How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(37)

He was on fire, his brain melted and useless, his body aching and hard, but she was cool and blithe and without an ounce of shame for what they’d done. On the threshold, she turned back and gave him a look that spiked heat down his spine. A look full of hunger. He suspected she could see the same mirrored in his gaze.

And then she was gone. Slipping through the door without allowing the countess a peek inside.

Gabe stumbled to one of the settees, slumping onto the worn leather. He raked a hand through his hair, balled his fist, and still couldn’t make the tremors rippling through his body cease. He pressed a fist to his mouth. He could still taste her kiss. More than anything, he wanted to find her, haul her into his arms, and taste her again.

What was happening to him? Weeks ago he’d planned to leave Ruthven’s. Now he rushed to work each day because she was there.

This is madness. Swiping a hand across his mouth, he struggled to focus on what needed to be done. He made a list in his mind, as he did each day at Ruthven’s. Dance the bloody quadrille with Jane. Endure an evening of trying to keep his eyes off Clary. Forget all of that had passed between them. Behave like a damned gentleman, not a raving fool.

For years he’d practiced control, learning to bury his impulses deep. Apparently, not deep enough. She’d excavated his heart in less than a month.

Clary was the last woman he should pursue. The last woman he had a right to touch or kiss or hold in his arms.

If she knew his secrets, she’d agree.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Clary reached the ballroom just in time to hear the tail end of Helen’s speech. She was compelling, as she always was when speaking of a cause she cared for passionately. One gentleman near the front of the gathered guests applauded with particular vigor. Tall, slim frame, wavy chocolate hair. When he turned to smile up at Helen, Clary recognized his chiseled jaw in profile.

Dr. Nathaniel Landau.

Clary pressed through the guests and drew up next to him. “I’m glad to see you this evening, Dr. Landau.”

“Miss Ruthven, I had no idea you were the sister of an earl.” Even as he spoke to her, he kept his gaze fixed on Helen. Like any besotted man should.

“I never expected to be, but my sister lost her heart to him and he to her.” Clary waved as Helen stepped from the small dais that had been placed at the ballroom’s edge for her to stand on while she spoke. “Perhaps you know how that feels, Doctor.”

The man finally cast his light brown gaze her way. “Perhaps I do,” he admitted, the faintest wash of color infusing his cheeks.

“Good.” Clary liked him, and any anxiety she’d felt about losing her best friend and comrade to marriage faded as she saw how the man’s gaze kept finding Helen in the crowd. He was well and truly smitten, and Helen deserved nothing less. “Be sure to dance the waltz with her.”

“Believe me, I intend to.”

Helen finally reached them, with Sally in tow. “How was my speech? Too strident? Too wordy? Did I mention everything I should have?”

“Perfect,” Clary and Nathan Landau assured at nearly the same time.

When the musicians began playing, the young doctor turned immediately to Helen. “Miss Fisk, thank you again for inviting me this evening. Would you do me the very great honor of dancing the quadrille with me?”

Helen swept a stray hair from her cheek and looked from Dr. Landau to Clary to Sally. “Perhaps you should partner Sally for this first dance.”

Beside her, Clary sensed Sally beginning to vibrate like a leaf in a strong breeze.

“Very well,” he said politely. “Shall we, Miss Sally?” He offered the girl his arm, but the disappointed look in his eyes was as clear as Sally’s giddy grin. He started toward the center of the ballroom where couples were taking their places for the dance, then paused to gaze at Helen over his shoulder. “The waltz, then, Miss Fisk?”

Clary nudged her friend’s arm.

“The waltz, Dr. Landau,” Helen said in a whispery tone.

When he’d departed with their student prancing behind him, Clary and Helen burst out in nervous laughter.

“I may actually get to dance this evening.” Helen folded the page of notes from her talk and began fanning herself. “And what about you? Where did you disappear to?”

“The library.”

“Were you so convinced we’d sit out this dance along the back wall that you actually went in search of reading material?” Helen peered quizzically at Clary. “The library couldn’t have been very exciting, so what happened to put that flush in your cheeks?” After glancing at couples performing the quadrille, Helen narrowed her gaze on one tall, bulky, black-haired dancer. “Did Mr. Adamson, by any chance, stumble into the library too?”

“I was the one who stumbled, straight into him, as luck would have it.” Clary licked her lips as she watched him, recalling the feel of his mouth on her skin. “I gave him a dancing lesson.”

Helen squinted at her and pushed up her glasses. “Is that a euphemism I’m not aware of?”

“No.” Clary chuckled and took Helen’s folded notes to fan her cheeks. “He followed me to the library and asked me to teach him to dance. That is all.”

“That is decidedly not all. I’ve known you too long to mistake that tremor in your lips. There’s something you’re not confessing.”