Chapter Fifteen #2
‘Eighty-four,’ said Mavis, pulling out a notebook from one of her apron pockets and riffling through the pages. ‘Would you look at that! Ditty is our winner—she’ll dance with the Duke!’
* * *
Henry tried to smile, but it took a great deal of effort.
It could not be more obvious Ditty had not even bought a single raffle ticket, and if her hurried whispers to Mavis were any indication, she was not happy about it.
‘—can’t be seen to be unfair,’ she was hissing under her breath, though it looked like she was being entirely ignored by Mavis. ‘I can’t draw out my own name!’
‘Thems the luck of the draw, my dear,’ said Mavis happily.
Henry cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t actually offer myself as a raffle prize, Mavis.’
‘There you are, then!’ Ditty said, jabbing a finger at Henry but still not looking at him. ‘We can’t just start giving away people as prizes if they haven’t agreed to it.’
‘All for a good cause,’ said Mavis calmly, but Henry could not help but notice there was a steely look in her eye.
He sighed. There was no point in arguing with Mavis; he had learned that lesson well. Indeed, it was often easier just to agree with her than try to spend your breath arguing with her.
Besides, it was not exactly a hardship. Ditty had looked pretty the moment he had first clapped eyes on her, but in that gown—it did something peculiar to his loins, that gown, drawing his attention to her swelling bust and the curve of her hips.
And the pearls, so elegant and refined, elevating Ditty in a way he had never expected.
Her beauty was unchanged, but seeing her like this was a reminder that she did not belong here. No, Brexley could not contain such a woman. She belonged, Henry thought with a clench of his heart, in the ballrooms of London.
‘Now, then, Henry, I’m sure you are delighted to dance with Ditty, aren’t you?’
He swallowed. Well, it would be rude to disagree—and truth be told, he was more than a little delighted.
A dance with Ditty was something he could never have hoped for in his wildest dreams, though admittedly his dreams were a little more sensual in nature.
It was difficult to think of anything unsensual, after the kisses which had started an affection within him he had no chance of quelling.
Those scheming women were far better at trying to find him a wife than he was.
‘I would be honoured, Miss Oliver, if you’d accept me for this dance,’ said Henry.
Her cheeks pinked. ‘You would?’
He nodded as the crowd backed to the walls, leaving a space for them to dance.
‘I’ll request a waltz,’ Avril said cheerfully before bustling away.
‘I haven’t danced in a long time,’ Ditty murmured as she took his hand and stepped with him into the centre of the room, evidently unconcerned.
At least, that was what Henry thought she said. It could have been something else, but it was hard to tell. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears, his pulse roaring, she could have said anything and he would have nodded just the same.
The musicians struck up. It was a slower waltz, thank goodness, not one that would require him to gallivant at speed about the place, but at the same time it made Henry’s stomach twist.
He was about to dance. In public. With Ditty.
He wasn’t sure which part of that he was most nervous about.
‘Don’t worry, after the first minute I’ll invite everyone else to join us,’ she whispered as his hands placed themselves delicately on her waist.
Henry tried to smile. ‘Just like at a wedding, I guess.’
Why on earth had he thought this was a good time to mention weddings? Ditty’s smile faded, but she rallied and nodded, as though that was the most obvious comparison to make, and not a completely foolish thing to say.
‘Exactly. Just like at a wedding.’
Just concentrate on the dancing, Henry tried to tell himself. Or your attempt at dancing.
An attempt was probably a more accurate description of what they were doing, but at least that reduced the pressure to do anything impressive.
Ditty’s hands were clasped on his arm and around his hand, and Henry was doing his best not to notice every minute shift of her fingertips, the way her thumb brushed against his own.
Why was his heart beating this loudly—surely she would be able to hear it!
‘You know, I have to hand it to you,’ he said quietly, under the noise of the music as people watched them dance gently to the rhythm of the waltz. ‘I didn’t think it would be possible to do all this.’
‘What, put together a spectacular ball, in just days, two days before your brother’s proposal?’ Ditty said with a smile.
He chuckled, tension seeping from his shoulders. ‘No, not quite. I mean, yes, that, too. But, well, I told you once I didn’t believe you could manufacture romance.’
The words were tripping off his tongue and he couldn’t stop them, but in a way, Henry did not want to.
He was running out of time. Ditty would be gone the day after tomorrow, after Charles had successfully proposed marriage to Miss Yorke, then all those chance encounters, moments together, opportunities to speak, would all be over.
He had to say something today, and now appeared as good a time as ever.
Even if he was momentarily distracted by the movement of her body as they danced.
‘And I told you there was a formula,’ Ditty said softly.
Henry looked deep into her eyes, and knew the words which had to come next. ‘Perhaps you were right. Perhaps in the right circumstances, surrounded by good food, and laughter, and talented musicians…you can manufacture romance. Or maybe something more.’
He held her gaze just long enough to feel the discomfort melt away, though he was never truly awkward around Ditty, was he? She drew something out of him, something deeper and better than he was before.
Ditty swallowed. ‘More?’
He nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to speak, it would be so thick with repressed longing. Longing to tell her how much he appreciated all she had done for his Lodge; how much she had done for Brexley.
How she had changed him. Healed his heart, taken his hurt from his failed proposal and made him believe in something again. Something like love.
‘More,’ Henry repeated softly as they continued to dance to the music. ‘You’ve…you’ve changed something here, Ditty, you have to know that.’
She grinned. ‘Brexley is eternal.’
‘But you’ve brought something new to it,’ he persisted. She had to understand. ‘Here, right now in this room… I can feel more love than I ever have before.’
His breath caught in his lungs. He had said too much, probably revealed himself to be an absolute fool. Because she didn’t feel that way about him, did she? She didn’t feel a rush dancing here with him, as he did.
He watched her swallow again, her gaze dropping from his own and staring instead at his chest.
‘It’s not me,’ Ditty said quietly. ‘It’s you.’
He almost fell over. ‘What do you—’
‘You have brought the love here,’ she continued in a quiet voice, barely audible under the waltz. ‘You have friends here, Henry, people who care about you, respect you.’
He tried to calm himself. She wasn’t saying what he thought she was saying—at least, he didn’t think so. It was so difficult to think with all this emotion rushing through him.
‘The love was already here,’ Ditty said with a smile to his chest. ‘I just brought it out into the sun, that’s all.’
‘And,’ Henry whispered, ‘is there…more?’
And she looked up. Ditty’s bright eyes, glittering with intelligence and compassion, gazed up at him.
‘Henry,’ she whispered, ‘I…’
‘Yes?’ he said eagerly.
Perhaps far too eagerly. Ditty’s smile was, after all, a little too knowing. ‘Come with me.’
* * *
Ditty did not know what made her do it. Something in her, something that recalled the fiery intensity of a kiss they should not have shared by the waterfall, no doubt, but she could not help herself.
Grabbing Henry’s arm and pulling him, through the now crowded dance floor, out of the drawing room and out of the Lodge, down the path as her mind whirled and behind the gardener’s shed where they could not be seen.
Well, she would be leaving anyway. Any hint of a scandal would remain here, in Brexley. And if she were never to know the touch of a man as a wife…
‘Ditty, what on earth—’
He could not continue. It would have been rather difficult, Ditty thought as she lost herself in the kiss she pressed against his lips.
For a moment, she thought she had been wrong, that she had entirely misread the situation. That unlike her, Henry had not been thinking of those kisses over and over again, hoping their intimacy would return, desperate to know that they shared the same longing.
And then Henry pulled at her, crushing her breasts against his chest, a low groan in his throat as he kissed her passionately, his tongue sliding down the slit of her lips and parting them none too gently.
She whimpered. This was what she wanted—the passion, the need she had never realised was missing with Thomas.
Oh, he had kissed her hand once or twice, but there had been nothing like this animalistic need to be close to each other, the crushing ache within to touch, to be touched, the heady knowledge that nothing would be like this, nothing would—
‘Ditty,’ he growled under his breath and she felt her body respond, knew she wanted more, all of it, all of him.
Her hands started tugging wildly at the buttons of his greatcoat and his hands were cupping her buttocks, pulling her close to something that was hard and pressing into her hip and she wanted, she needed—
‘Ditty? Where is she, does anyone know?’ They heard people moving about the garden.
Pulling away and trying to catch her breath, she looked up at Henry shyly. He grinned silently, brushing a curl of her hair back, and nodded.
Her heart soared. He understood. They didn’t need to speak to share this thought.
They must not be found together.
‘Every time I try to seduce you,’ Henry breathed, his forehead pressed against hers as he spoke with a laugh, ‘something holds us back.’
Ditty’s thighs quivered at all the promised pleasure which she had not gained. ‘Then perhaps you should try harder.’
His gaze caught hers. ‘Do you want me to?’