The undercurrent beneath the words registered as a warning.
Harry raised a brow. “I believe that’s a waltz starting up.”
To her surprise, Tony reached across; his fingers closed about her hand. “Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me, Cynster.” He smiled urbanely, and drew her to him. “Mrs. Carrington has promised me this dance.”
Over her head, blue eyes met black. There was something—some form of masculine challenge—behind Tony’s polite mask. She glanced from one to the other, then Harry Cynster raised both brows, faint surprise in his face. “Well, well. I see.” Then he grinned and saluted her. “A pity, but I wish you good riding, my dear.”
Before she could reply to the strange comment, Tony whisked her away.
“Mrs. Carrington doesn’t often dance at all,” she informed him as he drew her into his arms.
He met her eyes. “Except with me.”
With that, he whirled her into the revolving circle of dancers. The floor was crowded; he had to hold her close. So close his strength and that fascinating power he wielded, a potent blend of physical confidence and sexual prowess, wrapped about her, a seductive spell she wasn’t even sure he knew he was weaving.
Then he guided her through the turns; his thigh parted hers, and all she could think of was…
She looked away, cleared her throat. Desperate to cool her thoughts, she struggled to find some distraction…“What did he mean?” Glancing up, she caught Tony’s black gaze. “Harry Cynster—why wish me ‘good riding’? He doesn’t even know if I ride.”
For an instant, Tony stared down at her; she couldn’t interpret his expression. “He assumed,” he eventually said. His tone seemed flat. “He’s an exceptional rider himself…”He shrugged lightly. “Probably all he thinks of.”
His lips tightened, as if he didn’t want to say anything more. He looked up, steering her on; she wasn’t sufficiently interested to pursue the point—whatever it was.
But that left her mind free, and her senses susceptible. Left her nerves leaping when they were jostled and he drew her protectively close, into the safe harbor of his arms. For a moment, their hips and thighs touched, brushed; when they moved on, she felt heated. She glanced up at him, praying the heat hadn’t reached her cheeks, afraid it had, afraid that her eyes, too, would give her away, would hold some impression of her thoughts, reveal her sudden, unexpectedly flaring need.
His eyes met hers; darkly burning, they reflected thoughts that mirrored hers.
Abruptly, it seemed they were the only couple on the floor, the sole focus of their senses. They moved in a social vacuum charged with sensual heat, wracked with restrained passion. It flowed about them, caressed their skins. Teased, taunted, and left them yearning.
The music ended. It was a wrench to stop, to part, to step back even though both recognized they must. It was harder yet to pull back onto that other plane, to deny any expression to what was beating inside them, burgeoning between them, especially when each knew the other felt it, too. That the other wanted just as passionately, just as hungrily.
The need was there in his eyes; the answering tug was very real within her. But they had to play their parts, had to stroll easily, apparently nonchalantly back up the room, returning to take up her usual position near Adriana’s circle, with him by her side.
Tony settled her hand on his sleeve, but didn’t dare leave his hand over hers. He wanted her close, closer than she was; such unsatisfying skin-to-skin contact was almost painful.
Dragging in a breath, he glanced around, unseeing. How he would survive… one thing was certain—no more waltzes. Not until they’d danced to a different tune in a much more private setting.
Not until he’d felt her skin against his, naked body to naked body.
After…he assumed—fervently prayed—that the pressures that seemed to be building inside him, seething volcano-like from somewhere deep within, those emotions he accepted but didn’t wish to examine, would ease. That he wouldn’t feel like snarling when men like Harry Cynster hove near, that he’d be able to waltz with her without remembering… and imagining…
Without wanting to behave like some primitive caveman and toss her over his shoulder, seize her, and cart her away. And…
He had to stop thinking about it, or he’d go mad.
At the end of the ball, he and Geoffrey accompanied the sisters into the front hall. Adriana gave Geoffrey her hand; he bowed over it, whispered something Tony didn’t catch, then took his leave of Alicia, who, distracted, had missed that little interaction entirely. With a nod to him, Geoffrey left.
Alicia turned to him, held out her hand. “Thank you for your company.”
He looked at her, took her hand, and tucked it in his arm. “I’ll escort you home.”
She blinked, but allowed him to draw her close. “You don’t need to do that.”
He looked down at her, then softly stated, “I do.” After a moment, his chest swelled; he looked ahead. “Aside from all else, you’re in my custody.”
She frowned. “I thought you just said that for the benefit of the Watch.”
A footman came to tell them their carriage was waiting. Tony steered her onto the steps, then leaned close, and murmured, “I said it for my benefit, not theirs.”
TWELVE
AFTER THAT COMMENT… ALICIA SPENT THE ENTIRE journey home in a fever of speculation. The waltz had left her nerves, her senses, primed and flickering; rocking over the cobbles in the dark with Tony beside her, his hard thigh riding alongside hers, did nothing to calm them.
Last night—or had it been this morning? Whichever, there was no doubt in her mind that there were no further halts along their road. Yet she hadn’t until now seriously considered, hadn’t asked herself the fateful question.
If it came to that, would she?
If the moment arose and she had the chance, would she take it? Or try to the last to avoid it?
A small voice whispered…how did one avoid the inevitable?
By the time they reached Waverton Street, and he handed her down, she felt as tense as a bowstring. Adriana followed her up the steps. Tony brought up the rear. Maggs opened the door and held it wide; Alicia stepped back and let Adriana precede her. Tony, she noticed, cast comprehensive glances up and down the street as he climbed to the door.
She entered; he followed.
Adriana, no doubt thinking thoughts of Geoffrey Manningham, drifted upstairs without so much as a good night. Uncertain if she should be grateful or irritated, Alicia nodded to Maggs. “Thank you. You may retire. I’ll see his lordship out.”
Maggs bowed and lumbered away.
She watched the green baize door swing shut behind him.
Leaving her alone with the man who would be her lover.
Slowly, she turned… and found herself alone.
Tony had gone. The drawing-room door stood open.
Frowning, she went to the threshold; a dark shadow in the unlighted room, he was standing before the long windows. Puzzled, she went in. “What are you doing?”
“Checking these locks.”
The windows gave onto the narrow area separating the house from the street. “Jenkins checks the locks every night, and I suspect Maggs does, too.”
“Very likely.”
Halting in the middle of the floor, she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Do you approve?”
“No.” Tony turned from the windows, through the dimness studied her. “But they’ll do.” For now.
Until he could think of some way to improve the defenses he felt compelled to erect about her. He needed to know she was safe. He wanted her his. In the circumstances, satisfaction would—indeed needed to—come in that order.