Chapter Sixteen
“Ladies,” Bellamy said as he approached.
“Lady Blackhurst, I believe this is our dance.” He offered her his hand and suddenly she felt nervous.
It seemed ridiculous to be so, considering how intimate they had been together, but just the feel of his hand in hers made her heart beat erratically.
The tingles started again, and she realized with a resounding thud that she was completely, utterly, and beyond redemption in love with him.
But was it a great and consuming love? Part of her was jumping for joy while the other part was nervously worrying that these feelings were a very bad idea.
He led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms. It felt right to be there. He looked down at her and frowned. “Smile, Lisbeth, it is only a dance.”
“I know that.” But she could not summon the smile he requested. Her body was reacting to his touch as it always did. They made the first turn before he spoke again.
“I’ll kiss you,” he said.
“What?” She looked up at him then. She was already blushing at her own thoughts.
“I will, kiss you, right here, in front of everyone if you don’t relax.”
“Do not talk nonsense,” she replied worried that he may make true on his threat.
“You think I won’t? Care to make a wager?
” He laughed then at her expression. “No wager then.” He took her into a turn, pulling her closer.
He was a good dancer, sure-footed and confident.
It was easy to dance with him, except for the emotions that were playing havoc with her head and the constant turning of the dance.
“You make me mad with wanting you,” he said softly in her ear. She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. When she opened them and looked up at him, she felt her face flush red. When he looked at her the way he was now, she knew what he was thinking and she wanted it too but…
“Why would you say such a thing on a dance floor in front of hundreds of people?”
“Because,” he said in a whisper. “I want you to know exactly how I feel when you are in my arms, when I look into your eyes, when I smell your perfume.” He held her secure in his embrace, leading her in the steps that were so new to the world of the ton.
“You should not say such things. It is unfair.”
“Unfair? To whom? Me and my distracting desire for you or you and your female sensibilities?”
“I refuse to answer that question,” she replied, pinning him with one of her glares.
He laughed. “That only makes me want you more.”
They said nothing further for a few seconds until Lisbeth tried to get back onto a safer subject. “Where did you learn to dance the waltz?”
“In Germany. Did I ever tell you that story about the—”
“Bellamy,” she whispered, clutching his shoulder in alarm. The room began to swim around her making her feel dizzy, out of control.
“Focus on me,” he said. “Do you feel dizzy? It happens sometimes when you are not used to all the turning.”
“Focusing on you makes it worse,” she replied trying not to panic. He slowed down so the outside world did not spin so fast.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered dutifully but in truth it was more than just the dance that had made her feel faint.
It was the overpowering realization that she might just love him.
Did he love her? How could he? If he did, he shouldn’t.
She desired this man, wanted to consume him, savor him like one would the last lemon drop in the box.
Oh, how she wanted to kiss him, right here, right now.
It was then that she realized how little time they had left with each other.
The season ended soon, and he would be free to go—and she would let him.
She would have to watch him go, taking with him her heart, but she had known that from the start—that he would leave her.
“Right, that’s it,” he said, as he suddenly stopped dancing, took her by the hand, and led her off the dance floor.
He walked slowly, smiling and nodding to the people they passed but he did not stop, and she was too tense to take notice of where he was leading her.
He halted for a moment then pushed her gently into a hall.
He took her hand again and dragged her along at a quicker pace.
“Where are we going?” she managed to gasp out.
He did not answer. Instead, he looked from side to side, and then chose a door on the right.
He dragged her through and closed the door behind them before hauling her up against the wall and kissing her ardently.
Relieved beyond words, she kissed him back, winding her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifted her.
Nothing else mattered in this moment. His lips on hers and his arms protective and strong around her made her feel safe and wanted.
He rocked between her thighs, his hands now under her skirt skimming up her legs to cradle her bottom.
She didn’t even notice the hard wall at her back.
The only sensation she felt was an irresistible need for this man.
This combined with her overwhelming want to weep at the injustice of having fallen in love with a man she could not have forever.
She would take everything he had to give her because she knew in the darkest parts of her soul that this may be her only chance.
He wanted her and she wanted him and it didn’t make sense, but it did.
Everything about him was right and yet they both knew it wouldn’t, couldn’t last. Perhaps it was this that made their coupling so intense, so reckless, and so fragile.
She cupped his face and kissed him with all her desperate heart.
“Lisbeth, don’t cry,” he said, softly reaching up to wipe away at tears that she had not even noticed. “Everything will work out. Ashton said that they all adore you. Why are you crying?”
She didn’t respond, couldn’t, so she just kissed him and kissed him until he too forgot everything but her. He made love to her against the wall, a completely indecent act that would have horrified her under other circumstances but with Oliver she didn’t care.
She loved him.
*
The thrill of their lovemaking still echoed through every nerve in her body and put a smile on her face. The Warringtons’ garden was beautiful but Lisbeth only had eyes for the man who was leading her up the garden path. Literally. She laughed at the thought.
“I’m not going to even attempt to ask you what you are thinking,” Oliver said as he returned her smile.
“Perhaps I am just happy,” she replied.
“Perhaps?” He lifted a brow.
“Fine. I am happy.”
He laughed and kissed her softly on the tip of her nose. “Perhaps I should have my way with you in dark rooms more often.”
As she walked slowly down the meandering path she hugged Oliver’s arm a little tighter and laid her head on his shoulder. A strong, dependable shoulder. A shoulder she wanted to trust. It had been so long since she had felt this way. The feeling was liberating.
“Gabrielle and Anna are lovely,” Lisbeth said as they headed towards a bench in the middle of the garden. She hoped he would kiss her on that bench.
Oliver nodded. “They are indeed, and what do you think of Ashton?”
She contemplated her answer for a moment. “He is suspicious of me. He hides it well, but I see it. He wants to find fault with me. I can’t blame him. He is only looking out for you.”
“He is a good friend but perhaps he wants to decide for himself about you. Form his own opinion instead of what the ton has decreed.”
She looked at him, but he was looking towards the house. “Is that what you told him to do?” she asked.
He turned towards her then and frowned at her wary expression. “No, but as you have so quickly surmised, he is naturally curious.”
“From his time in the army with you?”
“A man can hone many useful skills when he needs to. It is how one stays alive.”
“So, you trust him?”
He looked her square in the eye and said, “With my life.”
She was startled by his answer and relieved at the same time. “Well, that is praise enough for me. However, I think he will not take me on as friend until I have somehow proven myself.” Like she’d had to do constantly with everyone she had met lately, including Oliver.
“You prove yourself every day,” Oliver said, taking her hand in his and pressing a small kiss to her palm. “It is only a matter of time before he adores you too.”
Adores me too? “To you maybe, not to the masses that still believe me guilty of heinous crimes of murder and mayhem. I have to find Nathaniel’s killer; it is the only way they will ever believe me. We have ruled out many from my list but there has to be someone who might know something.”
“What if the killer is not even one of the ton? Maybe it was a hired thug?”
Lisbeth sighed. It seemed so easy for him to dismiss her concerns.
It was not his life that had been ruined by a wrongful accusation.
“Nathaniel let him in. He would not have done that unless he knew him or had invited him there in the first place. I don’t have time to speculate on other theories; believe me, I’ve thought this through quite thoroughly.
The season ends in a week or so and the ton will start leaving for the country.
We must concentrate on the clues we have.
The list grows smaller but not small enough. We need something solid.”
“I could enlist Tony’s help. He is prodigiously clever at searching out the truth.”
Lisbeth gasped. “He knows? What have you told him, Bellamy?” Her voice was soft in the garden, but it was laced with anger.
“I haven’t told him… much,” Oliver confessed looking only a little contrite.
She gasped. “Oliver! You know how I feel about this. How could you?” She wanted to throttle him.
“I just bandied some names around and asked him what he thought, that’s all.”
“And what, pray tell, did he say?” She was finding it hard to contain her anger.