Valerie Bowman - Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

James plucked the rose from her fingers and tucked it behind her ear, then he took her into his arms.

And they danced.

“You are a perfect dancer,” she said, concentrating on the steps and trying not to think about how well his broad shoulders filled out his evening coat.

He flashed a grin. “Perfect?”

“What? Did I say something funny?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s just that my epithet is ‘Lord Perfect.’”

“Ah, so I’ve heard.”

He arched a brow. “Who told you?”

She pressed her lips together. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d been asking a possibly treasonous prisoner about him. But then she remembered, Lady Mary wasn’t the only one who’d mentioned it. “Lily told me.”

Both of his eyebrows shot up this time. “Did she?”

“Yes.”

“And did she tell you why?”

Kate laughed. “She didn’t have to. I’ve seen your house, your study, your desk, your paperwork, even your hair. Oh, and your cravat.”

“What’s wrong with my cravat?” he asked with a mock frown.

She giggled. “Nothing! That’s my point. Everything about you is perfect. Including this ball,” she breathed. “It looks like a fairy tale in here.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, not taking his eyes from her face.

Her voice shook a little. “Do you dislike your epithet?”

He sighed. “I used to be proud of it.”

“Used to?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re not?” She cocked her head to the side.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment as if lost in thought. “Perfect is a dangerous word. Sometimes being perfect isn’t a choice.”

Kate was still contemplating that cryptic answer when he asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She gave him a self-conscious little smile. “Yes, immensely. I’ve always adored dancing but had little occasion to do so.”

“I’m sorry we can’t do more of the country dances and the quadrilles without more dancers.”

“It’s perfectly all right,” she said. “I find I am quite enjoying the waltz.” A bit too much. Kate wouldn’t mind if every dance were a waltz.

She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. “I hope I remember tonight forever.”

“‘For it is the beginning of always,’” he replied.

Kate caught her breath. The Dante quote had always been one of her favorites. And James had said it. Something about that made her heart wrench. She kept her eyes focused on his perfectly tailored jacket, trying to blink away the unexpected tears that had sprung to her eyes.

They danced three more waltzes before James led Kate over to the refreshment table. With a bow, he offered her a glass of champagne, and she plucked it eagerly from his fingers. “We may not want to drink this on the balcony, given the temperature tonight, but we can pretend we’re outside,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied with a curtsy.

“Oh, we’re back to using titles tonight?”

“No,” she breathed, taking a long sip of champagne. “I just want to pretend. I want to pretend I’m eighteen again, and you’re a beau, and we’re courting at a ball.”

His smile made her knees weak. “Exactly why I asked Locke to introduce you as Miss Blake.”

She grinned at him. “I thought as much. Thank you for that. It made all the difference.”

He touched a curl that had fallen against her neck, and the warmth of his hand on her skin nearly made her knees buckle.

“So,” he said. “If we were courting and we were at a ball, I would endeavor to get you alone with me.”

She laughed a little laugh. “And if I had a fan, I would slap you with it playfully.”

“Is that all?” He arched a brow, and Kate had to glance away. She was becoming a little too good at pretending tonight.

“I don’t believe you. You’re much too much of a gentleman to attempt such a thing as getting me alone with you.” She laughed again. But her laugh was cut short when he tugged her gloved hand and led her into a secluded spot behind one of the nearby vines and sets of flowering bushes. The music still played but they were entirely alone for the moment.

“Don’t count upon it.” His voice was low.

Kate swallowed. Hard. He smelled like soap and the barest hint of sense-tingling cologne. She wanted to touch him. The thought came out of nowhere and stole her breath. But he was just playing with her. Teasing. Trying to give her the experience she’d asked for at the pretend ball. Wasn’t he? She squared her shoulders. Perhaps there was only one way to find out.

“Now that you’ve got me alone, my lord, what do you intend to do with me?” Where she had conjured the nerve to say that, she would never know. Must be the champagne. The tiniest amounts of the stuff had always made her a bit bold. Must get more champagne.

He stepped closer and his eyes sparkled. They looked positively emerald in the shadows. “What does any gentleman want to do when he’s alone in a secluded alcove with a beautiful lady?”

Her voice faltered. “I … s-suppose he would try to … steal a kiss.” She touched her fingertips to the sapphire necklace. “But you … you would never be so improper.”

He leaned over and pulled the champagne flute from her numb fingers and set it on the ledge of the wainscoting next to them. She watched him as if in a trance. He leaned down. His cheek brushed hers. He whispered in her ear. “As I said earlier, we’re far past improper.” He tugged her into his arms and his mouth swooped down to capture hers.

Kate’s head fell back and her arms went wide for a moment. This couldn’t be happening. She was not being kissed by Lord Medford. Handsome, dashing, perfect Lord Medford. She hadn’t thought for a moment he’d actually go so far as to kiss her. She’d wished for it, certainly, but the man was far too proper to—Very well, no he wasn’t. And she was about to take full advantage of that fact. Live. Live. Live.

She slowly allowed her arms to travel up his rock-hard chest and wrap around his shoulders. She lifted up on tiptoe to meet his mouth. His was hot, demanding. His body leaned into hers and pushed her back against the wall. He pressed into her, and she moaned. He ravaged her lips, kissing her in ways she’d never even known a man could kiss a woman. The only other kisses she’d received had been George’s tentative ones while they’d been courting and then his impatient ones when they’d been married, but none of them compared to the full onslaught of the senses she was experiencing now.

James’s mouth owned her, shaped her lips, explored her mouth. Then moved to her cheek, her temple, her earlobe. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She moaned. She wanted to rub herself against him. Wanted to pull him on top of her, wanted to—

“You’re so beautiful, Kate,” he whispered in her ear.

She could pretend, couldn’t she? That he was a beau and she was eighteen again. Why not?

“You smell like roses, and oh God—” He left off when she pressed her breasts to his chest and met his mouth again. He pulled away, moving down to kiss her throat, nuzzling at the delicate spot where her jaw met her neck. “That ball gown has been driving me insane all evening.”

Kate shuddered.

James moved up again and pressed his forehead to hers. He expelled his breath and closed his eyes, cradling her hands in his.

Kate looked up through kiss-drugged senses. In the back of her mind it vaguely registered that a clock somewhere within the house was striking twelve. Twelve. Midnight.

Midnight!

She’d invited Louisa. The maid would arrive at any moment. “James, there’s something I must tell you.”

She pulled away, out of his arms.

He turned to look at her, guilt and resignation etched upon his handsome face. “There’s no need, Kate. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have—”

She shook her head. “No. You don’t understand. I promised Louisa you’d dance with her tonight. At midnight.”

Kate closed her bed chamber door behind her, leaned back against it, and sighed. The gold ball gown shimmered in the dark of her room, and she took a moment to twirl in a circle. Her skirts billowed around her, and she smiled to herself. What a night. The waltzing, the champagne, the … kissing. It was amazing. All of it. But what about the kissing? Certainly James had only been responding to her taunt that he would never be ungentlemanly. Hadn’t he? Or perhaps he only wanted to make her feel desired. Either way, he’d seemed to regret it afterward. Feeling as if he’d taken advantage of her, perhaps? But he had made her feel eighteen again. And alive. And that was a gift for which she could never repay him.

If only circumstances were different. If only she were eighteen again. If only she were not … herself. A woman accused of murder. A social outcast.

James was a man with his life completely in order. A seat in Parliament, a thriving business, plenty of money, a perfectly run household, and a score of other properties. He didn’t need her making a mess of his affairs. And that’s exactly what she was … a mess.

And he … he was wonderful. She had to admit that much. He’d acted the perfect gentleman as soon as Louisa had arrived. The maid had tentatively stepped through the ballroom door. She was wearing a simple cotton gown and looked so nervous that Kate’s heart went out to her. She was obviously afraid her employer wouldn’t take kindly to her intruding upon their ball. But James had happily danced with Louisa. He’d treated her like a true lady, like a princess even. He’d bowed to her and offered his arm and in the end he had called in Locke to make it a foursome so they could dance a few country dances all together. It had been one of the most wonderful, magical nights Kate had ever experienced. Better even than the other official ball she’d attended, for that one hadn’t ended in a kiss from a handsome gentleman.