bare wrist when they’d gone walking in Hyde Park. Every fiber of her being had reacted with hunger and blistering yearning, and she had wanted—more than she’d ever wanted anything—to reach out and touch James.
She’d never experienced the desire to touch a man before.
It was more than a desire. It was a screaming, urgent need to be close to him, close enough to brush her lips over his skin and breathe in his masculine scent. It had become all she could think of the past few days. She wanted to taste him, to cling to him. She wanted to lie down on a bed and feel the weight of him on her body, while he kissed her open mouth and she drank in the drenching flavor of him.
She glanced around self-consciously, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing and giving away her shocking, indecent thoughts.
She entered the house and greeted the hosts, then marveled at how, against the odds, despite all the gossip, James had won her regard.
Yet, self-doubts continued to flood through her. She could not forget what people said about him, and she wasn’t sure if she should follow her instincts about him and ignore the gossip, or
not
trust her instincts—for they were certainly being influenced by her feelings of attraction.
But her father had always told her to trust her instincts.
Trust your gut
, he would say, in his deep, Southern drawl.
They reached the withdrawing room upstairs. Florence whispered quietly, “This is largely a political party, so do try not to look bored if the conversation turns to whatever went on in Parliament this morning.”
“I’ve been finding it all quite intriguing, actually,” Sophia replied. “I’ve been following the speeches in the papers.”
“That’s fine, Sophia, but don’t pretend to know too much about it.”
Sophia was about to say she would never
pretend
anything, but Florence and her mother became distracted by a gown that a certain Miss Weatherbee was wearing—quite unlike anything she’d ever worn before, Florence said, with a very daring
décolletage
for an English girl who rarely spoke a word at these things, let alone came to them. It looked like the one Sophia had worn to the Weldon House ball, where she’d first danced with James.
Florence winked at Sophia. “You’re setting trends, my dear. It was bound to happen. Soon, people will be looking for your picture in the shop windows with Lillie Langtry and the other English beauties.”
They moved into the massive hall, brightly lit and adorned with ferns and leafy palms. For an hour or so, Sophia met gentleman after gentleman, peer after peer. There were politicians from the House of Commons as well as the House of Lords. There were newspapermen, bankers, wives and sisters and mothers and aunts. It was the largest assembly she had attended so far. She guessed the number of guests at an easy five hundred.
Not so easy to find her prince, however, when all the gentlemen were dressed the same—in black tails and white shirts and white waistcoats. Would he even come?
Then her mother said, “Look, there’s the duke,” as if they were wandering in Central Park, and she’d just spotted a partridge.
Sophia spoke as casually as she could. “Oh, yes.”
Her mother’s eyes grew wide. “
Oh, yes
? That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s all for now, Mother,” she replied with a little grin as she snapped open her fan.
It was another half hour before Sophia found herself on the same side of the room as James. Every so often she glanced in his direction, admiring how his tall, dark figure towered over the other men, and how his facial features were both rugged and calmly somber. Even in a crowd, his presence was grand and imposing.
He was engaged in a conversation with someone, but as he took a sip of his champagne, he looked at Sophia over the rim of his glass. His green eyes flashed beneath the dark lashes.
She smiled daringly at him, and when he inclined his head in return with a sexy lift of his brow, she
She’d never experienced the desire to touch a man before.
It was more than a desire. It was a screaming, urgent need to be close to him, close enough to brush her lips over his skin and breathe in his masculine scent. It had become all she could think of the past few days. She wanted to taste him, to cling to him. She wanted to lie down on a bed and feel the weight of him on her body, while he kissed her open mouth and she drank in the drenching flavor of him.
She glanced around self-consciously, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing and giving away her shocking, indecent thoughts.
She entered the house and greeted the hosts, then marveled at how, against the odds, despite all the gossip, James had won her regard.
Yet, self-doubts continued to flood through her. She could not forget what people said about him, and she wasn’t sure if she should follow her instincts about him and ignore the gossip, or
not
trust her instincts—for they were certainly being influenced by her feelings of attraction.
But her father had always told her to trust her instincts.
Trust your gut
, he would say, in his deep, Southern drawl.
They reached the withdrawing room upstairs. Florence whispered quietly, “This is largely a political party, so do try not to look bored if the conversation turns to whatever went on in Parliament this morning.”
“I’ve been finding it all quite intriguing, actually,” Sophia replied. “I’ve been following the speeches in the papers.”
“That’s fine, Sophia, but don’t pretend to know too much about it.”
Sophia was about to say she would never
pretend
anything, but Florence and her mother became distracted by a gown that a certain Miss Weatherbee was wearing—quite unlike anything she’d ever worn before, Florence said, with a very daring
décolletage
for an English girl who rarely spoke a word at these things, let alone came to them. It looked like the one Sophia had worn to the Weldon House ball, where she’d first danced with James.
Florence winked at Sophia. “You’re setting trends, my dear. It was bound to happen. Soon, people will be looking for your picture in the shop windows with Lillie Langtry and the other English beauties.”
They moved into the massive hall, brightly lit and adorned with ferns and leafy palms. For an hour or so, Sophia met gentleman after gentleman, peer after peer. There were politicians from the House of Commons as well as the House of Lords. There were newspapermen, bankers, wives and sisters and mothers and aunts. It was the largest assembly she had attended so far. She guessed the number of guests at an easy five hundred.
Not so easy to find her prince, however, when all the gentlemen were dressed the same—in black tails and white shirts and white waistcoats. Would he even come?
Then her mother said, “Look, there’s the duke,” as if they were wandering in Central Park, and she’d just spotted a partridge.
Sophia spoke as casually as she could. “Oh, yes.”
Her mother’s eyes grew wide. “
Oh, yes
? That’s all you have to say?”
“That’s all for now, Mother,” she replied with a little grin as she snapped open her fan.
It was another half hour before Sophia found herself on the same side of the room as James. Every so often she glanced in his direction, admiring how his tall, dark figure towered over the other men, and how his facial features were both rugged and calmly somber. Even in a crowd, his presence was grand and imposing.
He was engaged in a conversation with someone, but as he took a sip of his champagne, he looked at Sophia over the rim of his glass. His green eyes flashed beneath the dark lashes.
She smiled daringly at him, and when he inclined his head in return with a sexy lift of his brow, she
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