Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(71)

Alex dropped the argument immediately. “Apparently you know best. Pardon, but I have to go search for my wife, who’s probably fending off her own set of admirers. Unlike you, I have a jealous streak as wide as the Thames.”

“More like the Atlantic,” Derek muttered, watching his friend wander off.

He turned his attention back to Sara and the bucks who hovered around her. “Jealous streak” couldn’t begin to describe how he felt. He despised the men who sought her favor. He wanted to snarl and gnash his teeth at them, and take her far away from their roving hands and leering gazes. But what could he do with her? The idea of making her his paramour was an unthinkable as marrying her. Either way, he would ruin her. The only choice was to stay away, but that seemed as simple a solution as stopping himself from breathing. The physical attraction was powerful, but more irresistible than that was the alarming feeling he had when he was near her…a feeling that came perilously close to happiness. No man on earth was less entitled to that than he was.

He was nowhere in sight, but Sara had the feeling that Craven was watching her. Earlier he had been mingling and exchanging pleasantries with guests. It hadn’t been lost on Sara that women were sending him all manner of signals; flirtatious glances, playful taps on his shoulder with their fans, and in one case the bold, deliberate brush of a thinly covered breast against his arm. Women were fascinated by his mixture of earthiness and elegance. It was as if there was a dark, smoldering fire buried beneath a layer of ice, and each woman hoped to be the one to break through his reserve.

“Miss Fielding,” Viscount Tavisham interrupted her thoughts. He stood an inch too close and stared at her with soulful brown eyes. “Perhaps you would honor me with another waltz?”

Sara smiled at him blankly while she thought of a suitable reply. She had danced with Tavisham twice already; a third time was out of the question. It would be noticed by the guests, and it would lead to improper speculation. Not that she didn’t like the impulsive young rake, but she didn’t wish to encourage his attentions. “I’m afraid the dancing has made me rather fatigued,” she said with an apologetic smile. Actually, it was true. Several waltzes and vigorous quadrilles had made the soles of her feet sore.

“Then we will find a quiet place to sit and talk.” He offered his arm in a courtly gesture. Clearly there was no way to avoid him. Sighing inwardly, Sara accompanied him to the long gallery with its multitude of French doors, and sat on a polished wooden bench with an ornately carved back. “Would you like some punch?” Tavisham offered, and she nodded. “Don’t go anywhere,” he admonished. “Don’t even bat an eye. I’ll return momentarily. And if any man approaches you, tell him you’re spoken for.”

Giving him a mock salute, Sara pretended to freeze in place, and he grinned at her before leaving. Couples promenaded back and forth along the gallery, admiring the view of the terrace and the fountain in the snow-covered garden outside. Toying with the sparkling beadwork on her gown, Sara thought of the last evening she had worn it. A soft smile curved her lips.

He had been carrying her spectacles right next to his heart. A man wouldn’t do something like that unless…

The thought filled her with nervous energy. She stood up, ignoring the protesting twinge of her feet. The garden was visible through the frosted windows, the hedges delicately coated with ice, the shadows cold and quiet. Pale blue moonlight gleamed over the frozen fountain and the bordered walkways. After the crowded, music-filled ballroom, the quiet garden was an inviting sanctuary. Obeying a sudden impulse, Sara slipped to the French doors and turned one of the gilded knobs. She shivered as a winter breeze caressed her bare shoulders, and closed the door behind her.

The garden was like a snow palace. Carefully she made her way along a graveled path, filling her lungs with refreshing air. Lost in her thoughts, she wandered until she heard a sound behind her. It might have been the rustle of another breeze…or her name, whispered in a low voice. Sara turned around, the ice-dusted hem of her skirt whirling and settling at her feet. He had been watching her, she thought, and a winsome smile broke over her face as she looked at the man standing a few yards away.

“Somehow I thought you might follow me,” she said breathlessly. “At least, I hoped you would.”

The stern cast of Derek’s face concealed a torrent of repressed emotion. How could she smile at him like that? He was shaking with cold and heat and need. God, he couldn’t bear the way she looked at him, as if she could see down to the darkest recesses of his soul. She began to approach him. Without meaning to he reached her in three strides and snatched her in his arms. Her joyous laugh tickled his ear as he lifted her off her feet. Urgently his mouth roved across her face with rough kisses that stung her cheek, her chin, her forehead. She caught his lean jaw in her hands to hold him still. The moonlight was captured in her glistening eyes as she stared up at him. “I want to be with you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”

No one in his life had ever said such a thing to him. Derek tried to think above the pounding of his heart, but she brought her soft mouth to his, and all reason was lost. Hungrily he bent over her, trying not to hurt her with the force of his kisses, trembling with an emotion as ferocious as it was tender.

Lily’s teeth chattered from the cold as she crept stealthily through the garden and positioned herself behind a frozen tree. Catching sight of Derek and Sara in the distance, locked in a passionate embrace, Lily broke into a wide grin. She had to restrain herself from doing a little victory dance. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, she considered a variety of matchmaking strategies.