Once an Heiress (7 page)

Her group of suitors fell into shocked silence. There was nothing quite like raising the specter of the Terror to get the titled class quaking in their boots, she thought with satisfaction. At least they’d ceased their namby-pamby efforts at conversing with her.

A warm hand pressed into the small of her back. “Careful,” a velvety low voice rumbled in her ear. “You begin to sound like the sympathetic rabble. Makes the aristocracy
very
nervous.”

She turned to face the speaker. The arm attached to the hand slipped around her waist.

“Good evening, Miss Bachman,” said … the butler. Who wasn’t a butler. Who was, perhaps, the handsomest man she had ever seen and had his arm around her waist and was looking into her eyes with a silky heat that she felt in her belly —

The world went off kilter. She was faintly aware that she was standing in a ballroom in the arms of a man whose name she did not even know. “Good evening, my lord,” she murmured.

He flashed a devastating smile and that, too, contributed to the simmering heat in her lower regions.

“Come, let’s dance.” He tilted his head toward the middle of the room, where couples formed up for the waltz.

The light skipped across his russet hair, picking up hints of auburn in the brown. It was as tousled as it had been the day she first saw him, refusing to be tamed.

“Thorburn,” piped up one of her suitors. “Miss Bachman has already promised me the set.”

Lily lowered her eyes, unaccountably disappointed. “It’s true, my lord, I have.” She slipped out of his arm.

She dragged air into her lungs, clearing her mind, even as a residue of heat remained where he’d touched her. Who was he, anyway, to come ’round and lay claim to her? They hadn’t even been introduced! He was a boorish lout, even if he was devilishly good-looking. Handsome men were the worst sort, anyway — they knew they were in short supply, and were always insufferably full of themselves.

Lily started to turn toward her promised dance partner. Thorburn’s hand clamped around hers.

“You’ve got all night to dance with these toads,” he said into her ear as he tucked her hand into his arm. “Couple with me now.”

There was something suggestive about his words, but when she turned her widened eyes on him, his face was all innocence.

Couple with me.

Lily’s chest tightened.

As the music began, his arm slipped around her waist again. His hand fit into the curve of her back, warm and firm.

She laid a hand on the shoulder of his evening jacket, black as a raven’s feathers. The snowy linen of his cravat was neatly folded into an intricate knot. How could she ever have mistaken his attire for a butler’s uniform?

“Are you going to open a door for me?” she teased.

His slate blue eyes flashed sudden annoyance. “Are you going to insult me if I do?”

The nerve.
Lily didn’t have to put up with this. She pushed against his chest and attempted to pry her hand out of his. His grip tightened and he put a little more force into twirling her around the floor.

“Tell me, Miss Bachman,” he said in an even tone, as though he hadn’t noticed her effort at escape, “do you typically compete with your dance partners, or do I alone have the distinction of doing battle with your slippers?”

Lily glanced down where her feet were, in fact, making a muck of the pattern, refusing to fall into step with his. She blushed.

“Allow me to remind you,” he said, arching a brow, “
I
am leading this dance.”

Any number of retorts pranced across her tongue, but the firm set to his jaw made her think better of issuing one. She didn’t care to get into an argument in front of the
ton
, or draw attention to the fact that she was dancing with a gentleman to whom she had not, in fact, been introduced.

She met his challenging gaze, then silently acquiesced to his lead. It was just a dance, not a battle. There was really no reason to make it one. Lily adjusted her steps to cooperate with his.

An appreciative smile touched the corners of his mouth. He drew her closer.

As she relaxed and enjoyed the music — the musicians actually were quite good — she became aware of how harmoniously their bodies moved together. She felt the muscles of his shoulder tighten and release beneath her fingers. His hand on her back exerted a light but constant pressure, somehow taking some of her own weight off her feet.

Or maybe she was just floating at being in the arms of a handsome man who had yet to say a word about her money, or an insipid remark to win her regard.
That
was something to recommend him, even if his manners left much to be desired.

His eyes roamed her face, then traveled down to her décolletage.

Lily felt her breasts tighten in response to his scrutiny. She inhaled sharply.

“Are you warm?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

How could eyes such a cool blue hold so much heat, she wondered.

“A little,” she admitted.

As a turn in the waltz brought them near the French doors opening onto the balcony, he pulled her out of the pattern of dancers and drew her out into the night.

The fresh air cooled Lily’s addled senses. “Just a moment, Lord Thorburn, was it?” She laid a hand on his bicep, and immediately wished she hadn’t. His arm was solid. How could living flesh be so firm? She found herself wondering what his bare arms looked like, what it would feel like to touch them.

“Are you quite all right?” His voice held a teasing note.

He
knew
what he was doing to her, the insufferable man — he was probably doing it on purpose. She lifted her chin and met his hot gaze with a cool one of her own. “I did not consent to accompany you anywhere,” she said imperiously.
There
.

His lips quirked in amusement. “Have I abducted you against your will?”

“Well … no,” she faltered.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and strolled toward the stairs. “I’d be happy to return you to your group of admirers, if you’d prefer their company.”

The thought of going back to that lot was nauseating. She made a sound that expressed her feelings. Thorburn chuckled, a throaty, wicked laugh. It crawled over her skin and sent a shiver up and down her spine.

She made no further protests as they descended into the garden. They strolled past other couples and exchanged greetings with acquaintances. It was all very respectable.

Why, then, Lily wondered, did she feel that stepping into the night with this man was an act of rebellion?

Why did her heart pound so as he led her farther away from the house?

And why was he moving around the hedge and pulling her into a shadowed alcove?

Alarms sounded in her mind. “My lord — ” she started.

He gripped her waist and swung her around so her back was to the tall hedge.

She couldn’t see the house at all now. Only the faintest wisps of music and laughter filtered to their secluded hiding place. His features melted into the darkness, rendering his face a study of shadow-on-shadow. There was only his overwhelming nearness and the warmth of his hands on her waist.

Her heart hammered madly. She had to get out of here. This wasn’t a good idea. In fact, her overwrought mind pointed out, this was a very
bad
idea. She’d have been better off discussing the various, precise attributes of the musicians with her swarm of fortune hunters, rather than allow herself to get carried away by Lord Thorburn’s many charms.

Her throat was dry. She swallowed. That didn’t help — her mouth was dry, too. “My lord — ”

Then his mouth was on hers, extinguishing her voice like a snuffer on a flame.

The contact shocked her. Her eyes went wide.

His lips were soft, yet exerted firm, insistent pressure. Strong arms snaked around her back and drew her against his hard length.

No!
her mind protested.
He didn’t ask, I didn’t say he could …

She placed her left hand on his shoulder and pushed herself away. At the same instant, she brought her right hand swinging up.

His hand clamped around her wrist like a vise before she made contact with his face.

“That’s rather uncalled for, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice full of mirth.

He was
laughing
at her — again! Never had she known someone who laughed at her as much as he did. It was lowering in the extreme. “I didn’t give you permission to do
that
,” she said.

His hand slid from her wrist to cover hers. His thumb traced small circles on her palm. Tiny convulsions of pleasure shot up her arm and her eyes fluttered closed in spite of herself. “I’m leading this dance, remember?”

Lily’s arm went limp under his touch. “We’re not dancing anymore.” Her voice was small and weak in her own ears.

“Of course we are.” He guided her hand to his neck. Of their own volition, her fingers burrowed into the short hair at his nape.

His hand still covered hers, keeping her firmly anchored. His other hand rose to her face and grazed her cheek with the back of a finger.

She jerked a little, turning her face toward his touch. The part of her mind that had sounded the alarm bells now notified her she was being drawn in by a practiced seducer. But the warning voice scarcely made an impression against the pleasurable sensations rolling through her.

His finger traced its way to her mouth. Lily pursed her trembling lips to meet him.

He gasped and let out a soft chuckle. “That’s it,” he said in a low voice.

Thorburn’s gloved fingertip was warm. He pressed against her bottom lip, parting her slightly.

Blood rushed in a whoosh through Lily’s ears. A steady thrumming of heat built in her lower belly. She felt heavy between her thighs.

He lowered his head again, replacing his finger with his lips. This time, Lily was poised to receive him. She tilted her head back into his hand.

There was nothing timid or asking about his kiss. He very simply took — without preamble, without consideration of her virginal sensibilities. His mouth slanted over hers, soft at first, but increasingly more demanding. His hands roved the curves of her back, molding her yielding body against his hard form.

Everywhere he touched left a trail of fire on her skin. Lily was burning alive and all she could do was whimper. Her experience with any kind of kissing was limited, and nonexistent when it came to the erotic provocation of Thorburn’s mouth.

His tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth. Tentatively, she parted her lips. He groaned his approval. She felt the soft warmth of his tongue probing against hers. It was delightfully wicked, and Lily
never
did anything wicked. She opened further and drew him into her mouth, exulting in the passionate
newness
of it all.

She felt herself leaning against him, as though her legs could no longer support her — didn’t
want
to support her. She wanted him to hold her, wanted to be as near as she could. She clung all the tighter, clumsily trying to convey her need —

He lifted his head.

Lily made a tiny sound of protest.
Come back!

He drew a shuddering breath and exhaled. His breath was a warm caress against her cheek. Then he removed himself from her embrace.

Thorburn squeezed her shoulders. Lily swayed forward and nearly stumbled when he stepped back. He was still hidden from her sight by the darkness. “Miss Bachman,” he said in his wry, detached voice. “Thank you for the dance.” He kissed her hand, then melted into the dark garden path.

He was gone.

Lily stood in the bushes, alone and dazed. Her skin still burned from his touch. Her knees still wobbled. But he was gone, and she was alone.

A stone bench crouched in a pool of torchlight a short distance toward the house. She dropped onto it. Dimly, she was aware of what had transpired. She’d allowed Lord Thorburn to kiss her, and she had kissed him back, allowing herself to be swept into lust. Slick moisture dampened her upper thighs.

She’d gone out of her mind and lost control of herself with one measly kiss. Hot shame stabbed through her. What would her mother say if she found out what Lily had done — what would her
father
say?

Lily drew several deep breaths, forcing herself to calm. The throbbing in her lower portions began to abate. She tried to order it away entirely, but her body refused to obey. So, she’d kissed a man, she reasoned. What of it? Men and women kissed each other all the time. There wasn’t anything special about
kissing
.

Only there was.

She touched her lips. Thorburn had touched her mouth just so … Lily jerked her hand down. It didn’t do to dwell on such things.

She made her way back to the house. As she approached the ballroom, the music seemed garish, the lights too bright. It was all overwhelming. The ball had taken on the not-quite-real quality one feels upon being woken out of a dream.

Lily stepped back into that illuminated cave teeming with bodies. She squinted against the light.

“Miss Bachman!” One of her suitors bounded to her side. “There you are. Are you all right?”

Lily stared at him. Was she all right?

Was
she?

“Yes,” she finally murmured. “Quite all right, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Would you care for some punch?”

She nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

The man looked at her with a hint of disbelief on his face. Then he grinned and nodded. When he returned with her punch, Lily allowed him to escort her to a seat, where several of her most devoted suitors soon flocked.

Their conversation washed over her unnoticed. She docilely answered a few direct questions. Her mind was too distracted to summon her usual disdain for all the men who wanted her fortune.

She looked around the ballroom for the one man who suddenly mattered very much, the one who had turned her ordered world topsy-turvy with a waltz and a kiss.

He was nowhere to be found.

Lily poked half-heartedly at a bit of egg. She lifted her fork to her mouth and went through the motions of chewing and swallowing, only to discover the egg was still on her plate.