lead her into the dance.
* * * * *
From a shadowed corner of the ballroom, Ethan quaffed a mouthful of Malaga and watched Lily glide around the ballroom in Lord Ottwell's arms. The excellent flavor and body of the wine barely registered on his tongue, however, his thoughts focused almost completely upon her.
If he suspected even for an instant that she might seriously be interested in Ottwell, he would have separated him from her the way a lion drove a rival from his pride. But Ethan could tell she was merely here to enjoy herself, Ottwell being nothing more than a convenient male escort and dancing partner. Still, he was sure Ottwell did not feel the same; his usually calm expression all but enraptured as he gazed upon Lily.
And why should it not be?
Ethan thought, considering just how lovely she was—radiant as a perfect summer day, her deep blue skirts billowing around her trim ankles, her upswept Titian locks as vibrantly, vividly alive as she herself. Simply being in the same room with her set his senses afire, reconfirming the instinctive depth of his attraction for her.
But his desire could wait for now. First he needed to exercise patience and bide his time as the two of them played their mating game to its inevitable conclusion. In his mind he thought again of their brief but invigorating verbal sparring from moments ago, cognizant of the fact that he was eagerly anticipating the next round.
Until their waltz, he supposed he ought to dance with a few other ladies instead of skulking in corners. Julianna would be demanding answers if he wasn't careful. Her interest in Lily was piqued enough already without him drawing more attention Lily's way. Neither did he wish to earn the notice of the Ton itself.
Besides, if he took to the dance floor, he would have little trouble keeping her in his sights.
Who knows, perhaps we might accidentally brush up against each other as we pass,
he thought with anticipation. Tossing back the last of his wine, he set down his glass and strode forward.
* * * * *
Lily discovered she had been right about Ethan seeking out other dance partners. With the exception of her first dance with Lord Ottwell, the marquis hadn't taken a pause, standing up for every set with one beautiful woman after another.
If she had cared about such matters—which of course she did not—she might have found her nose quite out of joint by the time the second waltz arrived. Not that she had lacked for partners in the interim, barely having had time to catch her breath from one set before being led out by a new man to enjoy the next. All the while, she had been aware of Lord Vessey, catching a glimpse of his tall form moving in graceful accompaniment to the music, or else hearing his deep-throated laughter ring out over some apparently amusing remark made by his latest partner.
Now her turn had arrived—or
his,
depending upon how one wished to view the matter. Sipping a glass of cool lemonade to relieve the dryness in her throat, she waited for him to appear.
And appear he did, slipping up behind her just as she was swallowing a last mouthful.
"Lemonade, hmm?" he observed. "I would have assumed a more daring beverage would be to your liking."
Startled, she swallowed wrong, a cough erupting from her throat. As she continued coughing, his broad palm settled against her back and began to rub in wide, comforting circles.
A quiver trailed down her spine.
"Are you all right?" he queried in a low, almost intimate tone.
She nodded her head and coughed again. "You really must stop sneaking up on me," she said the moment she could draw enough breath to form the words. "Can you not find a way to approach from the front?"
Apparently reassured she was in no real danger, his lips turned upward into an easy smile. "I could, but I find I rather enjoy a back view, at least
your
back view."
She nearly choked again at the naughty remark, a fresh tingle plunging low as he moved his hand again, stroking his palm along
* * * * *
From a shadowed corner of the ballroom, Ethan quaffed a mouthful of Malaga and watched Lily glide around the ballroom in Lord Ottwell's arms. The excellent flavor and body of the wine barely registered on his tongue, however, his thoughts focused almost completely upon her.
If he suspected even for an instant that she might seriously be interested in Ottwell, he would have separated him from her the way a lion drove a rival from his pride. But Ethan could tell she was merely here to enjoy herself, Ottwell being nothing more than a convenient male escort and dancing partner. Still, he was sure Ottwell did not feel the same; his usually calm expression all but enraptured as he gazed upon Lily.
And why should it not be?
Ethan thought, considering just how lovely she was—radiant as a perfect summer day, her deep blue skirts billowing around her trim ankles, her upswept Titian locks as vibrantly, vividly alive as she herself. Simply being in the same room with her set his senses afire, reconfirming the instinctive depth of his attraction for her.
But his desire could wait for now. First he needed to exercise patience and bide his time as the two of them played their mating game to its inevitable conclusion. In his mind he thought again of their brief but invigorating verbal sparring from moments ago, cognizant of the fact that he was eagerly anticipating the next round.
Until their waltz, he supposed he ought to dance with a few other ladies instead of skulking in corners. Julianna would be demanding answers if he wasn't careful. Her interest in Lily was piqued enough already without him drawing more attention Lily's way. Neither did he wish to earn the notice of the Ton itself.
Besides, if he took to the dance floor, he would have little trouble keeping her in his sights.
Who knows, perhaps we might accidentally brush up against each other as we pass,
he thought with anticipation. Tossing back the last of his wine, he set down his glass and strode forward.
* * * * *
Lily discovered she had been right about Ethan seeking out other dance partners. With the exception of her first dance with Lord Ottwell, the marquis hadn't taken a pause, standing up for every set with one beautiful woman after another.
If she had cared about such matters—which of course she did not—she might have found her nose quite out of joint by the time the second waltz arrived. Not that she had lacked for partners in the interim, barely having had time to catch her breath from one set before being led out by a new man to enjoy the next. All the while, she had been aware of Lord Vessey, catching a glimpse of his tall form moving in graceful accompaniment to the music, or else hearing his deep-throated laughter ring out over some apparently amusing remark made by his latest partner.
Now her turn had arrived—or
his,
depending upon how one wished to view the matter. Sipping a glass of cool lemonade to relieve the dryness in her throat, she waited for him to appear.
And appear he did, slipping up behind her just as she was swallowing a last mouthful.
"Lemonade, hmm?" he observed. "I would have assumed a more daring beverage would be to your liking."
Startled, she swallowed wrong, a cough erupting from her throat. As she continued coughing, his broad palm settled against her back and began to rub in wide, comforting circles.
A quiver trailed down her spine.
"Are you all right?" he queried in a low, almost intimate tone.
She nodded her head and coughed again. "You really must stop sneaking up on me," she said the moment she could draw enough breath to form the words. "Can you not find a way to approach from the front?"
Apparently reassured she was in no real danger, his lips turned upward into an easy smile. "I could, but I find I rather enjoy a back view, at least
your
back view."
She nearly choked again at the naughty remark, a fresh tingle plunging low as he moved his hand again, stroking his palm along
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