Page 48 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“We’ll nearly be there by now,” she whispered between their kisses. “Surely.”
“Very soon. Yet…no one can see us in here.” He kissed down her neck, moving over her on the bench. He was pulling at her skirt, ready to reach beneath it and pleasure her once again, when the carriage rocked over a pothole. He nearly fell off the bench, and she clutched to his shoulders, anchoring him there.
They both burst out laughing, smiling at one another at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Are we both so mad for each other that we’re braving falling on the carriage floor?” she asked between her giggles.
“Apparently, we are.” He sat straight again and helped her to do the same. “I shall promise to be good. Perhaps I can hold myself back until we are somewhere even more secluded. Somewhere not so…rocky.”
She laughed behind a cupped hand, and the carriage came to a halt. They exchanged a relieved glance as the footman opened the carriage door, and they stepped down. William was relieved he had asked the driver to stop a short distance from the Countess of Richmond’s house, where the ball was to be held.
At least here, no one saw him step down with Becca and escort her toward the ball. No one would think they had traveled without a chaperone and were so scandalous as to be completely alone in a carriage together.
When they reached the house and stepped inside, they both halted, looking up at the decorations around the room. Each surface was strewn in white and gold cloths. The tables full of tall candles were atop golden holders shaped into angel wings, and each towering structure of crystal glasses was balanced so precariously that a single touch could push them over.
“Look at the people,” Becca whispered. “Have you not thought before how each of them is performing?”
“How do you mean?” he asked, leading her further into the ballroom.
“It is as if they are all on stage. Look how the ladies preen the feathers in their hair, and gentlemen smooth their waxed hair. Or look at that gentleman there.” She nodded at a gentleman inthe crowd. “See how he carries his glass. He adjusts it constantly. Perhaps he is fearful someone will think he holds his glass ill.”
William laughed warmly.
“You have a way of looking at people. A way I have never had. You bring lightness to this room.”
“Ah, just an observant eye.” She shrugged, brushing off his praise. “One thing I urge you, William. In this room, always be yourself, please,” she said with such a gentle smile that he was in danger of kissing her there and then in this busy room. “You are the best man I know. You should not feel a need to perform as so many men do here.”
The best man she knows…
He hung onto these words, unable to say any more. Was it possible that she loved him? Perhaps she felt so strongly that she, too, knew what passed between them was no passing attraction that would be done with the moment their book was done?
“You are right,” he said, after a moment of feeling tongue-tied. “Not that I am the best man I know, but you are right. We should not feel a need to perform. We should be ourselves. After all, I am here to enjoy myself.”
“Exactly!” she declared happily.
“And I shall start the enjoyment tonight in the way I wish to.” He offered his hand to her once more. “Dance with me, Becca.”
“Dance?” she spluttered. “We have been over this before.” She chuckled. “I have never been taught these fine dances of theton.”
“Yet you waltzed with me before, very competently indeed. The beauty of such a dance is not in the skill of dancing, but in being close to one’s partner, after all.” He offered his hand a second time, showing what he wanted—to be near to her.
“How could I refuse such an offer?” She placed his hand in his, and he led her toward the dance floor. When the music changed, they took their positions, and he easily took her into his arms. This time, she wasn’t quite as nervous as the first time they had danced together. His hand took her waist firmly, and she clutched his shoulder. As they danced, she bit her lip, as if holding something back.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone deep as he stared at her, moving her around the room. “What are you thinking?”
“Things I should not be thinking of,” she confessed in a whisper.
“Ah…” He moved his hand a little on her waist. On this crowded dance floor, he felt able to do so, trailing his fingers across her hip. “What sort of things?”
She bit her lip once again, holding back her giggle.
“You clearly know what sort of things from that touch.” She moved a little nearer to him, so close that her head could have rested on his shoulder if she had made that extra movement, but she refrained. “You have introduced me to so much, Will. So much…excitement. I fear I do not want to stop.”
“What’s to fear in that?” he whispered in her ear. “I do not want to stop either.”
Her hand tightened through his, and he shifted that hold, so their fingers were entwined.
“We do not have to stop, Becca.”
