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The way he was looking at her—well, if looks could kill, then they could probably do other things, all of which it felt as though he was doing them to her right now.
Her body tingled, all over, especially in those Parts, and she was fiercely, proudly glad she had come out this evening. She had come close to telling Effie she had a headache; the prospect of sitting in a dark theater while people fell in love and got what they wanted on stage was not an enjoyable one. And whatever notice she got was usually not notice she wanted.
He was noticing her. But what felt right was that he was giving her as much scrutiny as he had before she’d put this gown on. It was just that everything was more, from the color of the dress to the look in his eyes to the way she felt as he looked at her—all of her—the heat of his gaze seeming to brand her.
She shivered, and that was apparently all it took for him to take action.
“You’re cold, let’s go outside.” And then he shook his head, a rueful grin on his lips. “Although of course it is colder outside, so you’ll get colder, and I don’t want that.” She saw how his cravat shifted as he swallowed. “It was an idiotic thing to say, I just—”
“I want to go outside with you.” She didn’t wait for his reply, she just took his arm and began to lead him toward a small door that presumably led to a balcony.
He was a palpable force at her back. And if she had been cold before, which she hadn’t been—her shivering was a direct result of him, and how he was looking at her—she was on fire now, her whole body feeling as though it were heating up from the inside.
From those Parts. That now she was beginning to think really weren’t things she could ignore, never mind that a lady shouldn’t think about such things.
She was, and she couldn’t stop. What’s more, she didn’t want to stop.
The balcony was small, and there were others leading out from other of the large windows, but nobody stood there. Probably because the play was about to begin, and who wanted to miss a play? No one, thankfully. Except them.
“Come sit,” she said, taking his hand in hers and guiding him to the small stone bench at the other end. A large, leafy tree blocked out what little moonlight there was, so they were nearly in darkness. She sat down, the coldness of the stone a shock to her backside. He did the same, the heat of his thigh next to hers a marked contrast. Her whole body, her whole self, was a study in contradiction; she was hot, she was cold, she wanted, but she didn’t want to presume, she knew what she should be doing and yet here she was.
Never mind all that. She knew what she wanted most right now: to be here, with him, whether hot or cold or somewhere in between, which sounded far more intriguing in her mind than just saying “lukewarm.”
She couldn’t repress her grin at her ridiculous thought, and she clapped her hand over her mouth as she started to laugh. He smiled in return, sliding his hand over her back to settle at her waist on the opposite side.
Oh my. It felt so good sitting there next to him, his fingers at her waist, his whole body seeming as though it was claiming ownership. Of her.
Her breasts, tighter in that dress than they usually were, felt prickly, but in an intriguing way. As though they craved a touch.
Oh, who am I trying to fool? I want him to touch me, on my breasts, and on my skin, and anywhere his large hands could travel.
My goodness. Now that was a thought that made her whole body react.
“You really are cold. This is a stupid idea,” he said, beginning to get up. “We should go back to the play.”
She clamped her hand on his thigh. “No.”
He froze, his gaze looking down at where she was touching him.
“Uh...” he began, and his voice sounded shaky, and she had a momentary pang at having made him shaky. But that was silly. She should be proud that she had made this powerful, honest, wonderful man nearly as weak-kneed as she felt.
“I wish we could leave here and return to your house,” she said, keeping her hand on his leg. “But Lady Euphemia is my responsibility, and—” And Effie would be upset if she thought that Katherine was actually interested in Mr. Dawkins, much less kissed him and wanted to do Others Parts-ish things with him. It almost upset Katherine herself, only she’d have to say she was less upset than she was intrigued.
“And what would we do there?” he asked, his voice returning to its normal low rumble. It sent another shiver spiraling through her body. “That is, I know what I would do,” he continued, putting his hand on top of hers on top of his leg. Oh my.
“And—and what would you do?” she asked in a breathy voice. Was that her? Sounding as though she had run a long distance?
No, that wasn’t it. It was as though she were running toward something, catapulting toward it, every fiber in her body yearning to grab it, to take it, to make it hers.
That was how she felt.
“I would remove your gown from your body,” he said in a low voice, “but slowly, since I wouldn’t want to wrinkle it. It is spectacular work, my sister truly is a genius,” he said, almost in an aside. “And then, when you were just in your shoes and stockings, I would kiss your feet and work my way up until I got to your mouth.”
“Oh.”
She’d only been able to say “oh goodness” when she’d first seen herself in the gown; that was twice the amount of words she was apparently able to muster right now. “Oh,” she said again.
“I’ve never felt this way before,” he said, and she knew it was honestly, painfully true. “Me either.” Two words again! Perhaps she wasn’t rendered entirely incoherent.
She opened her mouth to speak, but found she had nothing to say. Nothing that wasn’t something she shouldn’t say, at least. It wasn’t as though they could leave, nor could they act on any of their desires, not without serious consequences. It would have to be enough that they sat here, on the balcony of a public theater, her hand on his leg, his words ringing in her head, his warmth so close but not.
It had to be enough. But what if it wasn’t?
––––––––
“KATHERINE! MR. DAWKINS! There you are.” Euphemia peeked out through the doors just as Henry was wondering how obvious it would be if he just flung Katherine over his shoulder and stalked out.
“Yes, here.” He raised the hand that had been on hers in a wave. She snatched her hand away, leaving a cold ache on his leg. Well, an ache in another area as well, but he couldn’t think about that. Especially since he had to stand after Effie had spotted them. He was entirely grateful for the relative darkness.
A gentleman trailed after Euphemia, and Henry squinted to make out the man’s features, which were shadowed by the bright light coming from the theater hallway.
“Mr. Dawkins, I have returned your sister to Lady Marjoribanks’s box. And Lady Katherine, my mother sent me to find you so you could meet Lord Waddell.” Effie turned and flashed a brilliant smile at the gentleman, who staggered a bit at the impact. “Lord Waddell was just asking what I thought of the play, and I told him, quite truthfully, that I couldn’t tell him anything about it.”
Neither could he or Katherine. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Katherine curtsied, and then took Henry’s arm. “And this is Mr. Dawkins.”
“A pleasure, my lord,” Henry said, bowing to the shorter man. Lord Waddell nodded and smiled again, as though ensuring he had been entirely pleasant before turning to look at Effie, that slightly stunned expression still on his face. “Would you like a glass of punch? I believe we have time before they ring the bell for the play to begin again.”
She took his arm and flashed another smile. “That would be delightful, my lord,” she replied. She nodded smugly at Henry and cast a knowing look in Katherine’s direction before walking back into the ballroom on Lord Waddell’s arm.
Henry heaved a gusty sigh.
“That relieved, are you?” she said in an amused murmur.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, turning to regard her. Her face was tilted up to his like a flower opening to the sun.
God damn it, Henry, first a symphony in red and now this. He shook his head disgustedly. “It is. But, I think, only to me. I know Effie can be quite persistent.”
“And you know I don’t want her, not in that way.” He heard how his words emerged strangled from his throat.
“I know. I also know that I am her companion, and I should go ensure she is not doing to Lord Waddell what she attempted to do to you, much as it seems the gentleman might appreciate it. I have a duty,” she said, sounding resolute, standing as she spoke.
One problem down, now that Effie seemed to have veered off her course, but now he had a much greater problem, one that he didn’t know how to solve.
How could he make himself and his family happy at the same time?
“Lord Waddell is glorious, isn’t he, Katherine?”
Katherine grinned into her book. This was only the tenth time Effie had said nearly the same thing. “He is quite a good-looking gentleman,” Katherine replied. Even though he is not as tall as I like,
nor quite as broad. Oh, she couldn’t lie to herself. He couldn’t be as glorious as Henry simply because he wasn’t Henry.
“And it is a good thing I did not encourage Mr. Dawkins,” Effie continued blithely, as though she weren’t lying. She had tried to encourage him; it was just that he was immune to her charms. “Because if he had proposed, and I had accepted, it would be quite shocking. That is, a lady of my standing, even someone in your standing, would find it quite lowering to marry a person who is not a gentleman, even if he comes from good stock.”
“Oh, yes.” She had thought of that, but not quite in those terms. As in, she had considered what it would be like to be married to Henry in some ways—mostly Other Parts ways—but she had not thought that people would consider it a disgrace if she were to marry someone like him. Not that it would matter to her, but it would matter if his sister’s shop could suffer. And it might, knowing how judgmental and fickle Society could be. He would never allow that, which meant he wouldn’t even dream of marrying her, even if she was willing.
Oh no.
But what if she were to approach him and ask him to—she could barely articulate the thought in her mind, which showed just how shocking it was.
But if she did, she would know. And then she would be able to totter off into her spinsterhood, chaperoning all of Effie’s sisters and perhaps more beside, and she wouldn’t regret anything.
“I promised Lord Waddell I would go driving with him in the park this afternoon. In his curricle. There is only room for two, so you are free to do whatever you like,” Effie said. “Mother said it would be perfectly respectable, since we will be in the park and he is so eligible,” she continued, neatly deflecting Katherine’s concerns about proper chaperonage.
Which meant that if this was to happen, it would happen today. This afternoon. Without any sort of proper chaperonage.
She hoped to God he didn’t have a previous appointment. Or her entire life would not be irrevocably changed, and she would be very disappointed about that.
He heard the knock on the door as he had just returned from his last appointment. He stood abruptly, knocking the chair he’d been sitting in to the floor, where it made a loud bang.
He glowered at it for a moment before flinging the door open. And felt his mouth drop open as he saw her. Her, standing in his doorway, an odd expression on her face.
“Can I—can I come in?” she asked after a moment of them both standing there.
“Uh, yes,” he said, stepping aside to let her enter and closing the door. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head as she removed her bonnet and set it on the table. Right on top of the list that had her name on it. It had lain there for days with him unable to throw it away, as he should be doing. “No, nothing is wrong, or everything is wrong, depending on how you look at it.” She turned to him and he saw a wild, nearly frantic expression in her eyes. He locked the door.
“How do you look at it?” he asked, moving closer to her.
She lifted her face to his and smiled. Not the brilliant incandescent smile that Euphemia often had, but something warmer. Something softer. Something just for him. “I came here to ask you something.”
“Oh?” he said, feeling his whole body spark to life. He wouldn’t be coy, not to himself, and pretend he didn’t know what she was about to ask him. The question really was, what was he going to do when she did?
She took a deep breath and stepped forward so they were nearly touching. And then she did touch him, reaching her hand forward to place it on his chest. “I want you to do what you said,” she said in a voice so quiet he could barely hear her. Only he heard her loud and clear, like a bell setting off alarms all throughout his body. Especially there.
Although that was an odd image, so he wouldn’t think about it too much. “Do what I said?” he repeated, his words coming out in a croak.
She smiled, as though she understood. And he knew she did. She was as uncomfortable in certain situations as he, and in this situation—which he presumed was this situation—neither one of them had any experience, so at least they were equal there.
“Do you mean about the gown and the stockings and such?” he asked in a low voice. She nodded. “Yes. Please.”
He felt his chest tighten at how determined and vulnerable she sounded, all at the same time. Swallowing, he reached his fingers forward to undo the knot of her cloak, then slid it off her shoulders and placed it over one of his chairs.
Instead of starting with her gown, however, he knelt swiftly at her feet, sliding his palm over her ankle, feeling the delicate bones under the sturdy stockings she wore. Her boot was made of soft material, the footwear of a lady. She was a lady.
He paused, thinking about that, thinking about what it might mean if—when— he were to do this thing she was asking. It wasn’t as though he wanted to stop it. He wanted this more than anything, but he thought that this moment in time would change him forever. That she would ruin him for anybody else. Even though he was about to ruin her.
“What are you doing?” She sounded hesitant, and he glanced up. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
She bit her lip and he saw the pink flush wash across her cheeks. She was so perfectly pretty, he almost couldn’t stand it.
Good thing he was kneeling, then. “Thinking we shouldn’t? That is...”
“No.” He spoke as firmly as he ever had, and that included when his sister had tried to use him as a mannequin when she first became interested in fashion. “I want this, more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.” And it was the truth, only he was worried he would continue to want, more than he’d ever wanted before, after as well. And forever, in fact. But she was a lady, and ladies didn’t marry bookkeepers, and he couldn’t dare jeopardize his sister’s livelihood.
First things first. He couldn’t think about any of that now. She was here, she wanted him, and damn his future if he didn’t want her back.