His lordship then cast an eye towards the minister and saw that he watched Serena almost obsessively. It was disturbing.
No doubt there—the good minister meant to have the lady in question. His lordship then turned his gaze towards the other young men in the room, many of whom were staring at Serena and her group of friends.
Warren Beverly was at that moment leading a plain-faced and staid young lady into the country dance. The young lady had a sweet smile and was obviously infatuated with the rogue.
His lordship noted with interest that while Warren’s attentions towards the chit he had led out onto the floor were marked, his eyes often strayed towards Serena, who was also being led out onto the dance floor by Freddy.
Pendleton watched Freddy and Serena as they came together and parted during the steps of the country dance. She smiled and laughed but showed no marked preference for his nephew, nor did she make any romantic overtures towards the lad. She did nothing that he could make out to encourage the boy to attend to her. What was this? Just what was this?
The dance ended, and as Freddy led Serena away, his lordship made up his mind. It was time to do something.
As he passed by them, he heard Freddy say he would fetch her a Negus. Lord Daniel Pendleton made his move. A coin changed hands, and a waltz was struck.
His lordship had Serena’s lacey gloved fingers, and before she had the opportunity to refuse, he led her onto the floor.
Serena didn’t look pleased and said, “What are you doing?”
“Waltzing … do you not know the steps? Don’t worry. Just follow my lead, and try not to step on my toes.”
“Oh, you … you … of course I know how to waltz. We are not that backwards here in the country!” she answered sharply.
He realized at once that not only did she know how to waltz, she did so with perfect grace. The feel of her small waist in his large hand sent exquisite sensations through him. He was for a moment reduced to a man bewitched. He decided just to enjoy the moment. He could not blame Freddy for being swept away. He certainly would be if he weren’t on guard, and he was on guard, wasn’t he? Indeed, he was.
He looked down at her and said softly, “Your lips are pursed for a kiss.”
“Are they? Well then, the wonder is that you haven’t tried to kiss them.” She cocked a look at him, and he very nearly did just that.
* * *
Serena knew what he was doing. He wasn’t interested in her in any way. He merely wished to secure her attention on himself and away from Freddy. She was not a fool, but knowing this did not dissolve the hurt that rushed through her. Well, if he meant to dally with her, so be it. She would give as good as she got.
Her banter was meant to startle him, and she was pleased when it did just that. However, she was aware that flirting with him, looking up into those sapphire gems of his, filled her with certain excitement; that excitement, that feeling, flitted through her blood and played havoc with her good sense. The challenge she offered him had made her blood rush to her head. Butterflies in her stomach? Oh no, they were huge blackbirds picking away!
His blues were filled suddenly with interest, and that interest made her quiver with anticipation. Would he actually dare to kiss her? He couldn’t. They were surrounded by people.
His hold on her tightened, and he lowered his head and put his lips just inches away from her ear. Her knees began to weaken. She glided through the steps of the waltz, but she felt as though she were flying. What was happening to her? It was as though a strong wind named Lord Daniel Pendleton had blown in and was all around her. She felt as though she were being swept away.
He murmured, “Should I, Miss Moorely, break all the rules and do just that?”
He was daring her, absolutely daring her. She would call his bluff, for he would not do such a thing in front of his nephew, in front of all the world.
She eyed him boldly and said as softly and saucily as she could, “Do I call your bluff, my lord, or are you trying to call mine? Kiss me then, and we shall see.”
His brows rose, for as she thought, he had been calling her bluff; however, instead of being angry, he laughed out loud and said with a shake of his head, “Refreshing—that is what you are. But do not tempt me further, Miss Moorely, or I shall find a way to squirrel you off to some corner where I will steal a kiss.”
It was her time to laugh. She looked him straight in his blue eyes and said, “Why do you say it as a threat—are your kisses not what a woman might want?”
He appeared thrown off balance, as though he had not expected this, and chuckled before he told her, “For that … I mean to show you just what a kiss from me feels like.” So saying, he held her hand and hurried towards the garden doors.
She did not try to stop him, but willingly went along and admitted to herself that she had challenged him on purpose. Something inside her had wanted him to kiss her. Something had demanded she kiss him.
Of all the boys or men she had ever dreamed of kissing, this one man was the most fascinating, the most desirable, and she was heartily sick of all the rules. She was not getting any younger. Just what would his kiss be like?
He had her in the garden, and she found the night air was downright cool as he led her behind a tall evergreen bush. He didn’t hesitate; he didn’t stall or whisper sweet absurdities. He simply took her into his arms, which in itself made her feel as though she might crumble, and then his mouth was on hers.
The cold night air was forgotten. The garden was forgotten. The people in the ballroom vanished. There was only him. Oh—just simply oh, but she had never been kissed like that before. Not even Warren’s kiss could compare to what his kiss felt like.
His lips had met hers with a brushing motion so gentle she wasn’t sure his lips had really touched hers, and then he managed to part them, and his tongue slipped inside. It was a velvet teasing; it found and tasted her, insisted she taste him, and she did.