Page 23 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
Ahem. Not that he would ever do something so grossly inappropriate, of course.
“Elissa, thank goodness you’re here,” Cassandra said. “I was to dance the last set with Lord Fauconbridge, but I’ve just torn my hem.”
“Really?” Elissa leaned forward. “It looks fine from here.”
“As I was saying,” Cassandra said, whipping her skirts back and glaring at her sister, “I must see to this right away.” She turned to Edward. “You don’t mind if I leave you in the company of my sister, do you, my lord?”
Edward knew he was grinning, which was terribly gauche. He also knew there was not the slightest chance he could stop. “Not at all, Mrs. Gorten.”
“Excellent,” she said, already weaving her way through the crowd.
Edward turned to Elissa. “May I have this dance?”
“I should be delighted,” she replied, smiling shyly up at him.
“So,” he said, offering his arm, “you said earlier that there was something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “You see—”
She was cut off by the sounds of the musicians tuning up. And right on cue, there was Mr. Warner, smiling as he crossed the room to invite Edward to take his place at the top of the set.Again.
Edward groaned. To be sure, he was in a rare state of frustration, to not even be able to exchange three sentences with her.
But even he was shocked by his next words.
“Miss Elissa, I apologize. I know I asked you for a dance, but… is there a balcony or a garden about which we might instead take a turn?”
“There is not,” she said.
He sighed. He had spent the past nine years avoiding balconies and moonlit gardens as if they were malarial swamps, and the one time he actually wanted a tête-à-tête with a pretty girl, there wasn’t one.
“But,” Elissa continued, blushing ferociously, “they always set torches out along the river. There are a few benches, and it’s nice for a stroll if you, um, if you wanted to.”
“That sounds lovely,” he said. He offered his arm, then led her across the room, through the doors, and out into the night.
CHAPTER9
Outside, the river was streaked with gold from the torches lining its banks. Edward saw that they were far from the only ones with the idea to escape the confines of the assembly room and take a little air. There were several dozen groups, both couples and small clusters, scattered along both sides of the river.
They strolled down the river a way, looking for an unoccupied bench. Edward admired the torchlit scene. The river wound its way right through the center of town, the banks on both sides lined with trees—oak, maple, and weeping willow. Set a few feet farther back were pretty cottages of golden Cotswold stone, each of which seemed to be trying to outdo its neighbors with its front flower garden.
But the crown jewel of Bourton-on-the-Water was its bridges—four of them, low and arching, made of that same golden Cotswold stone, that gave the town the charming feel of a miniature Venice.
“I’ve always loved Bourton-on-the-Water,” Edward said. “It has to be the prettiest town in all of England.”
“I’ve hardly known anything else,” Elissa said.
“There’s not much out there that’s better than this. Have you never been to London, then?”
“No, but I made it as far as Oxford once.”
Edward nudged her with his elbow. “What did you think of the bookshops?”
She made a sound of pleasure so sensual that he felt it in his groin. “It is fortunate that Oxford is a full day’s journey away. Otherwise, I would’ve bankrupted my family twelve times over.”
“That good?”
“Oh, yes.” They had come to one of the footbridges. “Let’s cross here,” Elissa suggested.
