She glanced toward the revelry. “This ball is more thrilling than how I imagined it. It is elegant yet pulses with a raw undertone of danger. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes were direct as they probed his in the shadows. “I have always wanted to explore a night of sin, and the countess’s spring ball is famous for showing its patrons a great time.”
After the briefest of hesitation, she continued, “Would you like to go someplace quiet?”
He drew in a swift breathe at her teasing, and far too enticing suggestion, his heart ceased beating. He was sure it took a few seconds before it started to move in his chest. But he had heard right. Emma had just given him one of the oldest come-ons in the book. He also heard a wealth of emotions—excitement, lust, fear—in her voice. Ones she no doubt thought she had hidden. He needed to get her to some place private, with little chance of interruption, and discover what the hell was going on. Still, a gentleman had to be quite certain of a lady’s intentions. “Someplace quiet, preferably alone?”
“Yes.”
He rose to his feet and held out a hand. There was no hesitation. He stepped to her side and placed his hand in the middle of her back and guided her from the gardens into the house. To feel the shift of her delicate muscles beneath his hand was both a thrill and torture.
They moved toward the ballroom.
“Are we returning to the ball?”
The avid fascination in her face prompted him to ask, “Would you like to dance?”
She tensed slightly under his touch, then relaxed. “No, of course not,” she murmured.
Sweet Christ, how had he forgotten her injury? He glanced down, but she moved with flawless ease. Still, he checked his pace, walking with more care.
Elliot wondered how the hell to deal with her. Remaining incognito seemed important to her. And he was thankful she sought him out and not some stranger. But why had she sought him out? Emma was not the scandalous Fitzgerald. That honor belonged to her sister Maryann, and all she had done to distinguish herself so was eloping to Gretna Green with the local doctor when her family had been against the match.
Emma walked slightly ahead of him almost hurrying, and he knew it was nervous energy. That nervous energy had him on edge. They went up the stairs behind doors leading to the ballroom, and the delicious curve of her rump as she climbed teased him. He should summon a carriage to take her home. But Elliot wouldn’t, and he knew in his gut he would come to regret it. Because all he could think about was how much he wanted to run his tongue over the globes of her plump breasts, down to her secret folds, and unravel her one lick at a time. That was how powerful the sway of her hips was.
He gritted his teeth. As soon as he found out what had caused her to flee her country manor, he would send for a carriage. Elliot could not overlook that something had pushed her far enough until she came to him. Not to her brother or even to her best friend, Lady Oliva Newberry. Emma had come to him. He tried not to dwell on the savage satisfaction that filled him, and instead prepared to deal with all he saw in her eyes. Lust. Need. And fear.
Chapter 4
The pulse and life of the ball swirled inside of Emma, and her heart jerked with both fear and anticipation. She climbed the elegantly curved stairs on legs that wobbled. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, taunting her earlier confidence. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was just too dry. As if Elliot could read her mind, he snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman and pressed it into her hand.
“Thank you.” Her murmur was deep and husky, and Emma realized she did not have to deliberately lower her voice. Fear and arousal were doing a credible job for her. She tried not to feel awkward and out of sorts, moving with careful grace so as not to stumble or cause the damaged muscles in her legs to contract. The very first sight of Elliot in that shadowy corner had filled Emma with shattering awareness, and a heady desire to indulge in something shocking and forbidden with him, and it had not abated. Peeking at him from beneath her lashes, she greedily drank in the well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders evident through the elegant cut of his dark evening jacket and silver waistcoat. He had that sleek, honed elegance, and if one did not know his background, never would they have imagined that once he had been a little rough around the edges and slightly unrefined.
They reached the landing, and a soft sigh escaped her. It was a relief to know her legs were holding up under the strain of walking without a cane. This was the first she had been able to go this long without rest. Any stumbling now would disrupt the preci
ous moment, and she had crossed the first hurdle to capture his attention. How and why she could hardly care. The doubts had almost crippled her earlier, but now, glimpsing the hot need firing from his eyes eased the nervous flutter in her belly.
Had she captured his regard too easy? Or was he that much of a libertine? A warning hummed inside of her. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking over the last several minutes. Something had flared across his cheekbones when she’d told him to call her Amelia. Emma felt it was a common enough name and even if he associated it with his best friend’s sister, he could not know it was indeed her. He had never seen her without her walking stick or an evident limp, and she had not recognized herself earlier when she’d peered at her transformation in the cheval glass mirror. Certainly, if Elliot knew it was her, he would have called for her carriage and insisted she went home in it.
Please let me be right. This night was too important to her. She had dreamed about every second of the time they would spend together, nothing must spoil this perfect moment. She should have felt awkward. But she didn’t.
She felt wild and daring—a lady who knew what she wanted and was about to seize it.
“This way.”
She obligingly turned left on the landing, her heels sinking into the thick dark green carpet, bargaining with the butterflies in her stomach. They came to an almost hidden alcove, classical columns and long, red velvet drapes cocooned them into a sort of intimacy. They looked down on the throng, observers of the decadence. Emma was not sure where she got the will from to subdue her anxiety. She concentrated on her desire for Elliot and everything melted away. The glitter of the chandeliers, the dazzling array of dresses the ladies, or not quite ladies, wore, the decadence and laughter. The ornate and exotic masquerade masks. The doubt and the fear, though in truth she was more anxious about the unknown, she was not really afraid of Elliot.
“Sometimes I escape the crush and come here…to watch, to imagine what they are feeling and perhaps to guess as to why they are here, tonight of all nights,” he murmured.
She tilted her head and heat speared her as lion-gold eyes ensnared her. Her stomach dipped at the intensity of his stare. A powerful need to touch him seized her, stealing her ability to breathe.
“Are we private enough?”
“Yes.”
A multitude of emotions powered through her at that very moment. Doubt, fear, triumph, and relief. She focused on the triumph, and moved closer to him, scandalously close, soaking up the heat of his body. She would doubt no more because the most painful thing that could happen tonight would be to return to her cage without knowing Elliot’s touch.
The far eastern section of the balcony above the grand ballroom offered some semblance of privacy where they could converse without the temptation of being in a closed room. Though he hadn’t attended the house party, he had retained a room, but doors were dangerous. It would be too easy to shut out everything and ravish her. Whenever Elliot had attended Lady Waverly’s balls, he’d always retreated to the gardens or the upstairs bowers whenever he wanted a semblance of peace, contented with being away from the throng, the hypocrisy, and the loneliness of being in a sea of people, but not truly connected to anyone.