Chapter Forty
Phin entered the ballroom with a heavy weight pressing against his chest. Just there, where his heart pounded a furious rhythm, as though fiercely trying to escape the cage of his ribs.
Of all the dangerous situations he’d boldly—jauntily, even—walked into with a swagger and a grin, this was by far the most terrifying. The stakes were higher than ever. He’d either leave here tonight a broken man…or he’d be honored with the greatest treasure a man could ever dream of.
He saw her almost immediately.
She stood out like a beacon of beauty and grace and strength. A storybook princess. The fairest of them all.
She was simply breathtaking. Heart-stopping. He would be grateful if she let him kiss her dainty toes.
Even as an unbidden rush of lust claimed him at the thought of pressing his lips to her delicate arch, he recalled words she had once spoken in a soft plea. Don’t put me on a pedestal. I always fall.
She deserved to be only and everything that she was.
A woman of courage and passion and needs and hopes.
He wanted to be there—at her side—as she sought her greatest accomplishments and discovered the secrets of life and the world and herself.
He wanted to share each and every one of those moments with her and would surely hate himself if he missed a single one.
She was the adventure of a lifetime and he was utterly obsessed.
As her gaze started to flicker toward him, Phin ducked into a nearby crowd.
He didn’t want her to see him. Not yet. Not while her cousins flanked her like generals and her brother stood sentry behind her.
He didn’t want to approach her with all the trappings of the society neither of them fit into.
He wanted nothing between them—no niceties, no refined manners, no expectations.
Skirting the edges of the ballroom, he kept an eye on her.
He hated that she never left the wall. Even as Miss Martindale was soon asked to the dance floor and Lady Lydia eventually wandered off and then the marquess also took to the dance floor, Eleanor remained as she was.
Head held high, gaze proud. Doing all she could to conceal her discomfort.
But he could see it. And he remembered how she’d trembled that very first night in the refreshment room.
He also remembered how she faced down an intruder in her garden with the man’s dropped scythe.
It took a little while before he was able to find a footman in the crush of guests. But he finally managed to get a slip of paper to write a quick note, which he instructed the servant to deliver carefully and directly.
Then he made his way outside and found a spot in the farthest reaches of the garden, where the only light was starlight and the sliver of a silver moon. And there he waited. With his heart in his hands.
*
Eleanor’s gaze jumped about the room. Seeking. Yearning.
Anxiety spiked through her body. But it wasn’t the panic she’d become so familiar with in the last couple of years of being out in society.
Instead of dread, it was anticipation that tightened her muscles. Instead of an icy paralysis, it felt as though the energy inside her was trying desperately to expand beyond her reach and control. It took a significant amount of willpower to rein herself in.
She had no idea what she’d do if she saw him. When she saw him, she corrected, because she’d already decided that if the viscount didn’t make an appearance here tonight, she would simply go to him. So was not going to let the man leave England before she had a chance to be fully honest.
The very idea of exposing herself in the way she would need to—not physically, but emotionally, which was somehow so much scarier—caused a trembling in her hands. She linked them tightly together. And scanned the room once again.
Her cousins had stepped away nearly twenty minutes ago, with swift glances of assurance. And Ralston had taken Miss Dickson to the dance floor at least ten minutes past.
If Phin were going to seek her out and approach her, now would be the time.
She was so intent on searching the sea of faces for one handsome visage, she was slightly startled when the liveried footman stepped up to her with a stiff bow.
“A message, my lady,” he said in a low voice while extended a silver tray containing a few champagne flutes, one of which had a small slip of paper tucked beneath it.
Excitement raced along her nerves as she took the glass of champagne and swept the note into her palm with the other hand.
She nodded to the servant and waited until he stepped away before she took a sip.
The bubbly drink was cool and subtly bracing.
On her second sip, she started to stroll toward a large fern set near a window.
As casually as she could manage, she ducked behind the plant and set her glass on the pedestal so she could open and read the note.
I’m waiting beneath the stars.
Her heart jolted within her, sending delicate shockwaves through her blood. She knew the handwriting as Phin’s from his prior notes. And though her initial response was elation, that hopeful emotion quickly tumbled into concern.
What if he was there to say goodbye?
What if he wasn’t attending the ball as a guest, because he was leaving tonight and was dressed for travel?
The thought spurred her forward.
Clutching the note in her fist, she rushed toward the exit to the garden.
Another couple stood on the terrace, but they were engrossed in each other and paid her no heed as she swiftly and quickly sped down to the garden path and continued into the shadows.
She doubted he would be near the house. Likely, he was waiting toward the back gate. In the shadows beneath the stars.
As Eleanor came around a curve in the path, she was brought up short by the sight of another couple, seated close to each other on a stone bench. She recognized Ralston immediately and gasped, bringing her hand to her chest.
Her brother had his arm around the woman beside him, his stare intent upon her face. Though his companion was turned away from her, Eleanor had no doubt it was Miss Dickson.
When he glanced over the lady’s shoulder, a look of displeasure swiftly claimed his features.
“Eleanor?”
“Goodness, Ralston,” she breathed in a whisper, her nerves still in a riot.
Miss Dickson finally turned to face her. Though it was clear even in the starlight, that the young woman had been crying, her expression was simply curious.
Despite the unexpected encounter, Eleanor had not forgotten why she was rushing through the garden. She curled her hand tighter around the crumpled note and cast a glance toward the back wall. Was Phin out there? Waiting? Maybe watching her right now?
“You cannot be out here,” she blurted, bringing her attention back to Ralston.
He glanced at his companion and cleared his throat before standing and drawing Miss Dickson up alongside him. He nodded to Eleanor. “You’re right. Thank you. Head back to the ball. We’ll be right behind you.”
She hesitated. Damn. He thought she’d come out to remind him of propriety? She couldn’t exactly walk past him now. He’d certainly insist on knowing where she was headed and why.
After glancing toward the wall again, she turned and made her way back the way she’d come.
As soon as she was out of her brother’s sight, however, she slipped off the path into the deeper shadows of the garden, tucking herself beneath the branches of a flowering tree.
She’d have to wait for a bit before circling back.
Hopefully, her brother would assume she’d gotten lost in the ballroom crowd.
She waited several long breaths after she heard Ralston and Miss Dickson walking quietly back toward the house. She was just about to leave her shadowed arbor and make her way back to the path when a large, warm hand slipped around her waist from behind and pulled her back against a broad chest.
Instant panic had her drawing a quick breath before she caught a familiar scent and heard Phin’s voice, low and soothing at her temple.
“It’s me, sweetheart.”
She instantly relaxed into his arms. “My brother—”
“I saw. You couldn’t get to me, so I came to you.”
“Why are you here?” Her tone lowered, “Why am I here?”
His arm curved around her waist, bringing her deeper into his embrace as his other hand found hers.
He matched their palms and intertwined their fingers before bringing her hand up to his mouth.
The press of his lips to the back of her hand was light and sweet, but it still sent tingling shivers of desire through her body.
When he turned his head to nuzzle his lips against her neck, just below her ear, she sighed, but then murmured, “This isn’t an answer.”
His chuckle was thick and warm. “I know. I’m just trying to find the right words.”
“All right,” she breathed. “I’ll wait.”
Eleanor dropped her head back against his shoulder and turned to lift her lips to his. Their mouths met so easily. Like gentle magnets pulling inexorably toward each other. The kiss started gently. A light pressure, then a brushing caress.
But when a soft moan slid from her throat, he answered with a husky sound of possession.
Releasing her fingers, he brought his hand up to lightly encircle her throat.
His thumb and forefinger found the corners of her jaw as he tipped her head back farther, forcing a slight arch to spine that pressed her buttocks more firmly to his groin.
Desire rolled like a wave through her, weighing down her limbs and trembling through her belly.
He was also not unaffected.
She heard the raw catch in his breath and felt the tension that made his muscles go taut. The hard, readiness of him.
Despite his obviously rising passions, his touch was strong but gentle. He seemed very conscious of leaving space for her to resist or deny him.
She wanted to do neither.