No. She couldn’t regret her time with Garrett, no matter how disappointed she would be when it was over. He’d taught her to feel again, to embrace her confidence, her innate sensuality. He’d taught her to flirt and to laugh and to experience what was truly supposed to happen between a man and a woman.
He’d taught her to love.
A sob threatened to escape, and she covered her mouth with her hand. She needed to get outside, and soon. She couldn’t stand this any longer—the people pushing against her, the endless hum of chatter, the music, the heat of the room. She wanted to be outside in the cooler air, away from the noise.
But where was Garrett? Maybe she had disappointed him, and this was the end of their affair. No doubt she had crushed him, frustrated him, quite possibly even angered him. If he failed to appear, then it was her fault for turning him away in the first place.
A most sobering thought.
Two thrown-open doors awaited her in the distance, reminding her of the first evening with Garrett when he’d yanked her outside. His devastating kiss in the garden, the way he’d touched her in his carriage…
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she angrily swiped at them, irritated at the unwanted show of emotion. In the middle of a ballroom crying and acting the fool—could she be any more silly?
No, she didn’t believe so.
Julia hurried toward the doors and fled onto the terrace, taking a large, gasping breath of the night air. She went to the balustrade and clutched the edge with both hands, the rough stone cutting into her gloved hands as she stared into the distance. A few couples huddled by the perimeter, all of them in seemingly romantic embraces, and she was alone.
But at least she wasn’t inside, looking everywhere for Garrett.
He was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Six
Garrett stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the grand ballroom of the Stratford mansion, studying each woman who passed. He scanned this way and that, for there were floods of them, none so distinct as his Julia.
Where was she?
Had she decided not to show after all? Disappointment filled him at the depressing thought. He still couldn’t believe she’d turned down his suit. He’d thought—nay, he’d believed that they wanted the same things. Yet she’d refused him.
Most ladies of the ton would have fallen to their knees in bliss if he’d deigned to pay attention to them, but not Julia. She didn’t believe herself worth of the title Countess of Bedingfield, but for him, no other woman would do.
With that single revelation, he’d hatched a plan. He was going to prove to the Dowager Lady Renwick that she was the only one for him. If he had to do it in front of all of London society, then so be it.
But where was she? He spotted Sir Reginald slipping through the open doors that led to the terrace and prayed that he was looking for her as well. Though he shouldn’t have been happy at that particular prospect. He’d watched her enough the last fortnight to know he had competition—Sir Reginald was in pursuit, practically following Julia wherever she went. Despite Sir Reginald’s obvious yet unspoken intentions, he didn’t have a chance.
Julia belonged to him.
Garrett waited patiently, grateful the balcony was essentially deserted. He tapped his foot on the floor, stared at those open doors as if he could will Julia to appear. And within moments of that wishful thought, Sir Reginald appeared, reentering the ballroom with Julia on his arm.
Sucking in a harsh breath, Garrett drank her in hungrily with his gaze. She was a vision in red, the rounded neckline of her gown showcasing the abundant creamy flesh of her breasts. The crimson color was most striking, standing out among the frothy pastels worn by the ladies who surrounded her. In such a gown, Julia demanded attention. And she undoubtedly held his.
He frowned when he saw her face. The splotches of redness on her cheeks, her otherwise pale, wan complexion—she looked sad, as if she might’ve even cried, and his heart clutched when he realized he was most likely the cause.
His lips firmed. He would spend the rest of his days and nights making sure she never cried over him again.
Sir Reginald led her onto the dance floor and swept her into his arms. She smiled at her dance partner, but her expression was distant and she scanned the room over his shoulder. Hope rose within Garrett. Was she looking for him?
It was now or never. He needed to make his move. But no way could he do so until the orchestra had finished its set.
For his move was going to be a bold one.
Again he waited, breathing a harsh sigh of relief when the music ended, though the room certainly hadn’t silenced. The buzz of conversation filled the air like the steady hum of insects. The room was packed with all of London’s glittering society, and nerves assailed him, made his stomach cramp.
He couldn’t back out, not now. Not when he believed her so worth the risk.
“Lady Renwick!” he shouted, drawing the attention of more than a few. With the exception of the one he wanted to see and hear him the most. “Lady Renwick, up here!”
Others craned their heads and gaped when they realized who was doing all the yelling. He smiled and waved, then pointed to Julia, indicating he wanted her attention. A thoughtful chap meandered through the crowd and tapped on Sir Reginald’s shoulder before pointing up at him.