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Thinking to return the favor, and perhaps distract him if he needed distracting, she asked after his mother, the Viscountess Gerrard, with whom she was acquainted; somewhat to her surprise, Ro answered with more than simple statements, freely elaborating on happenings over recent years on his estate, at his country home, and in London. The last inevitably led to tales of the ton, and of those he seemed to have an inexhaustible supply.
Entirely to her surprise, when they paused to allow Bilt to clear the remains of an excellent sherry trifle, she realized she’d laughed quite a lot, and was relaxed and at ease.
That was certainly not what she’d expected when she’d walked into the room. Her first sight of Ro had raised some sort of instinctive defense, a wariness, a need to watch; she’d been sure, in that moment when he’d looked up and she’d met his eyes across the room, that he was up to something-intent on some plan of his own, some purpose, on getting something from her.
What that something was she didn’t know, but her suspicions had largely died. He’d been a charming and entirely unthreatening companion; he hadn’t even done anything to make her nerves leap.
Now, reaching across the table, he took her hand. “Come sit by the fire. It’s early yet.”
She allowed him to draw her to her feet, then lead her to a settle angled to the fire. She sat, and he sat beside her; they both stared into the flames.
“Do you remember that time we cut across old Mrs. Swithin’s property and she set her terrier on us?”
She gri
“You grabbed my arm and hid behind me.”
While they recalled such earlier i
Lydia felt so much at ease, so comfortable sitting beside Ro-the man who had inhabited her dreams for years-solid and warm and oh-so-real beside her, his masculine strength an almost tangible aura seductively wrapping about her, that she couldn’t help but realize the threat. Not from him, but from herself-her other self.
Steeling her sensible self against temptation, she drew in a breath. “Ro.” She turned her head and met his gray eyes, then looked down at her hands, fingers twining in her lap. “I spoke to Whishart, my coachman. He said the wind’s coming up, and the lanes should be passable by morning.” Lifting her head, she looked into the flames. “So I’ll be leaving after breakfast.”
For a moment, Ro said nothing, then, “Back home to Wiltshire?”
She nodded. “I have Tab’s letter.” She glanced at him. “That’s what I came for.” But not all that I found.
He met her gaze, then nodded, lips lightly curving. “Do you remember all those times we met in the orchard?”
“Of course.” Those moments were the most golden of her girlhood memories.
“The last time we met there, we waltzed-do you remember?”
“Yes.” How could she ever forget?
His smile deepened; rising, he caught her hand. “Come, waltz with me again.”
She couldn’t resist; last time they’d parted, it had been like this-with a waltz to mark the end. As he drew her into his arms and stepped out, humming softly, exactly as he had all those years ago, it seemed entirely appropriate that this meeting, too, should end with a waltz.
Raising her head, meeting his eyes, she let herself flow into the moment; she was a more experienced dancer now-so, too, was he. He whirled her slowly around the room, and she’d never felt so entirely at one with any man. While her nerves might skitter when his hand brushed her back, might tense when he was close, now they’d been intimate, when she stood within his arms her body-nerves, senses, and even her wits-seemed to accept that that was where she should be. They relaxed, and enjoyed, and let the simple pleasure swamp them.
His gray eyes were locked with hers; slowly, step by step, she lost herself in the warmth of his gaze.
Gradually, his steps slowed. He stopped humming. And still she felt held, not trapped but held so gently, as if by fine spun glass. He searched her eyes, then he lowered his head.
Slowly, giving her ample time to draw back if she wished.
When he hesitated, their lips a bare inch apart, she lifted her face, pressed her lips to his, and kissed him.
He responded immediately; the kiss quickly became an all-absorbing interaction. The spreading warmth came again, welling through her. His arms rose and closed around her, locking her to him; she sank into him, into his embrace, eager to feel the seductive strength of him all around her.
She was leaving in the morning.
His hands roved her back, then slid down, shaping her bottom, flagrantly molding her to him so she couldn’t help but know how much he wanted her. How much he desired her.
Just the thought sent shivery need lancing through her.
She didn’t need to think to know how much she wanted him; the burgeoning warmth turned to heat and poured down her veins to pool low. The soft flesh between her thighs throbbed; an odd, empty ache yawned within. Now she knew how it felt to have him inside her, she knew unequivocally what her body wanted, what it yearned for. What she yearned for…
What he was making her feel.
She drew back, struggled for breath as his hands-his clever hands-closed about her breasts. “Ro-what are you doing?”
His lips curved, although the planes of his face were set. “Seducing you. As you said, in the library you seduced me.” From beneath heavy lids, his silvery eyes met hers. “Now it’s my turn.”
He bent his head again and kissed her, long, sweet, achingly ardent. Then he released her lips, whispered in her ear, “Am I succeeding?”
She hesitated, deliberating over what was safe to say, to admit. In the end she sighed. “Yes.” Looking into his face, she studied it for an instant, the well-remembered-if she were truthful, well-loved-features. “Yes.”
“Good.” To her surprise, he lifted his head further. His hands lowered to her waist, steadying her. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She blinked.
He saw, elaborated, “I want you in a bed, beneath me. I want to show you what pleasure truly is, and for that, we need a bed.”
He was the acknowledged expert; who was she to argue? Anticipation tightening her nerves, she nodded. “All right.”
Her knees had buckled long ago, but he gave her his arm.
Ro opened the parlor door, and escorted her out. Her skin was delicately flushed, her lips slightly swollen; he looked around for Bilt-and saw him in the taproom, too far away to detect the telltale signs.
Leading Lydia to the stairs, he started up, steadying her ahead of him. They’d reached the landing, and Lydia was out of sight before Bilt reached the bottom of the stairs and breathlessly inquired, “Will you require anything else, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Bilt, we’re retiring to our rooms for the night.”
From above Lydia called, “I’ll ring if I require any assistance, Bilt. Please tell my maid I’ll ring if I need her. Good night.”
“Good night, miss. My lord.”
A second later, climbing steadily in Lydia’s wake, Ro heard Bilt’s footsteps scurry back to the tap. Inwardly smiling, blessing whoever was in the tap, he led Lydia to her room, opened the door, and held it for her, then he followed her in and shut it behind him.
A single candle had been left burning on a small table beside a large four-poster bed set against the wall directly opposite the door. The hangings were loosened but not drawn, revealing a thick mattress, pristine linen sheets beneath a dimity coverlet, and thick, plump pillows.
To the left, a fire burned brightly in the hearth, casting flickering golden light across the room. Lydia halted before the bed, and turned to him.
He met her gaze; holding it, he unhurriedly crossed the short distance between them, then smoothly drew her into his arms, bent his head-and waltzed her straight back into the kiss they’d interrupted.