Page 86 of The Rake's Daughter
She pulled a slender branch of lime blossom toward her and bent to inhale its fragrance. The lanterns arranged around the courtyard threw her face into shadow. Her silhouette was pure and perfect. Tiny curls clustered around her face. He itched to run his fingers through them, to bend and kiss the soft skin of her nape.
She straightened, misinterpreted his expression and smiled. “Clarissa has taught me to appreciate the fragrance of flowers. I don’t know the names of them all, but I do recognize lime trees, at least when they’re in flower. They have the sweetest scent.”
He plucked a leaf and crushed it between his fingers, butit wasn’t the lime trees he could smell, it was her own distinctive perfume that filled his senses.
She released the lime and pulled her long white glove back on, smoothing it along her arm with long strokes. “Thank you for sharing your story with me, Lord Salcott. I would almost feel sorry for you, but since you keep trying to control us—”
“It’s not for my own pleasure, believe me,” he said bitterly. If she only knew how the role of guardian chafed at him. “And while I might understand—and sympathize—with your position and your delight in the freedom you and your sister have just begun to taste, you have little experience of London society and how it can condemn people—especially unmarried young ladies—for the slightest infraction.”
A crease appeared between her smooth brows. “But—”
“You are spirited and unconventional, bold and vivacious,” he told her, and she blushed. His voice hardened: he had to make her understand. “A duke’s daughter who is spirited and unconventional will be forgiven, and indulgently regarded as ‘an original.’ An ordinary girl, even the legitimate daughter of a baronet, who behaves the same way?” He shook his head.
Her furrowed brow and thoughtful expression showed she had filled in the gaps.
“Which is why I’ve hired this chaperone. I don’t want you or Clarissa to make some unknowing mistake and be punished for it. You’re on thin enough ice as it is.” She swallowed, and he continued quietly, “Try to think of this woman as your and Clarissa’s guide and protector. You never know, she might even become a friend.”
She made a faint skeptical sound at that, but he could see she’d understood his message. “Very well, I’ll try,” she said finally. “But if she’s horrid...”
A faint breeze stirred the tiny curls that danced aroundher nape. The scent of roses teased his senses, but there were no roses in this garden. Only Isobel. Belle.
The silence stretched. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her out here in the darkness, to wrap her slender body against him and breathe in her scent and kiss her. And kiss her. And kiss her.
But he couldn’t. He could hardly give in to his instincts after preaching propriety at her. Being alone with her out here was unconventional enough. People kept wandering through, though nobody was around at the moment. Kissing her here and now could ruin her in an instant. He stared down at her, battling with his desires.
With one finger he stroked lightly down her cheek, the faintest of caresses, her skin soft and warm.
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and dark in the faint moonlight. He fancied he could see a silent question in them. A faint blush colored her cheeks, as if she could read his mind. She swallowed, met his gaze full on and moistened her wine-dark mouth, full and bold and oh so tempting. He closed his eyes, remembering the taste of her, the shape and feeling and texture of her skin under his hand, under his mouth. He ached to touch her again. Taste her again.
But he could not. Not here. Not now.
Inside the musicians started up again. A waltz.
Leo held out his hand to her. “Dance with me.”
***
Lord Salcott stood back to let Izzy go before him through the French doors. She thought about what he’d just told her, how he’d been trapped on his family estate, how he’d considered her position and tried to understand.
It was the rules he tried to impose that she so disliked. Could she separate the rules from the man? She understood that he was trying to do his best by Clarissa. But he had no obligation to concern himself with her.
The waltz began. She hadn’t danced it very often. She and Clarissa had tried to teach themselves when they were younger, and since coming to London had taken several lessons. But this...
It wasn’t quite what she’d expected. He took her hand and swept her onto the dance floor, his hand firm at her waist. Thoughts about their recent conversation scattered. He was wearing gloves but somehow she could feel the heat of his touch through the layers of her dress. It felt scandalously close, but nobody batted an eyelid. The other dancers were just as close.
There was no need to mind her steps: he was wholly in control, and after a few circuits she stopped trying to order her feet and just let herself float and twirl in his arms.
It was glorious. She felt weightless. Breathless.
For a man who didn’t move much in society, who’d been shut up on his family estate for years, he waltzed superbly. “I’m surprised,” she told him.
“In what way?”
“You waltz so well.”
“It was all the rage when I was in Vienna.” He twirled her masterfully around.
The rest of the company blurred, and it was as if there were only the two of them in the room, moving as one to music intended just for them. Izzy’s entire awareness was filled with him and the smooth control of his powerful, graceful body—in this she was happy to let him take the lead. To command.
