sighed.
" You should not go out walking alone with me on terraces."
" There . . . there are others walking out here as well." Cassandra felt breathless and oddly dissatisfied, though she should be glad, indeed, that he did not do something so improper as to kiss her.
A wide grin spread across his face. "Others who have invisibility amongst their talents, of course."
" I thought I heard some voices . . . ." Cassandra could feel a blush rising in her cheeks.
" Perhaps. However, they are not anywhere in sight. We are quite private here."
" Are we?" But she knew it was so, even as she spoke. They stood just past the windowed doors that let out to the terrace, near the low stone wall that curved into the mansion itself. The curtains obscured the light from the ballroom, and only dimly illuminated Blytheland's countenance. She was glad she was in shadow, for then the marquess could not see her blushes—and then realized the reason she was in shadow was because she stood in a corner, and he blocked her way out.
From within the ballroom the orchestra struck up, and Cassandra knew that another dance set had begun. The music had a hypnotic beat, and she felt her own heart beat faster to its rhythm. Blytheland 's hand came up, and she could feel his thumb trace circles along the line of her jaw, in rhythm to the music. She closed her eyes.
" Will you kiss me, Cassandra?" His voice was low and soft.
" I—I have not given you permission to use my—my Christian name, sir."
' Then give it to me now."
" I—"
" Please."
A deep sigh escaped her, and perhaps there was a yes in it somewhere. Cassandra did not have time to consider which question she might have answered, for the marquess's lips came down upon hers, swiftly, firmly, gently. She did not know what to do at first, for she had never been kissed—at least not as Lord Blytheland kissed her. There was something insistent beneath the softness of his caress, and she was half afraid of it, for she felt it was related to that intensity she'd glimpsed within his eyes before. But it seemed as if some natural force within her knew the right response and cared not for any fears she might have: a small gasp opened her mouth and she leaned forward, matching his intensity with passion.
" My God," she heard him murmur as he parted from her only a hairbreadth and for a heartbeat's time.
The music from the ballroom swirled through the open windows and around them, and made Cassandra 's perceptions rise to an acute sensitivity. Blytheland's fingers moved from her cheek to her neck and left a scintillating trail, like champagne trickling across her skin. She shivered and pressed closer to him, savoring his warmth in the cool night. His lips shifted from her lips to her cheek, and then down to her throat.
Then he stilled, and stopped, and moved away. Bewildered, Cassandra gazed at his solemn face, but he looked toward the open doors. Voices, louder than she 'd heard before.
Reality doused her like ice water across the face, and she drew in a swift breath. Oh, merciful heavens, someone was coming! What had she been doing? How could she be so stupid? It was obvious what she 'd been doing. She hoped that it would not be obvious to anyone who might see her. She blushed hotly at the thought.
" I think we need to walk, Miss Hathaway," the marquess said.
" Y-yes, of course."
He bent and picked up her shawl, which had fallen to the ground, shook it, and put it around her shoulders. She pulled it tightly around her.
"Thank you."
Blytheland shot a surprised look at her.
"I meant for my shawl!"
" Of course." A small smile crossed his lips. He tucked her hand upon his arm, and they moved out from the shadows.
Cassandra was glad they strolled about the terrace. The night breeze had picked up and had become chill, and cooled her too-warm cheeks. Another couple did indeed come upon them, but they barely acknowledged Cassandra 's and Blytheland's presence, for the couple were too absorbed
" You should not go out walking alone with me on terraces."
" There . . . there are others walking out here as well." Cassandra felt breathless and oddly dissatisfied, though she should be glad, indeed, that he did not do something so improper as to kiss her.
A wide grin spread across his face. "Others who have invisibility amongst their talents, of course."
" I thought I heard some voices . . . ." Cassandra could feel a blush rising in her cheeks.
" Perhaps. However, they are not anywhere in sight. We are quite private here."
" Are we?" But she knew it was so, even as she spoke. They stood just past the windowed doors that let out to the terrace, near the low stone wall that curved into the mansion itself. The curtains obscured the light from the ballroom, and only dimly illuminated Blytheland's countenance. She was glad she was in shadow, for then the marquess could not see her blushes—and then realized the reason she was in shadow was because she stood in a corner, and he blocked her way out.
From within the ballroom the orchestra struck up, and Cassandra knew that another dance set had begun. The music had a hypnotic beat, and she felt her own heart beat faster to its rhythm. Blytheland 's hand came up, and she could feel his thumb trace circles along the line of her jaw, in rhythm to the music. She closed her eyes.
" Will you kiss me, Cassandra?" His voice was low and soft.
" I—I have not given you permission to use my—my Christian name, sir."
' Then give it to me now."
" I—"
" Please."
A deep sigh escaped her, and perhaps there was a yes in it somewhere. Cassandra did not have time to consider which question she might have answered, for the marquess's lips came down upon hers, swiftly, firmly, gently. She did not know what to do at first, for she had never been kissed—at least not as Lord Blytheland kissed her. There was something insistent beneath the softness of his caress, and she was half afraid of it, for she felt it was related to that intensity she'd glimpsed within his eyes before. But it seemed as if some natural force within her knew the right response and cared not for any fears she might have: a small gasp opened her mouth and she leaned forward, matching his intensity with passion.
" My God," she heard him murmur as he parted from her only a hairbreadth and for a heartbeat's time.
The music from the ballroom swirled through the open windows and around them, and made Cassandra 's perceptions rise to an acute sensitivity. Blytheland's fingers moved from her cheek to her neck and left a scintillating trail, like champagne trickling across her skin. She shivered and pressed closer to him, savoring his warmth in the cool night. His lips shifted from her lips to her cheek, and then down to her throat.
Then he stilled, and stopped, and moved away. Bewildered, Cassandra gazed at his solemn face, but he looked toward the open doors. Voices, louder than she 'd heard before.
Reality doused her like ice water across the face, and she drew in a swift breath. Oh, merciful heavens, someone was coming! What had she been doing? How could she be so stupid? It was obvious what she 'd been doing. She hoped that it would not be obvious to anyone who might see her. She blushed hotly at the thought.
" I think we need to walk, Miss Hathaway," the marquess said.
" Y-yes, of course."
He bent and picked up her shawl, which had fallen to the ground, shook it, and put it around her shoulders. She pulled it tightly around her.
"Thank you."
Blytheland shot a surprised look at her.
"I meant for my shawl!"
" Of course." A small smile crossed his lips. He tucked her hand upon his arm, and they moved out from the shadows.
Cassandra was glad they strolled about the terrace. The night breeze had picked up and had become chill, and cooled her too-warm cheeks. Another couple did indeed come upon them, but they barely acknowledged Cassandra 's and Blytheland's presence, for the couple were too absorbed
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