Page 46 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
“Anne?”
They both whirled around at the sound of a voice from the ballroom’s entrance.
It proved to be Ceci, clutching her shoulder and looking wretched. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just… I couldn’t find your mother, and I’ve had a bit of an emergency.” She moved her hand just enough to reveal that the side seam holding the bodice of her dress in place had split.
“Oh, my gracious!” Anne said, hurrying over. She gave a nervous laugh. “We can’t have you walking around like that.”
“Indeed, no,” Ceci said.
Anne wrapped an arm around Ceci’s shoulders, then turned to Lord Scudamore, who was still standing by the railing. “Can I trust that you will keep this in confidence, my lord?”
The viscount placed his hand across his heart. “You have my word of honor.”
“Thank you,” Anne said.
She steered Ceci back through the French doors, leaving Lord Scudamore standing alone on the balcony, staring out into the darkness.
Chapter 17
Anne emerged from the ladies’ retiring room and almost plowed into Michael, who stood rooted three feet outside the door like a fir tree, tall and unmovable.
She laughed as she pressed a hand to her chest. “Michael, I was just coming to find you.”
He said nothing as he took her hand and placed it on his arm. He bowed deeply to Ceci, who had followed just behind Anne, then turned and began striding toward the ballroom.
Anne almost had to jog to keep up. Gracious, why was she so nervous? This was Michael. She had danced with him dozens of times over the years. Hundreds, if you counted the dancing lessons they’d shared growing up!
He glanced down at her then, and his green eyes were filled with such longing that Anne tripped over her own foot. Longing—that couldn’t possibly be right. What had they put in the punch, that caused her to believe the man who had made it inescapably clear he saw her as nothing more than a friend might be longing for her?
They reached the ballroom. Instead of leading her to the top of the set, he proceeded across the floor at a rapid clip. “Um, Michael.” She squeezed his arm. “Should we not head over there?”
“I thought we might talk,” he said, his deep voice causing gooseflesh to break out on the back of her neck. “If you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind. That actually sounds lovely.” After the strain of the last hour, having to question Lord Gladstone, then being overheard by Lord Scudamore, she could use a reprieve.
She’d had quite enough excitement for one evening.
Michael led her out the French doors and straight down into the garden. The night was cool, pleasantly so, after the crush of the ballroom. The moon was full, and it cast the gardens in the most gorgeous light. Moonlight suited Michael beautifully tonight, with his glossy black hair and spotless white linen. Even in the moonlight, she could make out the green of his eyes, so intense was the color.
He led her all the way to the back corner of the garden, over to a secluded stone bench. They sat down, and Michael took her hand in his. He closed his eyes.
Anne tipped her head back, enjoying the soft night sounds of the garden. She caught a whiff of jasmine on the breeze and closed her eyes to breathe in the sweet smell. Delicious. She was still tense following her conversation with Lord Scudamore, and she forced her shoulders to unknot and lower. It was a gorgeous summer night, and here she was, with her favorite person in the whole world. She should enjoy it.
“So,” she said, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” She opened her eyes and turned to face Michael on the bench.
Except, Michael was no longer beside her on the bench. He was still holding her hand, but while she’d been enjoying the night air, he had moved.
He was now directly in front of her.
Kneeling.
Her heart began to race like a runaway carriage.
“Anne,” he began, pressing her hand. He lifted his eyes to hers, and they were intense, and sincere, and she felt color rising in her cheeks.
He squeezed her hand again. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Yes?” she whispered.
