Page 36 of Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses
Somerdale had claimed two dances in a row, but rather than taking her onto the dance floor for the first one, he’d invited her to take a stroll through the garden with him. She’d actually welcomed the opportunity to step out into the night and have the cooler air brushing over her skin.
Ever since her dance with Andrew, she’d been far too warm, constantly reliving much of the evening before. Every touch and caress. Every lap of his tongue. The feel of him covering her, the way his muscles knotted and bunched. His growls and groans. The smoldering heat in his eyes—
“...your uncle or Rexton?”
The tail end of Somerdale’s question intruded on her musings. “Pardon?”
He chuckled low, self-consciously. “How much did you not hear?”
“I fear quite a bit. My apologies. I was lost in the beauty of the gardens.” Even though they were ensconced in darkness.
“I was saying that I don’t think it should come as any surprise to you that I am quite taken with you and think we are well suited.”
Oh dear God. Surely this was not going where she suspected it might be.
“I wasn’t certain with whom I should speak regarding my intentions: your uncle or Rexton.”
Her uncle was family, blood. He resided in London, was terribly convenient. Rexton, her new brother-by-marriage, was still at Kingsbrook Park enjoying his new bride. Terribly inconvenient that. “Rexton, I should think since Tillie is the one who has always been more responsible for me than Uncle, who merely provided me with an escort to balls when Tillie was not welcomed.”
As he nodded, he didn’t appear too happy, which should have pleased her no end—to know he was anxious to move their relationship forward, to possibly ask for her hand in marriage. Instead she feared all her adventures, all the excitement, all the exhilaration would be stolen from her life. Her time with Andrew would come to an abrupt end.
She wanted one more night with him, one more spectacular night with enough naughtiness to last a lifetime. And she wasn’t above using blackmail to get it.
But when they returned to the ballroom, she couldn’t find Andrew. He wasn’t on the dance floor or at its edge. Neither was he in the card room, the smoking room, or the refreshments room. Apparently he’d left.
By the time the ball ended, it would be too late to seek him out tonight. But she was rather certain she knew how to go about seeing him on the morrow.
Chapter 11
The Nightingale tonight at 10.
—G
“What the bloody hell is this?” Andrew whispered harshly, waving the missive he’d received in the late afternoon at Gina. He’d arrived at his parents’ residence five minutes earlier, supposedly to enjoy dinner, when in fact he’d needed to confront her with what he was certain was a fairly mad scheme.
“Do you not read?” she asked innocently, standing in the center of the parlor while they waited to be joined by his parents. Did she have to look so incredibly enticing? Did she not have any rags to wear?
“Bloody hell, of course I read.”Bloody hellhad been the litany rushing through his mind ever since he’d read her words. He’d made a grave error in judgment allowing the other night to happen, because he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wanting another night with her, and then her bloody note had arrived.
“Then it should be fairly obvious.”
“You can’t go to the Nightingale Club. It’s unseemly. Besides if I didn’t ruin you before, I’m certainly not going to do it there.”
“I’m not asking you to. I simply want to see it.”
“No.”
“Hmm.” With incredible elegance, she glided over to the fireplace, stroked her finger over the mantel and his gut clenched with the reminder of how she’d stroked him. “I wonder what your brother is going to say when he learns you took me to a brothel.”
“He’s not going to learn because you swore to keep our outing a secret. I shall be terribly disappointed to learn you’re a lying tart.”
Another stroke of the marble. What the devil was wrong with him that he should find it so provocative? All morning he’d been reliving every touch she’d bestowed on him. The night they’d gone rowing he’d known her excuse of not wanting to return here drenched had been ridiculous, but he’d gladly accepted it as a viable reason not to rush her home because he’d not yet been willing to give up his time with her.
“Better a lying tart than a boring one.”
“Gina—”
She faced him, clasping her hands together. “I think he’s on the verge of asking your brother for my hand in marriage.”
