Ewan had never stood, undecided, for so long. He always acted quickly and boldly. Leave others to strategize and plan and second-guess. But he must have remained in the doorway long enough for Lorraine to sense him. She broke the kiss, and her gaze flicked directly to Ewan. In her eyes he saw a dozen emotions—embarrassment, surprise, shame, defiance—and something else that looked very much like regret.
Francis was turned slightly, and he did not see Ewan. Ewan closed the door before his cousin could spot him. A moment later, the door opened again and Lorraine stepped into the supper room. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips red from the other man’s kiss. She wouldn’t quite meet Ewan’s eyes.
“I should return to the ball,” she said, speaking rapidly. “I just needed a bit of air.” Ewan could only assume this statement was made for the benefit of the others in the room because she certainly hadn’t been breathing fresh air with her face pressed against Francis’s.
“The viscount was looking for you,” Ewan said, his voice hard and cold.
“Oh, Viscount Knoxwood. Of course!” That being all the excuse she needed, she escaped back into the ballroom. Ewan followed—he always followed—and stood in a corner, watching the dancers smile and flirt and exchange meaningful looks. Others frowned or hissed scathing retorts. Some looked shy with hope or wretched with disappointment. Men and women falling in love or out of it.
The music played on. The dancers danced on. Ewan stood on the outside, watching.
*
Charles found his wife on the Dewhursts’ terrace, braving the unseasonably cool temperatures in only a thin emerald-green silk gown. He liked her in green. It complemented her eyes, which was his favorite feature of hers.
One of them, at any rate.
He wondered if she wore green so often because she knew he liked her in it or if that was more wishful thinking. Her hands rested lightly on the balustrade, and over the gloves, she wore the diamond-and-emerald ring he’d given her. He hadn’t even been certain she’d accept it, and every time he saw it on her finger, his heart clenched with hope.
Let the ton gossip about her new lover. Charles knew the truth about the gift.
He stepped behind her and slid his arms about her waist. She stiffened and would have elbowed him in the breadbox, but he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I wondered where you had gone.”
“Charles.” She relaxed, but not as much as he would have liked. When would she lower her guard with him? When would she believe he was sincere in his pursuit of her?
“Shall I give you my coat? Your skin is like one of Gunther’s ices.”
“I’m fine. I was overheated and needed the air.”
He turned her to face him, noting her flushed cheeks. “Are you well? Shall I take you home? Mostyn can escort Lorrie.”
She gave him a wry look. “Escort her to the library, you mean. I still don’t think we should allow them to continue to meet there.”
He agreed. The two of them, alone, in the dark of night was completely inappropriate. With any other man, he would have believed the worst, but he knew enough of Mostyn now to believe nothing untoward had happened or would happen between the two of them. Not under his roof, at any rate.
And with Mostyn and his daughter so preoccupied with what he assumed was their own budding love affair, he had the time and privacy to pursue his own love.
“Lorrie has not mentioned Francis Mostyn in a week or more. Pembroke’s son is a good distraction for her,” he said.
“I suppose we can trust him—to a point.”
“That is true of all men. Women too.”
Through the terrace doors, the strains of violin and cello wafted out. Charles took Susan’s hand and guided her into a waltz. She laughed as he turned her, then pulled her close. She was warm, the weight of her breasts against his chest familiar and tantalizing all at once.
“Stop,” she said between laughter. “Someone might see us.”
“A man dancing with his wife,” he said, turning her again. He wanted her dizzy—as dizzy as he felt with love for her. “How unfashionable. Imagine the scandal if you were found with me rather than Worthington.”
She stiffened. “I don’t know the origin of that rumor. As though I would allow that lecher to touch me.”
He glided with her, feeling her body relax again. “I am glad to hear it. I do like this dance. Why did they not have the waltz when I courted you?”
“We had our own share of risqué songs and dances.”
She looked so beautiful in the golden light shining through the windows of the town house. She might have been the same girl he’d first asked to dance all those years before. “Do you remember the first time I asked you to dance?”
Her brows rose. “Of course. Do you?”
He nodded. “You wore a green gown with a yellow…what do you call them? Panel or opening or cutaway? The dresses were wider then so I had no sense of what lovely legs you had, but the bodice was low enough that I could hardly breathe.”
“I remember I was laced so tightly I could hardly breathe.”
“One dance and I knew I wanted you for my wife.”
Her eyes registered surprise. “You mean you knew you wanted me out of the dress.”
“I was not so randy that I would have married you just to take you to bed. You were the first young woman I met who could make me laugh, who talked to me as if I were a man not solely the heir to a dukedom, who I could see myself growing old with.”
“Charles…” She looked away and stopped dancing.
He placed a finger under her chin and brought her gaze back to his. “I still feel that way, Susan. I have sent you gifts, written you love poems—”
“Bad love poems.” But she smiled.
“What more can I do? I want to be your husband again. I want one more chance.”
She looked down.
“What are you afraid of?”
“You,” she murmured. “You broke my heart once, and I know I broke yours as well. I don’t want to hurt you again. I don’t want to be hurt again.”
He bent and met her gaze. “I will not hurt you again. I promise. I am older. Wiser.”
“I’m not ready.”
He felt as though he were a fish, flayed for her pleasure, all of his guts spilled out before her. And still it wasn’t enough. But if she needed time, he had that in droves.
He stepped back. “Then I shall wait.”
Her brows lowered. “For how long?”
“Forever.”
She winced. “I never knew you were such a romantic. Poetry, flowery words—”
“Then here are more flowery words for you. I love you, Susan.” He held a hand up. “No, do not say anything. I expect no response. I want you to know my feelings while you consider your own. Now, Your Grace, may I escort you back to the ball?”
She took his arm. “You may.”
Fifteen
“I must go, Nell,” Lorrie said for the third time that morning. “With or without you.”
“It’s not safe, my lady,” Nell answered, wringing her hands.
“Yes, all of those men trying to abduct me for my fortune. That is why I will not go alone. You can protect me.”
“Oh, my lady.” More wringing of hands and pleading from Nell’s blue eyes, now slightly ringed with red. “Can’t you go tomorrow?”