Seducing an Angel

The supper dance came at last, and he approached Cassandra to claim it.

She was standing with her brother and a group of guests with whom Stephen did not have a close acquaintance. She turned to watch him approach.

"Lady Paget, ma'am," he said, bowing, "this is my set, I believe."

"And so it is, Lord Merton," she agreed, using her velvet voice. And she reached out her hand to set on his sleeve.

Such formality. The picnic seemed like a dream. Strange that he should remember the picnic far more than he did the two nights he had spent in her bed.

"The supper dance is also the waltz," he said as he led her away. "May I dance the last set of the evening with you too?"

"You may," she said.

They faced each other on the floor as other couples assembled about them.

"Is there anything new to report in Miss Haytor's budding romance?" he asked, gri

"Oh, yes, indeed," she said, and told him about this afternoon's outing and the upcoming birthday party in the country.

"With Golding's /family/?" he said. "Can a marriage offer be far behind?"

"I think it very likely there will be one soon," she said. "Perhaps even while they are still in Kent. And I believe she will be happy. She must have given up all hope of marrying years ago, must she not? Concern for me kept her incarcerated in the country all those years."

"Don't blame yourself," he told her, not for the first time.

"You are quite right." She laughed. "You will not let me feel guilty for all the world's woes, will you?"

"Absolutely not," he said.

He noticed the necklace she wore. It was the first time he had seen her wearing jewelry.

"Pretty," he said, his eyes focused on it. The point at the bottom of the jeweled heart reached almost to her dГ©colletage.

"It was my mother's," she said, fingering it with her gloved hand. "My father gave it to her when they married, and it was the one thing of value in our household that was never sold. Wesley gave it to me this evening."

Her eyes became suspiciously bright.

"You are fully reconciled with your brother, then?" he asked.

"I think," she said, "the memory of that incident in the park when he drove past pretending not to see me or know me must have gnawed at his conscience. Perhaps it disturbed his dreams. He came to see me yesterday."

"And you do not bear a grudge?" he asked.

"Why would I?" she said. "He is my brother and I love him. He was sincerely sorry for being a coward and trying to ignore my existence. If I had refused to forgive him, who would suffer the more? And perhaps there is no simple answer to that question. Perhaps we would have suffered equally. And for what? To satisfy wounded pride or outraged righteousness? The thing is that he /did/ feel remorse and he /did/ come to set matters right with me. And now he is risking his own reputation by being seen in public with me and openly presenting me to his acquaintances as his sister."

Young had not, then, mentioned Stephen's visit to him in his rooms.

Stephen was thankful for that. Even given the happy outcome he had had no right to interfere in her life, and she might well resent his having done so.

Not that he was sorry. Family quarrels were the saddest things.

The orchestra played a chord, and Stephen bowed while Cassandra curtsied. He smiled as he set his right arm about her waist and took her right hand in his. She smiled as she set her free hand on his shoulder.

"I think," she said, "the waltz is the loveliest of dances. I have been looking forward to this one all evening. You lead so well. And your shoulder and hand are firm and strong, and you smell divine."

He did not remove his eyes from hers. She laughed.

"And here I am," she said, "being as outrageous as I was at your sister's ball last week. I should be behaving with a fashionable e

He laughed.

But their eyes held and hers were sparkling with merriment and sheer enjoyment. He swung her in a circle and continued to do so as they danced so that everything about them became a swirl of color and light with her as the vivid center of it all.

Cassandra.

Cass.

She was still smiling, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted, her spine arched so that she kept the correct distance between them. It did not matter. He could feel her body heat anyway. He could smell it and her – a mingling of soft perfume and woman.

A smell of pure enticement.

They paused for a moment between tunes, neither speaking nor looking away from each other, and then continued to waltz to a slower, hauntingly lovely melody.

He /liked/ her, he had told Vanessa.

Ah, it was a euphemism indeed.

Her flush deepened and he began to feel uncomfortably warm. The heavy smell of the flowers began to seem oppressive. Even the music suddenly seemed overloud.

He waltzed her past one set of French windows, which were thrown back to admit the cool air of the night. There was another set just ahead. When they reached them, Stephen twirled Cassandra through them, out onto a wide balcony, which was blessedly deserted.

And even more blessedly cool.

They continued to dance, but without the twirls. Their steps gradually slowed, and he turned her hand in his to set it palm-in against his coat, over his heart. Her other hand slid off his shoulder to twine about his neck, and then he drew her closer so that her bosom was against his chest and her cheek against his.

He did not spare a thought to reality or decorum or any of the social graces that usually came as second nature to him.

When the music ended, they stopped dancing but did not move away from each other. They stood close for several silent moments, their eyes closed – at least, /his/ were.

And then he drew his head back from hers, and she drew hers back from his, and they gazed deeply into each other's eyes in the light of a lamp flickering at one corner of the balcony.

They kissed each other.

It was not a deeply passionate kiss, but it was several degrees warmer than the ones they had shared at the picnic. It was a kiss that spoke volumes without any necessity for words.

He was in no hurry to end it. Once it was ended, words /would/ be necessary, and he really did not know what he would say. Or what she would say.

He drew back his head eventually and smiled down at her. She smiled back.

And they both became aware – at the same moment, it seemed – that they had an audience. A few people must have decided to make their escape into the fresh air after the dance ended. A few others must have looked toward the French windows and seen what was framed in one of them, backlit by the balcony lamp. Others had probably been drawn by curiosity to see what was taking the attention of the first two groups.

However it was, the audience was an embarrassingly large one, and it was perfectly clear that they had all witnessed that kiss. It had not been a thoroughly improper kiss, it was true, except that /any/ public embrace was improper, especially between two people who had no business kissing each other under any circumstances.

They were not married.

They were not betrothed.

Stephen became aware of three things – four if he counted Cassandra's sharp intake of breath. He became aware of Elliott somewhere inside the ballroom, his eyes fixed upon Stephen, his eyebrows raised, his expression grim. He became aware of Con, one eyebrow lofted, his expression inscrutable. And he became aware of Wesley Young elbowing his way through the crowd, his look murderous.

And he realized in a flash that he had ruined everything for Cassandra after working hard for the past several days to restore her to respectability, to see to it that she was accepted back into the /ton/, where she belonged.