How to Marry a Marble Marquis(32)
“It was good of you to provide your carriage for me, Lord Stride. I am eager to resume our lessons.”
His fangs glinted in the moonlight. “As am I, Miss Eastwick.”
“I am eager to resume our lessons,” she pushed on, cutting him off, “for the sooner we resume them, the sooner they shall be done, and I’ll be leaving for the ball to meet my new husband.”
His smile faltered, a shot of victory up her spine. Good. Let him feel the fool for a change. “But of course,” he went on, recovering quickly. “I am sure thoughts of your upcoming matrimony were all you could think of on your journey north.”
His hand dropped to her lower back as they continued up the pathway, in the direction of the house. Steady breath. He’s a scoundrel and a sneak, and we don’t care about him at all.
“Have you already dined, Miss Eastwick?”
Eleanor gave him a beatific smile. “I have not, my lord. I thought it proper to wait for you.” Don’t let him think anything is wrong. Remember, you’re in control.
“Splendid, my dear. I daresay it’s not too late to turn your arrival festivity into something worthwhile.
She was unsurprised when dinner led to dancing, a quartet of elegantly attired moth people setting up their instruments on the far end of the ballroom, well away from the area where they would be gliding around the floor. She noticed that most of the evening staff appeared to be moth-folk, with feathery antennae, large, graceful wings, and a trail of curious iridescent dust trailing behind many of them, quickly swept away by an exhausted-looking young girl. Eleanor wondered how many of them were related to the mothwoman from London.
Being in his arms again, her body pressed to him as they waltzed – something fluttered within her, butterfly wings once more, although she had no intention of letting them fly out of control and obliterate her good sense this time. This time, she was in control.
“After dancing at the ball, will we have the opportunity to be alone with our suitors?” She kept her voice light as possible, with a flirtatious air and coy smile, allowing his hand to slip a bit lower on her hip as they turned.
“Oh, indeed. Slipping off is de rigueur. Although, I do believe the done thing is to slip off amidst the dancing, actually. Hold each other close, whet the appetite, and then find a quiet corner to . . . become better acquainted with each other.”
“Is that our cue to leave then, Lord Stride? To become better acquainted?”
His throat rumbled in a growl, a sound for her ears only, and as they turned around the room, at the furthest point away from the musicians, once she was confident they not be seen, Eleanor let a sneaky hand skate down his chest, finding the bulge at the front of his snug breeches easily, and giving it a squeeze. There’s no sense in pretending there’s anything left to do.
“I do believe I’ve had enough dancing this evening, yes. Perhaps we can take a stroll through the gardens, Miss Eastwick. I ought to let you retire a bit early this evening. No doubt your travel was arduous, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company a bit first. I do fear your chaperone is likely already abed.”
Eleanor shrugged, giving him a practiced grin. “I suppose I’ll simply have to rely on you to be a gentleman, my lord. It’s a relief that we are strolling at night. One does hear such tales of butterflies dipping their tongues into every flower they find out on the lawn.”
Another growl as he took her by the arm, a signal to the musicians, and then they were exiting the ballroom, moving through the conservatory and out the glass doors that led to the same stone pathway.
The gazebo was a stone and glass edifice, hexagonal in shape, the interior ringed in curving stone benches.
“I confess, my lord, I was surprised to receive your summons. You departed for Basingstone with no notice; I had assumed there must be some emergency.”
“A summons? My, that does sound formal.”
She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a shrug as she sat on one of the benches, arranging her skirts around her with a tight-lipped grin. “What else am I supposed to call it, Lord Stride? I received correspondence and then a carriage showed up at my door. A requisition? An edict?”
He was wearing a purple velvet coat that night, the waistcoat beneath it a rich midnight blue. His ivory buckskin breeches looked invitingly soft, begging her to reach out a hand and stroke the side of his thigh. He’d fastened his hands behind him, head bent as he paced before her. She’d never seen this restless agitation before, and was at war with herself — wanting to simultaneously exacerbate it and pull him into her arms to soothe him.
“An invitation, my dear Miss Eastwick. A rectification, if you will. I was called back to the manor as my darling sister was experiencing some troubling pain. Did I mention she is expecting her first child? I did not like the idea of being so far with her situation as precarious as it is, so it seemed prudent to return to Basingstone for the interim. But then how was I to complete your tutelage? Having you join me here is simply fulfilling our agreement, is it not?”
The desire to soothe him died without so much as a whimper. “I see. Well, thank you for the gracious invitation, my lord. So, we are at the ball, we’ve enjoyed dinner and dancing, we slipped outside to take the air, and now we find ourselves secluded in this picturesque tableau. What would happen now, my lord?”
His grin was lascivious. “I do believe this is the part where our earlier lesson and kissing would come in handy, Miss Eastwick.”