Page 35 of Forgetting the Earl
“Touching me.” He spun her expertly, shuffling just a bit to keep his balance. “I’ve been waiting.”
“I’ve touched you before now,” she protested. Honora could recall every instant clearly. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
“Yes, but before, I was never sure you really wanted to.” His nose lowered to nudge gently against her neck. “Now you do.” The small bits of amber in his eyes glinted beneath the chandeliers. “I adore the dress, by the way. Very fetching. Though, I don’t care for the admiration your bosom is drawing. I’m very possessive where you are concerned. As an only child, I never had to share anything, and I don’t mean to start with you.” There was a thread of steel in his words. “You should know that. If there are any objections to my wishing you all to myself, they should be voiced immediately.”
“I had a feeling.” The scent of him filled her nostrils. Cedar and leather. Maybe a hint of scotch. The smell, minus the scotch, reminded her of the small chest her grandmother had given Honora to store her most precious things. Poems. Books. She looked at Southwell.
My heart.
His hand, large and warm, splayed across her spine, the skirts of her gown wrapping about his legs as they danced. Gideon held her far too closely, their conversation appearing much too intimate. There would be no question of their relationship once this dance ended.
The fact Gideon was dancing at all sent shock waves through the other guests. Dozens of eyes watched him spin her about, including Emmie’s.
Her cousin stood on the sidelines, disappointment clouding her sharp features.
“My lord,” Honora whispered softly as the waltz faded. She was no longer at odds with her feelings over Southwell. And his for her. He’d very bluntly claimed her before half of London, dancing with her in his arms, though it pained him. Had very firmly told her, lest she suspect differently, that he had no intention of sharing her with anyone else.
“Will you take me home, my lord?” She swallowed. “Yourhome.”
Gideon said nothing for so long Honora thought he might refuse her. Or call out that this had all been a game to him. Any moment, Tarrington would come barreling out, laughter on his florid face at putting one over on Miss Drevenport once again, and slap Gideon on the back.
None of that happened.
Gideon grabbed his cane but did not let go of her hand. She hoped he never would.
“Will we discuss Sebek?” he said quietly.
“Yes, my lord. I think a discussion of the Egyptian fertility god is much overdue.” He knew her. He probably had for some time.
“Then yes. I want you home, Honora, with me.”
He released her hand and offered his arm. Together they walked through Lady Trent’s ballroom, uncaring what anyone thought or what would be said about them tomorrow.
The Duchess of Denby, ancient husband clutching her like a wild animal holds its prey, watched, jealousy spilling out from the misery coloring her features.
Tarrington, popping out from whatever rock he’d been hiding under, shot them both murderous looks from his place beside another rounded widow, at least ten years his senior.
Honora lifted her chin, tightening her hold on Gideon’s arm. She was no longer interested in the past. Only the future.
Chapter Thirteen
It had beensome time since Gideon had wished to have a woman in his bed. Not only had no one piqued his interest, but the scars twisting down the length of his leg and hip were the perfect excuse to avoid romantic entanglements. Even Anabeth, who claimed to love him madly and had been desperate to climb into bed with him, had looked askance at the destruction of the left side of his body. It was far easier to accomplish the same sort of release on his own, without pitying looks or pretending affection.
Ah, but his bloodthirsty Honora. He felt a great deal for her. Things that made him rethink his future.
He trailed his finger over her jaw as the carriage jostled them, bumping their bodies together. Pressing an openmouthed kiss to the elegant line of her neck, Gideon felt her pulse beating beneath his lips. Honora made the most delicious sounds when he touched her. Soft, feminine whimpers of arousal urging him further. Small squeaks begging him for more.
Gideon meant to explore every inch ofMiss Honora Drevenportand enjoy the sounds she made as he did so.
He’d deliberately not asked to escort her to Lady Trent’s tonight, stayed away from her since their museum outing, to give Honora time to consider, without his interference, what she would do.
So he’d waited by the wall until she’d spotted him tonight, not knowing exactly how the evening would end. He certainly knew how Miss Stitch wanted things to go. Honora’s cousin had circled the ballroom all evening like a vulture waiting until some poor animal expires, glaring daggers at Gideon whenever she’d caught sight of him.
Honora clung to him in the carriage, delicate hands running over his chest and shoulders.
“Gideon,” she whispered, sliding her fingers inside his coat to trace the line of his ribs. His nose fell to her neck as his tongue leisurely traveled over the length of her shoulder. Cupping one breast, he pressed his thumb against the silk, rubbing back and forth until her nipple peaked, and a soft moan left her.
The carriage rolled to a stop before his town house. The steps of an approaching footman sounded on the stairs as Gideon quickly sought to untangle their limbs.
