Page 27 of An Earl Like You
And then Lord Hastings came back, and asked her to dance with him again.
She hadn’t danced since their last. This time she almost forgot to breathe, because it was a waltz.
It was the first time he had touched more than her hand or her arm. He led her out and set his hand on her back. She gave him a nervous smile as the musicians began; he grinned and eased her closer, until her breasts brushed his chest and she could feel his thigh against hers.
Lightning could strike her on the way home, Eliza decided, and she would die a happy girl.
“You dance wonderfully,” Hastings told her as they glided around the floor.
“Thank you, sir.” Eliza had diligently practiced for hours at school, with the dancing master and then with her friends. So far she’d had precious little experience with handsome, eligible gentlemen. “I might say the same to you.”
He laughed. “I take it with extra gratitude, as this ballroom is so crowded I’m not sure I haven’t stepped on five people’s toes.”
“Not mine,” said Eliza lightly. She wouldn’t have noticed even if he had.
“Lady Thayne is fond of a packed ballroom, but I cannot share her enthusiasm.” He made a faint grimace as another couple swooped very near them. The earl adjusted his hold on her, shortened his step, and swung her gracefully around the couple. Eliza’s chest constricted at the easy way he pulled her against him for the maneuver.
“I confess, a little more space would be wise, if she wishes to permit dancing.” Someone bumped her from behind, and Hastings gave the fellow a thunderous scowl.
“This is ridiculous. Would you like to step out onto the terrace?”
It was possible lightning had already struck her. Eliza felt every thump of her heart like a thunderclap inside her skin. Somehow she managed to nod, and without breaking step Lord Hastings turned her neatly around the blue velvet draperies and through the French windows standing open to the terrace.
It was much cooler on the terrace, and there were no guests outside, probably due to a light mist of rain. Lord Hastings took her hand and led her to the shelter of a magnificent wisteria, grown up the wall and a nearby column. He leaned against the column, putting his back to the rain, and folded his arms. “Better?”
She smiled. “Very much. Thank you.”
There was enough light from the French windows for her to see his smile, including the dimple. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Unwillingly, Eliza felt a prickle of despair, a certainty that he didn’t mean it. It was one thing for fortune hunters to pay her empty compliments, but she couldn’t bear to hear it from him. “I know I’m not beautiful, sir.”
His brows went up. “Why would you say that?”
She pursed her lips in exasperation. Why did he have to say something foolish and spoil the moment? “I never have been. Please don’t say things you don’t mean.”
For a second he was taken aback. “I beg your pardon.”
Eliza sighed. “I’m not beautiful. I like beautiful clothes, and Papa insists on buying me beautiful jewelry”—she touched the pearls at her neck—“but I find myself doubting the eyesight or the sincerity of anyone who tells meIam beautiful.”
It took him a moment to reply to that. Eliza’s stomach felt sour. Was Lord Hastings to be just like the other idiots who courted her? What a terrible pity...
He cleared his throat. “I did not actually accuse you ofbeingbeautiful. I said youlookedbeautiful tonight. A subtle but significant difference.”
“Yes, the gown,” she started to say.
He stepped closer. “Is my eyesight failing? Let me make a closer study.” He took another step, until she had to tilt back her head to look at him. “Hold still,” he said, amusement softening his tone. He touched her chin.
Eliza froze.
Gently the earl tipped her face from side to side, his dark eyes intent upon her. “A few freckles,” he said thoughtfully. “But I find those charming.” His thumb brushed along her cheekbone and Eliza’s hands fisted in the folds of her skirt. “Your lashes are very long,” he murmured. “And your eyes... Your eyes are lovely. Like the fields of Rosemere under a summer sky, when the grasses are tall and verdant, and golden finches swoop in and out.” He fingered a wisp of hair that had fallen loose at her temple. “Your hair is the color of honey, and soft—like a favorite linen shirt that’s been washed a hundred times. Your lips...” He paused, his thumb lingering at the corner of her mouth, and Eliza almost whimpered aloud. “I want to kiss you,” he said, almost inaudibly.
The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she nodded. A faint smile curved his mouth and then he bent his head. Eliza stood rigid as his lips touched hers, softer than a breath of air and gone almost as quickly as one. He lifted his head and looked at her. “Have you ever been kissed before?”
She flushed scarlet and had to wet her lips before she could speak. “Notwellkissed...”
His shoulders shook. “Miss Cross, you leave me speechless.” He cupped her jaw in his hand as his other hand came to the small of her back and pulled her against him. “I’ll try to do better,” he whispered against her mouth, and then he kissed her again.
If she had expected another soft touch of his lips against her, she was quickly proven wrong. This time his mouth settled on hers with intent, firm and insistent. When she gasped at the difference, his tongue slid between her parted lips and teased her until she moaned. He kissed as if he meant to conquer her, and Eliza was all too happy to surrender. His hands moved over her, gripping her waist, sliding up her shoulders to hold the nape of her neck as his mouth traveled over her eyelids and down her jaw. She whimpered as his teeth grazed her earlobe, setting her earring swaying, and she almost melted when his hand brushed her breast. It was an accident, she thought wildly, because they were pressed so close together—somehow her hands had got around his chest, beneath his jacket—but then he did it again.
