Page 75 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
So her answer was not what it should have been, but clearly was what she wanted it to be. “I’ll find a way to sneak out.”
He stroked his fingers along the edge of her face, along her hairline. “Splendid.”
“Until tomorrow then.”
“I shall count the minutes.”
As would she. Each and every one until she was again in his arms.
Chapter 17
“I’m sorry, m’lady, but he is not at home.”
Aslyn gave Kip’s butler a stern look. “Literallynot at home?”
“Literally, miss. He has yet to return from last night’s—” he cleared his throat “—adventures.”
Gambling and drinking and God knew what else he was up to, what other indulgences might be occupying his time. Blast it all! She spun on her heel and strode out of the town house, her entourage of servants in her wake. They needed to talk, to reach an understanding regarding their betrothal: it was over. She could not—would not—marry him when she harbored such intense adoration for another man, when she drifted off to sleep with visions of Mick Trewlove prancing through her head. Although he hadn’t truly been prancing. In truth, he’d been barely moving at all, simply holding her gaze and slowly trailing his finger along her throat, over her collarbone, across the swells of her breasts—
Her errant thoughts centering around Mick were more intense, more detailed, more consuming than any she’d ever envisioned with Kip. Mick had the right of it. Where Kip was concerned, her passions had been those of a child, a sister toward a brother, a friend toward a friend. Mick brought forth her womanly passions with little more than a look, a smile, a touch, a word, passions that were very far removed from anything resembling what a sister might feel toward a brother.
The duke and duchess needed to be informed that she was crying off, that she would not marry their son, but she wanted Kip there with her, wanted it understood no hard feelings existed between them—they were simply not suited for each other, not when it came to marriage.
A footman handed her up into the carriage, and she settled back against the squabs. It was an odd thing to realize she had floated through most of her life, never questioning the direction she traveled, the decisions made for her. If Fancy Trewlove hadn’t accidentally bumped into Kip that night at Cremorne, she’d have a very different life unfolding before her. She would have continued on her path of merely existing. Being with Mick made her feel alive.
She pondered the way the duchess had described falling in love. The description very much applied to her. She was falling, and she had no doubt Mick would be there to catch her.
She was beautiful, gorgeous, as he handed her down from her carriage. He’d been standing on the front steps of his hotel, staring down the street, like some lovesick loon waiting for her arrival because he was anxious to see her again, to touch her, to inhale her fragrance, to bask in the gentle smile she bestowed upon him.
“I thought you’d never get here.”
“For a lady to make a proper entrance, she must arrive somewhat tardily.”
The little chit had tormented him on purpose, and he couldn’t find it within him to take her to task. She was here now, and that was all that mattered.
With her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow, he began leading her up the steps. “Are your servants going to wait for you?”
“I think it best. I’ve sworn them to secrecy. My maid isn’t too happy about my being here. She wanted to accompany me inside, serve as chaperone.”
“But you don’t want a chaperone.”
That crooked smile again, the one that made his chest expand even as it tightened into a painful knot. “No. She’ll wait in the coach.”
They reached the doors, and he jerked his head back. “Jones, let them know you’ll watch the carriage if they want to enjoy dinner in the dining room and relax in the parlor with some port until they’re needed.”
“Yes, sir.” He pulled open the door. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
“Are you striving to spoil my servants, Mr. Trewlove?” she asked teasingly, as they strolled over the threshold.
“Trying to ensure their silence and reward their devotion to you. Whatever is necessary to safeguard your visit here.”
“Having a pristine reputation is such a bother.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Her tinkling laughter echoed through the lobby. She was at home here, comfortable, and it occurred to him he’d built this place for her before he’d even known she existed.
As they glided through the lobby, the gas-lit chandeliers revealed her in all her glory. She wore a gown that was neither blue nor green, but the manner in which the light caught it made it appear to be both. It reminded him of the sea, seen in the distance, reminded him of their day at Brighton.
