28. The Last Waltz #4
“Tell me,” he murmured, with a thread of amusement in his voice, “should Gina be jealous of Lady Rutledge? Or, can I keep her calm behind Jason’s mask?”
Kate lowered her head to hide her laughter, glancing at him askance before answering in the same low tone.
“There’s absolutely no reason for Gina to feel jealous.
” She paused briefly, letting him wait. Then looked at him in the eye.
“You are the reason for my smile… my beloved husband.” Their eyes remained locked.
“And also for what is happening beneath my clothes,” she added mischievously, and instantly her cheeks flushed crimson.
Jason said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on her longer than it should have been.
Then, the orchestra began a new piece—the opening strains of a waltz. Around them, couples began moving toward the center of the floor, preparing for the dance.
Jason let out a slow sigh, still admiring his wife, before offering her his hand, palm up. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Moore-Sullivan?”
Kate looked at his hand, at his face, at the promise implicit in the question. This dance would be watched. Judged. Every movement, every glance, every touch would be analyzed by the people surrounding them.
But it would also be theirs. A moment stolen in public, sanctioned by society’s rules but belonging entirely to them.
Kate placed her hand in his.
“I would be honored, Mr. Moore-Sullivan.”
Gina, dressed as Jason, led Kate onto the dance floor while around them, other couples took their positions—husbands and wives, engaged couples, hopeful young men with blushing debutantes.
The orchestra finished its preparatory flourishes, and the room fell into expectant silence.
Then the music began for real.
Gina’s hand settled at Kate’s waist while Kate’s hand rested on her shoulder, mindful of the healing wound beneath her coat. Their joined hands rose to the proper position, and for a moment they simply stood there, poised on the edge of movement, their eyes locked.
The first notes swelled, and they began to move.
Kate had danced with Jason before—at their wedding, at small gatherings, at social events where their presence was required. But those had been performances, carefully choreographed displays of marital harmony for observers who expected nothing more than competent execution of steps.
This was different.
Perhaps it was knowing what lay ahead, the plans forming, the future beckoning.
Perhaps it was the duel survived, the promises kept, the nights spent learning each other’s bodies and hearts.
Perhaps it was simply that they’d stopped pretending, at least to themselves, about what they meant to each other, and who they both really were.
Whatever the reason, this dance felt like truth dressed in society’s acceptable fiction.
A reality hidden in plain sight from those who could not see—simply because they could not accept that, sometimes, what is normal is not exactly what is right; that fashion is merely another garment with which we adorn the soul; and that love is far more than a mere attraction to a body.
Gina guided Kate through the turns without effort, and Kate followed her lead, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization.
The waltz’s three-beat rhythm becoming the only reality that mattered while, around them, the ballroom blurred into indistinct shapes and colors—other dancers, watching faces, glittering chandeliers.
However, Kate saw only her.
Only her.
Gina, dressed in masculine armor, dancing with the woman she loved in full view of the society that would destroy them both if it knew the truth.
“Everyone’s watching,” Kate murmured as they swept past a cluster of matrons whose fans had risen to conceal their gossiping mouths.
“Let them watch.” Gina simply said. “Let them see how devoted is Jason Moore-Sullivan to his beautiful wife.”
Her hand tightened slightly at her waist, not enough to be improper, but enough for Kate to feel the emphasis, the possession implicit in the gesture. Her breath caught.
“You’re playing your part well tonight,” she managed.
“Am I even playing?” Gina’s eyes held hers, unwilling to look anywhere else. “Because as far as I know, I’m simply dancing with the woman I love. The performance is in pretending that’s all this is—a husband dancing with his wife. The truth? The truth is so much more than that.”
Kate let out a soft, low moan, as if Gina’s words—mingled with the intensity of her gaze—were tickling some part of her body. “People will notice your intentions if you look at me like that.”
“Like what exactly?”
“Like you want to—” Kate stopped, but the blush on her cheeks finished the sentence.
“Like I want to take you home and remove that beautiful dress and worship every inch of you?” It seemed as if she were speaking of nothing more scandalous than the weather. But her eyes gleamed with dangerous intentions. “Then yes, people might notice that. Because it’s true.”
“Stop,” Kate whispered, though whether she meant stop talking or stop making her feel things she couldn’t afford to feel in a crowded ballroom, she wasn’t certain.
They turned through a complex series of steps, Gina lead her flawless despite the injury that must still be causing her pain.
“In fact,” she commented once they were close again. “I’d wager half the men in this room are full of envy. The merchant who married the untamable Kate Sullivan. They have no idea how fortunate he truly is.”
Kate’s pulse was pounding. “When we get home… I will show that merchant how truly fortunate he really is.”
“When we get home,” Gina simply confirmed, “I’m going to keep every promise I made you before the duel. Every single one.”
The music began to build toward its crescendo, and Gina led Kate through the final series of turns, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next.
Other couples swirled around them, but Kate was aware only of the woman holding her, of the promise implicit in every touch, every look, and every breath.
The final notes rang out across the ballroom and applause broke out—polite, appreciative, the sound of society approving of the spectacle they’d just witnessed. Mr. and Mrs. Moore-Sullivan, the devoted couple, dancing beautifully at the season’s final ball.
Everything exactly as it should be.
* * *
Once in the intimacy of their bedchamber, Gina and Kate finally stood face to face, their faces flushed crimson, and every pretense vanished. Kate’s hair fell loose down her back; her hairpins lay scattered somewhere between the carriage and this very room.
Both were naked; Gina, without bandages, without disguises, without armor; Kate, without a corset, without modesty, without reservations.
Never had they looked less decorous. Never had they looked more perfect.
“Beautiful,” Gina whispered, letting her gaze wander over Kate’s naked skin. “You are so beautiful.”
“You are beautiful. Utterly beautiful. Every inch of you.”
Gina remained motionless, allowing Kate to admire her completely, every curve, every mark, every part of her that the world would never see.
Kate stepped forward, closing the distance between them and taking Gina’s breasts with both her hands. She cupped them possessively, squeezing gently but claiming them with intention as her thumbs brushed against nipples that hardened instantly beneath her touch.
Gina made a soft, broken sound while biting her lips.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about this all night,” Kate whispered, her voice sweet like honey. “Seeing you dressed as a man, knowing what lay beneath. Knowing that later… I could unwrap you like a gift.”
Gina grasped Kate’s neck, claiming her too with a mouth thirsty for kisses.
Kate then pushed her backward, toward the bed, where they tumbled onto the mattress together in a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. Kate touched her fiercely; her hands were everywhere—in Gina’s hair, over her breasts, sliding down her abdomen toward the warmth between her thighs.
“Show me,” Kate asked, amidst kisses and bites. “Show me everything you promised. Teach me how to love you whole.”
Gina rolled them over, pinning Kate beneath her body. “First,” she said with a husky voice, “I’m going to worship every inch of you. I’m going to make you fly, my love.”
She lowered her head, trailing kisses down Kate’s throat, across her collarbone, and descending toward her breasts, where her mouth closed over a nipple, sucking gently.
Kate let out a soft moan—almost a sigh.
And Gina maintained a steady rhythm, unhurried, listening. Her hand glided down Kate’s body, finding the moisture between her thighs, where her fingers caressed and traced slow, tormenting circles.
Kate’s moans grew deeper, lower—anchored in her chest—as her body relaxed completely against the mattress, surrendering.
Gina changed nothing. She maintained the exact same pressure, the exact same rhythm.
“Please,” Kate panted. “Gina…”
“Let me…” Gina murmured against her skin. “Let me show you, my love. Let me make you feel good.”
Her fingers slid inside carefully, filling her slowly. And Kate let out a sharp, broken moan, one that soon became a steady repetition.
“Ah, ah, ah”—her body communicating that Gina had found exactly the right spot.
Gina kept her pace. She didn’t speed up. She didn’t change her angle. She simply continued—steady and firm—as she lowered her mouth toward the bundle of nerves nestled between Kate’s legs, which had swollen and glowed as red as a rosebud on the verge of blooming.
She glanced up for a moment to meet her gaze, and then, slowly, she blew gently upon her clitoris as her fingers moved within.
Kate closed her eyes as she felt the warm air escaping Gina’s lips, right there where she was most sensitive. She never would have imagined—no matter how many people had told her—that an act as simple as a breath could evoke such sublime sensations throughout her body.