Winterset (8 page)

She looked quickly away from Reed, smiling at Kyria and murmuring a polite greeting. But then there was no avoiding him, for he stood next in line and took her hand smoothly from his sister, bowing over it.

“Miss Holcomb, a pleasure to see you again. I hope I am not forward in saying that you are a vision tonight.”

Anna could feel a blush starting in her cheeks, and she was suddenly hopelessly tongue-tied. “Thank you, my lord,” she replied faintly, not looking into his eyes. “It is so kind of you to have us in your home. I believe you know my brother Kit?” she hurried on, turning to include her brother.

“Yes. Sir Christopher, of course.” Reed released her hand, turning toward her brother, but Anna could still feel the warm imprint of his fingers against hers.

For once in her life, she was glad for the distraction of the squire’s wife, who bustled up to her, her gray curls fairly quivering with excitement. “Anna, there you are. Poor Miles was afraid you would not come. He’s been wanting so to dance with you—and while it is not a ball, per se, I don’t doubt but what Lady Kyria will let you young folks have a few dances. She’s hired a string quartet, you see. So elegant.”

Anna smiled and nodded, letting the woman lead her toward the rest of her family. She had her doubts that Mrs. Bennett’s son Miles had expressed any longing to dance with her; that was simply the sort of foolish thing Mrs. Bennett liked to say. While Mrs. Bennett did not cherish any hopes regarding her son and Anna—or, at least, Anna sincerely hoped she did not, since the boy was barely twenty-one to her own twenty-six years—as she did with Kit and her daughter, she liked to link the members of their family in any way possible, feeling, Anna thought, that it gave her the same social status.

The squire was standing with their daughter Felicity, and Miles lounged against the mantel a few feet away from them, doing his best to look interesting. His brown hair was worn a trifle long and shaggy, and his cravat was carelessly tied. The effect he was looking for, Anna thought, was that of an artist or poet—moody and enigmatic, even a little bit dangerous. In truth, he simply looked a trifle unkempt and unsure of himself. He should, in Anna’s opinion, take a look at Reed, for the elegant set of his shoulders and the flash of silver in his eyes was inherently more dangerous to any woman’s heart than all of Miles Bennett’s posturing.

Anna greeted the squire and Felicity. Squire Bennett was a stolid, quiet man, the opposite of his chatterbox of a wife, and he greeted Anna and her brother, whom Mrs. Bennett had managed to seize and drag along with them, with a brief bow and a few words. Then he fell silent, nodding along as he let his wife and daughter rush forward with the conversation. Mrs. Bennett talked, and Felicity giggled and bridled and flirted with her eyes over her fan at Kit, who remained politely oblivious to her efforts.

Miles apparently realized after a time that his pose by the mantel, while artistic, kept him apart from the conversation, for after a few minutes he lounged over to join their circle.

“Miles, there you are!” his mother exclaimed with delight, as if he had appeared from some distance. “I was just telling Sir Christopher and Miss Anna how you have been spending your days writing.” Mrs. Bennett turned toward Anna, saying with a smile, “You should see him. He just scribbles and scribbles away in there, for hours on end. Of course, he won’t let me read a bit of it—young men are so secretive, are they not?”

She beamed at her son, who was looking acutely embarrassed. Her daughter picked up the conversation, tittering and saying, “That is all he ever does, read and write, write and read. I cannot think what he finds in it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Miles retorted rudely, shooting his sister a dark look.

“I love to read, as well,” Anna put in, with a smile toward Miles. He had been rude, of course, but it must be a severe trial to have the mother and sister that he did.

Miles smiled back at her, and his face was instantly more attractive. He would be better served, Anna thought, to put aside his brooding-writer pose and smile more.

“I am certain that you understand,” he told Anna warmly, and it occurred to her that perhaps his mother’s words hadn’t sprung entirely from her imagination. It was just possible that Miles was suffering from a mild case of puppy love. She sighed inwardly, knowing that she would have to watch her words and gestures carefully from now on, so that he would not receive any unintended encouragement.

She was glad when Dr. Felton joined them and asked her if she cared for a stroll around the room. Large and rectangular, it was really more an assembly room than a drawing room, with several straight-backed chairs placed about the walls and a massive teak table in the center. It was perfect for a social affair such as this: large enough to accommodate several areas of conversation, while having plenty of space to stroll about in. Later, if Lady Kyria did indeed allow dancing, the large table could simply be pushed back to create a small ballroom. It was also one of the rooms for which Winterset was justly famous—the barrel-vaulted plasterwork ceiling was covered in representations of animals, both real and fantastical, running the gamut from jumping trout and oddly formed elephants to hippogriffs, chimeras and dragons.

“Interesting ceiling,” Felton remarked, looking up at it. “I’ve heard about it—my father used to sing the praises of Winterset—but I haven’t ever actually seen it.”

“Yes, my uncle rarely entertained,” Anna agreed, keeping an eye out for Reed’s whereabouts so that she could avoid running into him.

“How is your uncle?”

“Doing well, thank you.”

They had drawn close to the vicar and his wife, and Mrs. Burroughs turned toward them, smiling. “You are speaking of your uncle, I collect?”

“Yes. Dr. Felton kindly inquired after his health.”

“Dear Lord de Winter,” Mrs. Burroughs said, beaming. “We do miss him, don’t we, dear?”

As her uncle had rarely darkened the door of the church, Anna rather doubted that sentiment, but she merely smiled and nodded.

“How long has he been away now? Ten years, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Likes the tropics, does he?” the vicar said with his kind smile. “Can’t say I blame him. Sometimes, when my elbow aches in the winter, I could wish I were in Barbados myself.”

“Yes. It is very pleasant there, I understand. Of course, we do not hear from Uncle Charles very often. He was never much of a correspondent, I fear.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna could see Reed walking toward them, so, with a smile, she eased out of the group and made her way over to where Kyria stood, chatting with Kit and Rosemary Farrington. In the same manner she managed to avoid him for much of the next hour.

As the party wore on, Kyria did indeed open up the floor for dancing. Anna took to the floor first with her brother, and after that she stood up with Dr. Felton, then Miles Bennett. She had danced often enough with both of them, for generally the same people attended every social gathering. Dr. Felton was an adequate, if methodical, dancer, but Miles Bennett was a poor partner, concentrating on his footwork to the exclusion of all else, including the music, so that while he did not tromp all over her feet, he did tend to push and pull her about the floor without much regard to the beat of the music.

It was a relief when the dance ended and she was able to curtsey to Miles and leave the floor. However, as she turned to walk away, she found Reed standing in her path, a cup of lemonade in his hand.

“You look as if you could use this,” he told her, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth as he held out the cup to her.

Anna could not help but chuckle and take the drink from him. “It is a rather energetic exercise, dancing with Miles,” she agreed, then sipped thirstily.

“Perhaps you will allow me to lead you out for the next dance, then. I promise I am not so quick-footed.”

Anna remembered all too well how Reed danced, and just the thought of it set up nervous trembles in her stomach. She looked up at him. There was nothing in his face of the anger or bitterness that had been there the last time they had talked, nothing but polite interest. She should not waltz with him, she knew, but, on the other hand, it would seem odd and impolite not to dance with her host.

“I—thank you. Of course.” The truth was, she knew, that she wanted to dance with him again. It was foolish, just as it had been foolish to come here, but she could not seem to keep from doing it. She took another nervous sip of the lemonade.

Then the first notes of the music sounded, and Reed took the cup from her, setting it aside on a nearby table, and gave her his arm to lead her out onto the floor. She took it, hoping he could not feel the faint trembling of her fingers through his suit jacket. He turned to face her, one hand going to her waist, the other curving around her hand, and they swept out onto the floor.

Anna’s heart lifted with the music. Dancing with Reed was like heaven after Miles’ clumsy efforts. She floated across the floor, very aware of the warmth of his hand at her waist. She remembered the first time she had danced with him, in the ballroom at Holcomb Manor. She had been giddy, already tumbling head over heels into love with him, and she had never known anything so wonderful in her life. She had been twenty-three, but she had felt like a girl of eighteen at her first ball.

She tried to thrust the memory out of her mind. It was dangerous to think about it. She knew better now; she could not let herself stumble into that same quagmire. Anna looked up at Reed, and her breath caught in her throat. He was gazing down at her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. His gaze flickered to her mouth, and his eyes darkened. Anna’s insides quivered in response.

It did not surprise her when he danced her closer to the bank of French doors, open to catch the cooler evening air, or that before the notes of the music ended, he whisked her out the doors onto the terrace.

Taking her hand, he walked over to the balustrade. They stood silently for a moment, looking out over the moon-washed garden, still largely untamed despite the recent efforts of Reed’s gardeners, who had come to help old Grimsley. The heady scent of roses hung on the night air, heavy and seductive.

Reed took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him, and Anna looked up reluctantly into his face. His full lips were drawn tight, and he was scowling down at her, but the heat in his eyes was at odds with his irritated expression. “I must have been mad to come back here,” he said. “You are more beautiful than ever…or perhaps I’d just forgotten.”

Anna let out a shaky breath. Her mind was a blank. She knew she should say something, end the moment, but she could not make herself turn away. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and she knew that all she wanted at this moment was for him to kiss her.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Reed leaned down, his face looming closer, and then his lips were on hers and all other thoughts fled from Anna’s head. She trembled, her hands going up to his chest as if to ward him off, then sliding instead around his neck. His lips were soft and seeking, the pressure gradually increasing as passion flared up inside him. Reed’s arms went around her tightly, pulling her up and into him, as his mouth pressed harder against hers.

Anna let out a soft sound of pleasure, clinging to him, her head whirling. It had been so long since she had tasted his lips; she thought she had forgotten how it felt, but the memories flooded back to her now, hot and fierce. Desire thrummed in her, as though the years between had only made it stronger. She wanted the world to go away, wanted the kiss never to stop.

His hands roamed up and down her back, caressing her shoulders and back and hips, and he lifted his mouth briefly from hers only to change the angle of their kiss. Reed’s skin was searing where he touched her bare back and shoulders; his heat enveloped her. One arm curled around her back, supporting her, and his other hand moved slowly up her side from her hips, curving around to the front and coming to rest on the underside of her breast.

Anna shuddered, heat lancing straight down through her abdomen and exploding in her loins. No one had ever touched her like this, not even Reed three years ago, and the sensation was both shocking and intensely exciting. She had never before experienced the hot flowering of yearning between her legs or the sudden fullness of her breasts, the tightening of her nipples. Hungrily, she pressed herself even more tightly against him, her arms locking around his neck.

He kissed his way across her cheek to her ear, and his teeth and tongue worried at the sensitive lobe, sending wild darts of sensation shooting through her. His hand tightened on her breast, his thumb stroking across her nipple, and even through the material of her dress, her nipple responded, hardening and pointing.

“Anna, Anna…” He breathed her name as his lips trailed down her neck, nibbling and kissing until at last they reached the pillowy softness of her breast.

She gasped, rocked by pleasure, and somehow the very intensity of the pleasure brought her out of the haze in which she had been floating. Anna straightened, pulling sharply away from Reed, her hand going to her mouth. For a long moment they simply stared at each other, too stunned to speak or even move. Then, with a low cry, Anna turned and hurried away.

“Anna!” Reed called her name in a hoarse whisper, but she did not turn around.

She paused at the open doors, looking into the lighted room. She straightened her dress and patted her hair, then took a deep breath and slipped inside. No one seemed to notice her entrance.