lucas never made much of an effort to impress, but also because they were just so arresting.

“I’m stunned, George. I’m absolutely stunned.”

“So am I.”

He was huddled with Barbara Middleton, the two of them struggling to hide their astonishment.

“Had you any idea?” Barbara asked.

“No, none. I talked to him yesterday about her, and he refused the betrothal yet again. We quarreled about it quite vehemently.”

“Well, he’s definitely not refusing it now.”

“No, definitely not. I can’t believe it.”

“If I was pressed to explain what I’m witnessing, I’d have to say this is a beautiful young couple that is madly in love.”

“I’d have to concur,” George said. “How did this happen?
When
did this happen?”

“I don’t know. He’s visited my house a few times, and they’ve spoken, but I’m clueless as to when such fondness could have blossomed.”

“Clearly, it has.”

“Yes, clearly.”

“I’m betting we’ll have a proposal before the night is through.”

“Or first thing in the morning.”

They nodded in unison and grinned from ear to ear.

Barbara raised a brow. “You owe me ten pounds, George.”

They’d wagered over whether or not Lucas could be brought to heel. Barbara had insisted it was possible, but George had been extremely dubious. Obviously, Barbara had won.

“Money well spent, Mrs. Middleton,” George murmured. “Money well spent.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow so you can pay up.”

“I’m delighted to have been proved wrong.”

* * * *

“Would you look at that?”

“What?”

“Your brother! He’s waltzing with Miss Hubbard.”

Priscilla gestured to the dance floor, and Aaron followed the direction of her pointed finger. Sure enough, there was Lucas, whirling by with Amelia Hubbard.

Aaron hadn’t known Lucas was still in London. The previous day, his father had given Aaron a blow-by-blow account of his latest fight with Lucas. It had concluded with Lucas announcing he was sailing to India.

Ever since, Aaron had been searching for Lucas, prepared to bribe him not to go, to calm down, to reconsider. Aaron had intended to help Lucas with offers of financial assistance or whatever else would keep him in the country, for Aaron had a sinking feeling that if Lucas went to India, Aaron would never see him again.

There was too much bad blood between him and his brother. As Aaron’s marriage approached, he was growing desperate, like a dying man who had to fix all his mistakes before he reached the end. But he hadn’t been able to locate Lucas at any of his usual haunts.

To see him like this! Dressed and dashing and downright splendid!

Lucas had a style and charm that Aaron lacked. The traits had been inherited from their mother, with Lucas supposedly receiving all of her aptitude for art and music and Aaron receiving all of George’s stuffiness and pomposity.

Aaron could bang out a few horrid pieces on the harpsichord, and he’d had the same lessons as Lucas, the same teachers, but he’d quit his musical studies the moment their father had agreed he’d learned enough. But Lucas had taken to the training as if he’d been born to play and sing. He had a natural talent and a natural attractiveness that Aaron couldn’t generate or emulate.