Page 5 of The Meaning of Love
She all but pushed him toward the French door that gave onto the terrace running alongside the ballroom.
“Allow me.” Pointedly, Gordon opened the door, lifted her hand from his sleeve, and ushered her through, onto the terrace.
Biting back an acid comment about fragile male egos, she allowed him to lead her along the terrace as if they were strolling in the cool night air. No other couple had yet sought the relative privacy of the flagstone expanse, but the ball was barely halfway through, and there was a chilly breeze blowing.
Surreptitiously, she glanced through the windows into the ballroom—and saw Julian, his expression grim, cutting through the intervening guests, making a beeline for the terrace door.
Her senses—along with her stupid heart—leapt again; why, she couldn’t have said, but the reaction held a large dose of panic, and the instinct to flee surged.
Abruptly, she turned to Gordon. “I’ve always wanted to examine her ladyship’s gardens by moonlight.” Thankfully, the moon was shining from a largely cloudless sky. “Would you mind if we strolled a little? If we take that path”—she pointed to the gravel path leading away from the bottom of the terrace steps—“we can circle through the gardens.” She leaned closer and all but batted her lashes. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Gordon blinked, then smiled in transparently genuine delight. “Not at all—happy to oblige.” They’d reached the top of the steps, and he waved downward. “Shall we?”
After a fleeting glance at the ballroom—confirming that Julian was still some way from gaining the terrace—Melissa smiled equally sincerely. “Indeed—let’s.”
She matched Gordon as he went swiftly down the steps, then ensured he kept up the pace as they strode swiftly along the path that, she knew, led to a small gazebo.
When the shadows cast by the trees swallowed them, she breathed a touch easier.
Julian bit his tongue against the urge to tell those who insisted on waylaying him to go to the devil. Instead, he forced himself to pause each time he was hailed, acknowledge whoever spoke, and exchange a modicum of civilized conversation before excusing himself and moving on.
He needed to go after Gordon and Melissa, but for her sake, he shouldn’t draw attention to his mission.
As matters stood, Gordon, who was a cousin twice removed, couldn’t be trusted with any marriageable young lady who commanded a decent dowry, which Melissa, being one of Lord North’s daughters, presumably did. Gordon was in severe financial straits and, apparently, was looking for a well-dowered wife to help him come about. Julian’s mother had informed him of that, and he didn’t doubt she had it right; she rarely made mention of such things, but when she brought something of that nature to his attention, it was because it was true, and she expected that he, as the head of the Delamere family, would at some point have to deal with some less-than-satisfactory development.
Julian had hoped that Melissa would have heard of Gordon’s situation, but it seemed the news was not yet widespread.
The possibility that she did know, but nevertheless, had chosen to go apart with Gordon…
Julian stuffed that notion into a mental compartment labeled Surely Not.
To his abiding surprise, it appeared Melissa was still unmarried. For years, he’d assumed that, while he’d been stuck in Ireland, she would have had her Seasons, and some clod would have snapped her up, but apparently not. She wore no cap or other ornament in her dark hair to signal she was a matron, and if she was married or even promised to another, Gordon wouldn’t be wasting his charm on her.
Regardless of that charm, regardless of what Melissa herself thought, of one thing Julian was absolutely certain. Melissa North was not for the likes of Gordon.
While he smiled and chatted, his mind remained wholly focused on rescuing Melissa. Operating on two levels simultaneously was a skill he’d perfected over the past years; being able to do so was essential when dealing with Dublin’s elite. Analyzing his reactions had also become second nature, yet while he recognized that the intensity of the compulsion to rescue Melissa from Gordon’s clutches bordered on the irrational, he didn’t consider resisting, much less questioning the near-overwhelming impulse.
Finally, he reached the terrace door, opened it, stepped swiftly through, and closed the door behind him.
He’d expected to discover the pair on the terrace—possibly in the shadows that draped the far end—but one searching glance confirmed they weren’t anywhere in sight.
His compulsion ratcheted up several notches along with his temper. “Damn!”Where are they?Surely Melissa knew better than to go into a dark garden with a man like Gordon!
Julian eyed the path that stretched away from either end of the terrace, leading into the night-shrouded gardens. Which way would they have gone?
His hands on his hips, he stared at the path, then closed his eyes. He’d been in this garden years ago; the Connaughts’ son had been a chum at Eton, and one summer, they’d spent several afternoons smoking cheroots—
“In the gazebo.” He opened his eyes and swore.
Without further hesitation, he strode for the steps at the terrace’s farther end. He went quickly down. The instant he hit gravel, he started to run.
From inside the gazebo, which was wreathed in helpful shadows, Melissa kept watch on the path from the terrace.
She hated feeling panicky, but until she was sure Julian hadn’t followed them, her nerves weren’t going to settle enough to think of anything else.
The breeze sighed through the branches of the conifers that overhung the hexagonal gazebo; she hadn’t realized the interior would be quite so gloomy. She shifted and peered in the opposite direction; if Julian followed, he could approach from either side.
Behind her, Gordon cleared his throat. “I say, Miss North—Melissa, if I may?”
