Page 18 of Wild Lily
But his mother was quick to agree.
“Let us go in, then.” Carbury offered his arm to Elanna.
Not to be impolite, she nodded and hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
Julian’s mother cast them a sideways glance, and at once, Julian’s skin prickled. Was this his mother’s ploy to push Elanna and Carbury together? It might very well be. The woman preferred her own company. Unless it benefited her to be social.
He set his teeth.
But as the party reshuffled to allow the pair to pass, Lily was suddenly by his side. His duty as a gentleman was to offer her his own arm.
“Thank you,” she said in that voice that melted his rational mind and she placed her warm palm on his sleeve.
“Do you like Offenbach?” he asked out of the blue.
“I’ve never heard his works before.”
“Ah,” he said like a dolt, his brain utterly, ridiculously blank.
As all eight of them filed in to the box’s anteroom where they could remove their wraps, instinct and manners drove him forward. He stood like a statue as Lily turned her back to him to help with removing her cape. Her fox fur-lined sateen was a deep shade of sapphire, darkly complementary to her flawless skin. His fingers brushed her bare shoulder as he slid the garment off her, only to make him catch his breath at the sky-blue silk gown that sluiced over her slim form. She looked like a shimmering ice goddess. She smelled like faint roses of summer. He was entranced. Silly him. She was quite exquisite, her skin as perfect as a pearl, her throat and the swells of her breasts, gloriously pristine.
What was wrong with him? For God’s sake.
He never ogled a lady. Not since he’d been a randy twelve-year-old.
Still, he stepped to one side in the box so that Lily had a choice to sit next to him or insult him and walk to the other side where the only other seat was open. She surreptitiously checked his gaze, quickly glancing away as if their eyes had never met. But she sat beside him.
He let out his breath, relieved. The others took up the gilded red damask chairs and he settled in his own, congratulating himself like a lovesick fool that he could bask in the glow of the lovely American. She had more than beauty, too. He crossed one leg over the other, suppressing his satisfaction. She had wits enough to turn his mother’s insult to a compliment.
Then Lily faced him.
He locked on to those remarkable blue eyes. She searched as if she rummaged for some lost treasure. He wished he knew what it was. He’d give it her in a second if only she’d remain forged to him. “Can I get you champagne from the Glacier?”
“No, thank you. Perhaps later.”
Very well.What else might we discuss? “Did your fitting with Monsieur Worth go well?”
“It did.”
If she were any other woman, she’d be heaping him with details of fabrics and colors, shoes and bonnets. But she gave him silence.How was he to get on?
But she raised her face. Dear God. Her perfect oval face and the eyes that spoke of banked blue fires.Was that interest in him? Or not?
He despaired of ever learning.
Frustrated, he removed his gloves. Her gaze fell to his hands, drifted away and returned. She seemed troubled, flexing her fingers. “How was Madame le Comtesse when you took her home? Better?”
“Remy did the honors. But when I left the carriage, she seemed quite…bubbly.”
Lily’s tension collapsed and she wore a grin. “She loves champagne.”
“Shouldn’t we all.”
“You don’t?”
“It depends on my mood.”
“So. When you are happy, what do you drink?” she asked, playing with him now.
