“So, there you have it. The waltz.” Preshea concluded the dance lesson. “Not so bad, is it?”
“Most refreshing to undertake a bit of exercise. Shall we continue?” Lord Lionel was puffing slightly, rosy-cheeked but enjoying himself, for all he partnered his sister.
What had begun as a ploy became a pleasant afternoon of light exercise. The Blingchesters even joined for a quadrille.
Once the waltz was retired for more acceptable fare, Gavin danced with every lady there, including Lady Blingchester and the Duchess of Snodgrove. So did Mr Jackson, although perhaps not so gracefully.
They ended on another waltz, Miss Leeton having started it unasked. Cheeky lady.
Gavin took Preshea back into his arms. As had already been established, she was his only option for the waltz.
“We dance verra well together.” It was not dancing to which he referred.
“We do, but the music will stop soon.”
“That doesna mean we should end our partnership prematurely.”
Saucy blighter. “True. But you know the rules of society as well as I – you may not ask for another.”
“Na unless we are engaged.”
“Don’t.” Her steps stuttered.
He stopped that tactic instantly. “I’ll never ask for more than you’re prepared to give, Lady Villentia. Never. I hope you know that by now.”
“Yes. I believe I do.”
“Perhaps you could see yourself taking another spin about the room, later tonight?”
“Perhaps.”
* * *
Gavin wasn’t certain she would come to him again. He was fairly certain sure she wanted to, but not that she would allow herself the indulgence.
Still, he made sure everything was ready for her. The fire built up, the counterpane turned back. He’d washed thoroughly, and had Mawkins give him an evening pass with the razor, much to his valet’s surprise and annoyance.
“What need have you for a shave so late? You aren’t going to a ball. Have you gone mad?”
Gavin glared. “Dinna trouble yourself with reasoning – ’tis not healthy in a valet.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Mawkins retrieved the shaving things. “You’re getting quirky in your old age, sir. Don’t know how long I can take quirky.” Mawkins was eyeing the banyan with displeasure. Mawkins wasn’t Scottish. He must be forgiven his poor taste.
Gavin, of course, suspected his valet knew exactly why he might wish a shave before bed.
Gavin had not lied to Preshea. He was discreet and careful about his liaisons. He had entertained only two ladies since resigning his commission. Mawkins hadn’t known of either. In the past, the valet always shaved Gavin without comment before Gavin left to attend private evening arrangements. But that had been in London; he might well have been going to his club as going to his mistress.
Mawkins’ annoyance, no doubt, stemmed from his not knowing which young lady had curried Gavin’s favor. What, Gavin wondered, are the betting odds belowstairs?
“Do you require the claret, sir?”
“Aye. Two glasses, please.”
Mawkins bowed stiffly, in a manner that suggested he was gravely put out with Gavin’s keeping secrets. Still, he never shirked his duties, returning promptly with the claret. He took away the last of Gavin’s garments to be pressed with only an exasperated look.
So Gavin waited, clean-shaven, and hoped.
Bonnie lass, she did come. Slipping into his room so quickly, he might not have noticed had he not been staring at the door, willing it to open.
She’d changed into a dressing gown. Gavin was a little disappointed, for he liked the titillation of undressing a woman one layer at a time. However, it was a beautiful silky thing that draped about her in rivers of white fabric.
She moved across his chamber with a confidence she hadn’t shown the previous night.
He couldn’t stop the grin. He had given her that at least – a boldness within lust. He could tell from the way she walked that she intended to claim him. He was delighted to let her.
Having just tended the fire, he stood clutching the poker in one hand like a clumsy gyte. He put it back in its cradle, bashful.
“I could grow to both love and hate this thing.” She fingered the shawl collar of his banyan.
“Why’s that, lass?”
“It’s quite the eyesore, but it does fit you beautifully, and it is easy to remove.”
Suiting her actions to words, she stripped him of the offending article. Unashamed, he held out his arms so she could pull it off easily.
She ran her fingers over him. Her hands were stronger than one might expect. His breath quickened. She was rushing, pulling him along with her, and he was powerless to resist.
It was sublime.
She pressed against him, all silk-covered flesh, rubbing like a cat. She stroked him everywhere, over his chest and back, down lower, squeezing both in front and behind. He jerked in her grasp but let her do whatever she wished – touch whatever she liked.
She wasn’t speaking this time. She was happy to explore without asking and he was happy to let her. He need not give her permission; she already had that. She had all of him, anytime she liked.
Turning words into mere sounds was easier anyway. Small gasps and moans could not be confessions. There was nothing to deny or avoid. She would not run if he offered her his body; she would if he offered his heart.
So, he converted I love you to tiny kisses. And I will treasure you forever into long caresses of the kind that made her undulate against him.