Page 38 of One Night of Scandal
Finally, they pulled apart, panting. “We should stop.” This time, he sounded as though he meant it.
She couldn’t disagree. It wasn’t as if she could lose her virginity in the closet of the—where were they again?—whoever’s town house. “We should.” The words did not convince her body, however. Her core pulsed with need while her breasts tingled, and her fingers itched to touch him.
“I was on my way to the retiring room,” she offered rather lamely.
“I’ve only just arrived. I’d hoped to see you.”
“And so you have.” She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding fake.
“Only for a second. I can’t actually see you at all in here, which is a crying shame since you look like Viola instead of Tavistock.” He sounded disappointed.
“Oh.” She was momentarily at a loss for words. “You prefer me as Viola?”
“I prefer you with breasts, which I could definitely feel.” His voice was now dark and strained. “This is not a good direction of conversation. You should go.”
“All right. It was nice to see you. Or not see you, I mean.”
“It was…spectacular,” he said, heating every part of her that wasn’t already on fire for him. Which wasn’t anything, she realized, so really, he’d just increased the fervor with which she wanted him.
She wanted him?
Oh, yes.
“I’m going now.” Despite the unsatisfied lust coursing through her, her pulse had slowed to a degree that she felt she could step out of the closet without looking as if she’d been nearly ravished.
With great reluctance, she found the latch and let herself out of the closet. Then she dashed up the stairs to the retiring room and prayed it was empty.
It wasn’t, of course, but fortune was smiling upon her, for the only person present was Isabelle. Who was looking at Viola with a mix of expectation and concern. Viola realized she’d left the ballroom first to come here. Now Isabelle was here, and she’d arrived before Viola…
“I was waylaid by a…friend,” Viola said, thinking the excuse sounded stupid. Probably because it was.
“A dark-haired gentleman friend?” Isabelle asked softly. Then her mouth ticked up in a smile before she quickly quashed it. “I saw you go into the closet with him—I’d followed you out of the ballroom because you seemed upset. Now, however, you seem… Never mind.”
Alarm speared through Viola. “You saw us?”
Isabelle nodded. “I don’t think anyone else did. I checked the corridor. Still, I could have been anyone.”
“Yes.” Viola ought to be horrified—and she was—but not enough to regret a moment.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I am not about to begrudge you…whatever it was you were doing, but please be careful.”
Viola laughed. “Why, because of my reputation? It scarcely matters. I know Grandmama wants me to wed, but the fact remains that I am hardly marriageable as far as most men are concerned.” Which had always suited her fine. But for the first time, she wasn’t so sure.
“Do you really believe that’s true? Lord Orford didn’t seem to think so. Why else would he dance with you?” Isabelle asked.
“Because he’s an idiot?” Viola was far more comfortable trying to find humor in the situation. If she didn’t, she’d have to think about it too closely, and she was rather afraid of what she might find.
She feared she’d find she did care about her reputation. That she really was unlovable—not even Jack had been able to confirm she wasn’t. And worst of all, that she wanted to find a husband. That she wanted someone to love her.
Because maybeshewas falling in love with someone.
No.She absolutely refused to consider it.
Chapter 11
The Bull and Fox was a small tavern tucked just outside Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It was a popular meeting place for law students and young solicitors, as well as the occasional radical. There was a small meeting room upstairs where people debated the law and politics, and that was where tonight’s clandestine meeting of the Spencean Philanthropists was taking place.
Ifit was taking place.
