You can read an exclusive, steamy little excerpt at The
Season blog! AND you can check out the little snippet below...
On the heels of an unexpected, glorious, fairytale evening
(barring one painful moment involving a certain Marquess), following
a life-changing afternoon, our heroine Phoebe Vale is returning
to her rooms in the servant's quarters at the Redmond House. It's
past midnight, the stars are shining...and she discovers the fairytale
might not be be over yet...
She paused in the courtyard to admire the moon. Just a curved
sliver of light, like the door of heaven had been left slightly
ajar. She fancied it would be slammed shut after today, and today
she'd slipped through. She'd had just a taste. And she'd long
ago learned not to hold onto anything too tightly, for the pain
when it was wrested away could not be born.
She wanted to remember every detail about this day, for when
she lay awake at night, telling herself stories in order to help
her sleep in the wilds of Africa.
"A bit like the Sword of Damocles hanging up there, isn't
it?"
She didn't jump, possibly because the ratafia had quite blunted
the edges of her nerves, and partly because, given the events
of the day, she'd half-expected him to appear out of the shadows
anyway. In fact, if she'd had a wish, in her heart of hearts,
it was that he'd appear out of nowhere and they would be alone
again...and here he was.
But she was growing nervous of the cascade of wishes coming true
today. In fairy tales, granted wishes generally resulted in grave
consequences. A punishment for wanting too much, or wanting the
wrong things.
Still, it didn't stop her heart from turning a cartwheel. And
then thumping on much more quickly than before he'd spoken.
He'd waited for her. Of that she was certain.
"And here I was thinking it looked rather like the door
to heaven just slightly ajar, Lord Dryden. But your observation
does give one a bit of insight into you."
He laughed softly. "And yours gives one insight into yours,
Miss Vale. It's about escape, isn't it?"
"Mmm. Perhaps. And perhaps you fear the consequences of
what you really want."
She heard his breath catch. She'd struck home.
"I won't deny it," he said, finally.
The admission was a gift. He wanted her.
But she couldn't so easily forgive the expression on his face
this evening as she'd stepped toward him. Or forget hearing him
request a waltz from Lisbeth as she stood there, pawned off upon
Jonathan.
Who'd turned out to be a delightful dance partner. But who now
looked so like Lyon
"I wondered, Miss Vale…if you'd promised your fourth
waltz to anyone."
"There were only three waltzes."
"I'm not certain parliament has yet ruled the number of
waltzes allowed during a given evening. Or when they should take
place. Doubtless we won't be strung up if we add one more."
No "honor me with's" or "if you would be so kind
as to's." No pomp, no ceremony. She was tempted to decline
on the basis of that alone.
That, and she was fairly certain she shouldn't touch him again.
She could get to needing to touch him. She'd seen what needing
things had done to people. And she, quite frankly, didn't want
to need anyone ever again.
"No music is playing," she pointed out.
"I'll hum, if you like."
This won him the smile he'd been aching to see.
"You had an opportunity to dance the waltz with me earlier."
"I took pity upon Lisbeth. I felt certain all of yours would
be taken eventually."
She snorted.
"And they were taken, weren't they?"
She tipped her head, and he watched her reflect on the evening,
and a dreamy smile spread over her face. And she spoke, she was
almost breathless.
"They were. It was the most…amazing thing."
He felt her awe as surely as it was his own, this girl from St.
Giles. He reveled in her pleasure. "I'm glad," he said
softly.
"Glad?" as usual, she was alert to hints of condescension.
"That you got in some waltzing practice before I dance with
you. I shouldn't like to be tread upon."
"I see. It was all strategy, on your part, not dancing
with me. A viscount asked for the honor of dancing with me."
She still sounded amazed. "That was the word he used. Honor."
"Did he, now?" he said softly. "And well he should
have."
For a moment they regarded each other in silence. And when he
spoke, his voice was soft.
"I should be deeply, humbly grateful, Miss Vale, if you
would be so unthinkably generous as to honor me with a waltz.
Right now."
She mulled this offer, while the crickets played the opening
bars of the waltz.
"Well, before I raise or dash your hopes, Lord Dryden, I
best take a look at my dance card…"
With a flourish she held up her hand and examined an invisible
card.
He was ridiculously breathless with anticipation awaiting her
verdict. She allowed a strategic moment to pass, to punish him,
which perhaps he deserved.
"You are in luck, Lord Dryden. My fourth waltz appears to
be available," she informed him loftily. "And you may
have it."
"This is very good news, indeed. Shall I hum, or shall the
crickets be music enough for us?"
She was silent, mulling. "Crickets," she said. She
sounded shy again.
"Excellent. For I should feel a fool humming. I cannot carry
a tune."
He bowed low as any courtier before any queen.
She curtsied as deeply as she could, grateful her knees didn't
crack, aware that she could feel the chill of cobblestone now
against the bottom of her slipper. The soles were wearing a bit
thin.
And she took his hand. He folded his reverently over it. He settled
the other at her waist.
"Shall we?" he said softly.
And he set the two of them in motion. One, two, three….One,
two three….One, two three.
Odd how this didn't seem at all absurd, the two of them sailing
in stately, broad circles in a deserted courtyard. Their heartbeats,
the crickets, the rhythm of their breathing, their feet landing
on the cobblestones comprised their orchestra. Keeping time was
somehow effortless.
"You've some experience, now, Miss Vale, and some comparison.
Come now, tell me the truth. How is my dancing? Keeping in mind
that the debacle you witnessed tonight was entirely an anomaly
and entirely your fault. And you laughed! I was wounded. Sorely
wounded."
"It wasn't entirely my fault. How did you know I was laughing?"
"Because I could hear it."
Oh, dear. "Tell me it wasn't funny and I shall apologize.
Tell me you are injured and I shall feel terrible remorse. It's
just…if you were me, and watching it all…and Lisbeth's
eyes were so very round…"
"Shhh. Don't laugh again. Very well. It was funny. The only
thing injured was my pride. So how do you find my dancing now?"
"Mmm…. Well, while you dance very well…"
He smiled. A glittering flash in the shadowy dark, an echo of
the moon. "I sense a qualification pending."
"…I fear it's not so well as Trous—as Sir D'andre,"
"Impossible," He said firmly.
"I feel I must be truthful above all things, Lord Dryden,
and Sir D'Andre has a certain indescribable flair. Perhaps it
is in the way he turns in the dance…" she mused, as
they swept in a circle. "…or the way he glides…perhaps
it's the fit of his trousers…"
"You noticed them, too?"
"…or perhaps it is related to velocity…"
"Ah, but what I lack in velocity I can make up for in…elevation."
He lifted her off her feet entirely, and she stifled a little
burst of laughter.
She weighed very little; he felt effortlessly strong.
The realizations settled in for the two of them a moment later,
and they were both moved in ways they couldn't explain. Resulting
in a silence.
Dryden didn't think he'd ever done anything quite so whimsical
before in his life. He'd never wanted to.
They were moving in sedate pattern now. Slowing, somehow, like
a watch winding down. He looked down into her eyes. Clear as pools.
Which he knew was certainly a cliché, but it fit, and he
liked it. She was watching him with an expression he could not
decipher, but the intensity of it gave him the sense she was memorizing
him.
One, two, three. One, two, three
Somewhere a nightingale, unable to contain itself any further,
burst into song.
"Tell me, Miss Vale. How often do you do exactly what you
want to do just because you want to do it?"
One, two, three. One, two, three.
It was twice around the courtyard before she responded. "I
can think of one time in particular." She sounded just a
bit breathless.
He'd hoped she'd say something just like it. Because he knew
his next line. "Did it happen this afternoon?" Conversational,
his voice. And silky.
The tempo continued to slow and slow. Twice more around the courtyard
before she answered.
"It might have done," she allowed. Whispering now.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Closer and closer they drew to each other. Slower and slower.
As though some invisible thread was inexorably spooling them together
with every rotation of the dance.
"What do you want to do now, Miss Vale?"
The question was both a caress and a demand.
He could feel tension humming in her body where his hand rested
against her waist. He breathed in, because he greedy to discover
things about her. Anything. This time he discovered she smelled
of soap and sweetness, of the lavender no doubt her dress lived
in, packed in trunk in tissue, when she wasn't waltzing in the
moonlight.
"It isn't fair, you know, Lord Dryden, to ask such questions.
I haven't the words for it. You shouldn't make me say it."
The space between them was now entirely gone as if it had never
been. His cheek was against hers now. Nothing had ever felt so
natural. His breath, even and warm, washed over her throat. She
closed her eyes. Her senses were drunk on brandy and smoke and
the crisp scent of linen, on the feel of a cool masculine cheek
and the rasp of his whiskers over the vulnerable skin of her own.
She was the one who stopped moving altogether first.
He still gripped her hand. His hand still rested at her waist.
The waltz could begin again at any time. They held each other,
just like that. Only breathing now. In and out. In and out. They
breathed in time with each other the
"Aren't you curious about what I would like to do?"
"You told me earlier today that you always know what you're
going to do."
"I generally do," he agreed on a whisper. "And
this moment is no exception. For example, this…." And
now his breath was in her ear. "…is what I would like
to do now."
The breathed words alone were enough to stand the short hairs
on the back of her neck, send gooseflesh raining over her arms.
But then he turned the last word into a whisper before he dipped
his tongue into her ear.
And pressed a hot, open kiss in that hidden, silky place beneath
it...
{end of excerpt}
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