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Authors: Christi Caldwell
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understand. “I must go,” she whispered.
“Good evening,” he murmured.
Good evening . She wrinkled her brow, hating herself for being a contrary creature. She’d wanted him to protest her going. Alas, he’d offer nothing more than a parting greeting? How could he be so wholly unaffected when this had been the most magical, earth-shattering moment of her three and twenty years? Well, except for the moment he’d slipped her shoes back on her feet. That had been the second most singularly magic moment. Genevieve worried her lower lip and inadvertently drew his gaze back to that flesh. She stopped abruptly. “Cedric,” she said and then reluctantly turned to go.
“Wait,” he murmured and her heart leapt at his quiet command.
Genevieve looked questioningly up at him.
He stalked over and then stopped beside her. “Here,” he spoke in that husky baritone that washed over her. With swift, purposeful movements, he tucked several loose strands into the artful arrangement her maid had worked. She stood breathless, as he quickly put her hair to rights and then smoothed the fabric of her slight puffed sleeves.
She should be appalled; with him, with herself. The sureness of his actions bespoke a man far too familiar with these stolen trysts behind strange doors; the dishonorable, disloyal sorts. So why did she crave more of his embrace? She paused with her fingers on the handle and cast a look over her shoulder. Cedric remained fixed to the spot where she’d received the most passionate kiss of her life. She sought to commit him to memory as he was just then. For in the stilted misery she’d dwelled these two weeks in London, this man had reminded her that she was very, very much alive. And oh, how she loved being alive. “Will I see you again?” Even as the question slipped out, she recognized the foolishness in wanting to see him again.
Another half-grin tipped the left corner of his mouth. “Oh, I suspect you shall.”
With fingers that trembled, Genevieve, unlocked the door and hurried from the room. All along, she’d dreaded the Duke of Ravenscourt’s ball. Only to find herself looking forward to the remainder of the night. Excitement danced inside her belly and added a jaunt to her step as she fled down the halls. The din of the ballroom increased with each footfall that brought her closer and she forced herself to stop.
Sore toes forgotten, she closed her eyes, and drew in a steadying breath. She should be shamed by the wantonness of that stolen exchange with Cedric, who, with his chiseled perfection, could rival any one of da Vinci’s carved masterpieces. He was a man whose full name she still did not know, but whose kiss she’d shamelessly returned, and desperately craved even now. Genevieve touched tremulous fingers to her lips. The handful of words he’d murmured as she’d left, more promise than anything, danced around her mind. Oh, I suspect you shall…
And suddenly, she, who’d longed for a frisson of romance and wonder, knew it with a stranger, in the Duke of Ravenscourt’s home, no less.
“What are you doing?”
The shocked question brought Genevieve’s eyes flying open. Her heart dipped at the unexpected appearance of her sister. Concern radiated from her sister’s emerald green eyes. She mustered a smile. Mayhap if she feigned nonchalance her sister would abandon any questions she might have. “I just required a moment.” Drat for that slight tremor.
Her sister came to an abrupt stop before her. Gillian peered at her beneath appropriately suspicious eyes. “You required a moment ?” Heavy skepticism underscored that question.
Genevieve’s mind raced. “My slippers.” She tugged up her skirts and revealed the miserable satin pair. Her sister looked down. “My toes ached and you do know how Mother is about properness, and I wanted to remove the slippers because they ached. Terribly,” she added.
Gillian continued to scrutinize her with regard better reserved for a Bow
“Good evening,” he murmured.
Good evening . She wrinkled her brow, hating herself for being a contrary creature. She’d wanted him to protest her going. Alas, he’d offer nothing more than a parting greeting? How could he be so wholly unaffected when this had been the most magical, earth-shattering moment of her three and twenty years? Well, except for the moment he’d slipped her shoes back on her feet. That had been the second most singularly magic moment. Genevieve worried her lower lip and inadvertently drew his gaze back to that flesh. She stopped abruptly. “Cedric,” she said and then reluctantly turned to go.
“Wait,” he murmured and her heart leapt at his quiet command.
Genevieve looked questioningly up at him.
He stalked over and then stopped beside her. “Here,” he spoke in that husky baritone that washed over her. With swift, purposeful movements, he tucked several loose strands into the artful arrangement her maid had worked. She stood breathless, as he quickly put her hair to rights and then smoothed the fabric of her slight puffed sleeves.
She should be appalled; with him, with herself. The sureness of his actions bespoke a man far too familiar with these stolen trysts behind strange doors; the dishonorable, disloyal sorts. So why did she crave more of his embrace? She paused with her fingers on the handle and cast a look over her shoulder. Cedric remained fixed to the spot where she’d received the most passionate kiss of her life. She sought to commit him to memory as he was just then. For in the stilted misery she’d dwelled these two weeks in London, this man had reminded her that she was very, very much alive. And oh, how she loved being alive. “Will I see you again?” Even as the question slipped out, she recognized the foolishness in wanting to see him again.
Another half-grin tipped the left corner of his mouth. “Oh, I suspect you shall.”
With fingers that trembled, Genevieve, unlocked the door and hurried from the room. All along, she’d dreaded the Duke of Ravenscourt’s ball. Only to find herself looking forward to the remainder of the night. Excitement danced inside her belly and added a jaunt to her step as she fled down the halls. The din of the ballroom increased with each footfall that brought her closer and she forced herself to stop.
Sore toes forgotten, she closed her eyes, and drew in a steadying breath. She should be shamed by the wantonness of that stolen exchange with Cedric, who, with his chiseled perfection, could rival any one of da Vinci’s carved masterpieces. He was a man whose full name she still did not know, but whose kiss she’d shamelessly returned, and desperately craved even now. Genevieve touched tremulous fingers to her lips. The handful of words he’d murmured as she’d left, more promise than anything, danced around her mind. Oh, I suspect you shall…
And suddenly, she, who’d longed for a frisson of romance and wonder, knew it with a stranger, in the Duke of Ravenscourt’s home, no less.
“What are you doing?”
The shocked question brought Genevieve’s eyes flying open. Her heart dipped at the unexpected appearance of her sister. Concern radiated from her sister’s emerald green eyes. She mustered a smile. Mayhap if she feigned nonchalance her sister would abandon any questions she might have. “I just required a moment.” Drat for that slight tremor.
Her sister came to an abrupt stop before her. Gillian peered at her beneath appropriately suspicious eyes. “You required a moment ?” Heavy skepticism underscored that question.
Genevieve’s mind raced. “My slippers.” She tugged up her skirts and revealed the miserable satin pair. Her sister looked down. “My toes ached and you do know how Mother is about properness, and I wanted to remove the slippers because they ached. Terribly,” she added.
Gillian continued to scrutinize her with regard better reserved for a Bow
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