Chapter 17

Everyone who was anyone was there. The Cromleys’ townhouse on Park Place was ringed with carriages of all descriptions. Hal escorted Caroline. The two of them and the Templetons waited in the carriage line for almost an hour. They had finally attained the red carpeted entrance when a footman pulled open the coach door and let down the steps. Simon exited first with Hal following. He reached back to help Caroline, then Genevieve Templeton. The aristocrats approached the awesomely lit entrance bathed with golden gaslight.

Inside, the foyer was a mass of fresh flowers, placed strategically along the walls and hanging within recessed niches. Potted trees rode the steps of the center stairway, arranged along the double hallways leading to the ballroom, which stretched across the entire second story rear of the town house. Trees were placed to give one a sense of walking through a garden arched over with greenery. Flowering plants of many colors were massed at their trunks. At the end of the hallway, the aristocrats stepped onto a landing overlooking the massive ballroom. Caroline could scarcely believe her eyes. There were flowers of every size, description and color everywhere the eye could see. The orchestra’s raised platform was made to look like a gazebo. It was surrounded with blooms and potted greenery. Small, trellised archways had been set up here and there around the perimeter of the sunken ballroom with benches and flowers…and more flowers…to simulate a country garden.

In the midst of it all, numerous gentle sprays of water looped from hidden fountains. Raining droplets sparkled like diamond waterfalls in the bright lights and fell with bubbling sounds into basins ready to catch them. Through magical engineering, water was flung over and over through the warm air. The magnificent crystal chandeliers spread daylight to the furthest corners of the immense room.

An imposing footman announced new arrivals to the noisy, bustling crowd already in attendance. “Earl of Crestwood and Lady Caroline Lockler. Earl of Bostwick and Countess Bostwick,” he called out. In the receiving line, Lord and Lady Cromley greeted the guests. A waiting footman gave each lady a long-stemmed rose as she entered.

The four made their way down the carpeted steps and entered the crush of humanity on the ballroom floor. It was a warm night in mid-June. The French doors to the balcony were thrown open to allow whatever errant breezes might cool the heated bodies crowded into such close company. The smell from Mayfair’s streets, combined with heady the perfume emanating from a myriad of fresh blooms, and the fragrances worn by the guests, was almost enough to overpower one’s sensibilities.

Trying to locate a friend, one did so accidentally. If someone continued to circulate, they might never meet. Therefore, after Hal, Caroline and the Templetons made the rounds once, they picked a spot to settle and let the rest of the crowd pass by them. The D'Arcys arrived and found them quite unwittingly. Caroline hadn’t spoken with Sara D'Arcy since the night Antonio had been seen with Lady Maribelle.

“Caroline, my dear, you look absolutely stunning,” the older lady complimented. “I am so glad, dear girl, you decided to step out and enjoy some of the Season. I dare say, it’s done you a world of good. You bloom as lovely as the rose you carry.”

“Why, thank you, Sara,” Caroline returned. “To tell the truth, this time spent in London has been more illuminating than I ever imagined.” She paused. “It’s taught me how much I really love living in the country,” she continued with a broad smile and a chuckle.

At that moment, Andrew Brawley approached Caroline to claim a spot on her dance card. Soon, it was all but full. Ever alert, Lady D'Arcy noticed a dark head bobbing above the crowd, stopping now and again to pass a remark but plowing a straight line toward Caroline.

“I believe the dark duke is heading our way. Perhaps, he’s come to claim a dance, Caroline. What do you think?”

“My card is full, Sara. He’ll have to wait for another time,” Caroline replied tersely. Antonio approached Caroline with determination. As usual, he looked absolutely elegant. Not a gallant in the room could match his masculine, exotic, archangel looks. Antonio’s impressive height, his carriage, the sureness and loose-limbed grace of his walk, all spoke of the nobility bred in him on both sides of his lineage.

Caroline inhaled sharply.

Antonio smiled.

“I've come to claim the dance you were supposed to save me. I proclaim mine the next one.” Saying so, he took her dance card and scratched his initials over whoever’s name was already there.

“Your Grace!” she exclaimed. “But, that’s…”

“My dance,” he said, gripping her elbow and strongly leading her out onto the floor as the orchestra began a Viennese waltz.

With a sigh of pure resignation, Caroline turned into Antonio’s arms. She was tired of fighting off his appeal. Anger, frustration, and most of all, heartache, had taken their toll on her. At this moment, she simply wanted him to hold her. Somehow, some way his arms alone felt like home.

Propriety demanded their bodies not touch, but she felt an urge to press herself against his full length, wrap her arms around him, and never let go. How she longed for him to draw her into a closer embrace.

Antonio sensed the difference in Caroline immediately. His fingers tightened on her waist as he felt her slight unsteadiness.

“Caro, are you all right?”

What in the world had she been thinking? It was best she came to her senses.

“Oh, I’m fine, Your Grace. It's just…the heat…I suppose. And too many people…” Her voice trailed off. “I'm all right, really.”

As they whirled past one of the open French doors, Antonio maneuvered her adroitly out onto the balcony. There were others outside taking the cool air, but he led Caroline to the end where the light was dimmest.

“Are you certain you're all right, Caro?”

She heard the concern in his softly spoken question. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same rake that so often upset her with his suggestive sallies.

What she felt must’ve shown in her eyes, because when Antonio’s penetrating gaze stared down into hers, he seemed to recognize and understand an unspoken promise. Either that or he knew she’d given up fighting him and was about to surrender.

“Caro,” he murmured, lowering his head toward her. He closed her eyelids gently with tender kisses, touching his lips to the tip of her nose, until he finally took her lips in a kiss.

“Oh yes, Tonio.” A murmured sigh escaped her slightly parted lips. Her eyes remained closed, savoring his kiss. He took her breath away.

He hesitated briefly before lowering his mouth again, this time slowly, as he pushed for entrance into her mouth with his tongue. When she acquiesced, he slipped between her teeth and plunged into the wet heat of her mouth. Hungrily, they tasted each other for long moments, arms wrapped around each other, bodies melded into one form in the deep shadows of the balcony.

Antonio’s tenderness grew quickly into passionate kisses, and Caroline’s knees grew weak. She clung to his shoulders. Her fingers entwined around his nape as she pressed herself against him, unable to crush herself close enough. Everywhere they touched spurts of fire flared hotter and faster until the heat between them burst into invisible flames.

Losing some control, Antonio’s kisses turned urgent and demanding, devouring her lips with increased sensual ardor. Caroline felt his arousal pressing against her belly. Unable to stop the flood of desire that gripped her, she answered his kisses with passionate equivalence.

“Ah Caro, Caro, querida,” Antonio rasped hoarsely, his voice sounding hurried and urgent. “We must go somewhere private.” His words whispered harshly against her mouth. “See what you do to me. I must have you, mi amour, now, tonight. Don’t deny what we both want so much.”

“I won’t…any longer. But, there is nowhere. We can’t leave; we can’t stay out here. Already we’ve been gone too long. I’m courting disaster for being so indiscreet…”

“Lady Caroline?” a masculine voice called from an open doorway leading from the ballroom.

Someone had been searching for her. Quickly, Caroline stepped away from Antonio and ran her gloved palms over her hot cheeks.

It was Andrew Brawley.

“Have I missed our dance, Lady Caroline?” he asked, spying her amidst the shadows. “There was such an inordinate crush I was unable to reach you in time.”

He saw there was someone with her. “Oh, pardon me. Is that you, Your Grace?”

“Indeed, Brawley. Your loss was my gain. I took your place on Lady Caroline's card since you were tardy. The lady felt a bit woozy from the heat, so we stepped out here for some air. Are you better now, Lady Caroline?” Antonio asked.

“Yes, thank you, Your Grace.”

The moment was lost.

“I say, Lady Caroline, if you have an opening, I beg you to allow me scratch my name there. I dearly wish to share a dance with you,” Brawley rambled on while Caroline and Antonio retreated into thoughts of what might have occurred in some dark corner of the garden.

Their coming together seemed a certainty now, at least to Antonio. He’d find a way to explore the urgency between him and Caroline that had developed during those earlier months. It demanded fulfillment—an aching, undeniable madness that wouldn’t leave him alone. When and where, he wasn’t sure, but it would happen, it had to happen. He would make it happen, and soon.

“Umm, yes, of course, Lord Brawley,” Caroline was saying as she preceded him into the ballroom crush.

Antonio remained where he was, his hands clutching the marble railing while he took control of his aroused body. He glanced down and spied something on the balcony’s stone floor. He picked up the rose Caroline had dropped. Bringing it to his nostrils, he inhaled the fragrance that belonged to her alone, certain he’d never smell the same perfume without thinking of her. His fist tightened around the stem as he gazed out over the dark garden.

“You’ll soon be mine, querida,” he whispered into the night. “You must, or volverse loco, I shall go crazy.”