And for the first time in their tumultuous acquaintance, they danced together.
His steps were awkward and careful, as if he was afraid he would accidentally step on her toes or topple her to the floor of the greenhouse. But that did not matter, she thought. What mattered was that there was music in the distance and moonlight glinted on his dark hair. What mattered was that the air around them was heavy with the exotic fragrances of flowers that had come from far-off climes. What mattered was that she was in his arms and that time was standing still for a precious little eternity.
It was a scene of metaphysical enchantment, a scene that could have come straight from the pages of one of her precious books of poetry.
Tobias moved with her in a slow, measured tread down the aisle of tropical plants. She rested her head against his broad shoulder. The waltz was faerie music. The moonlight was liquid silver. The lush foliage that surrounded them was a magical garden.
When they reached the small bower at the far end, he stopped and tightened his hold on her. He kissed the curve of her bare shoulder.
“Tobias.”
A delicious urgency swept through her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and raised her mouth to meet his.
His kiss left her breathless.
He eased the tiny sleeves of her gown down her arms, drawing the low-cut bodice to her waist. His powerful, competent hands cradled her breasts with astonishing tenderness. She felt his thumbs brush across her nipples and shivered in response.
He lowered himself onto the padded bower bench and pulled her down astride his thighs. His hands slid up her legs under the billowing satin folds of her gown. When he cupped her gently with his palm, her head fell back.
He slid one finger along her cleft, resting it against the small, tight nubbin at the top. She breathed deeply and moved against his hand.
He unfastened his trousers. She reached down and encircled him with her fingers. Her thumb glided across the broad, straining tip of his shaft.
He groaned with fierce pleasure.
“At times like this,” he muttered against her throat, “I cannot doubt your powers of mesmerism. You never fail to entrance me.”
“I may be a trained mesmerist, but you, sir, are nothing less than a sorcerer.”
The moonlight and the magic closed in around them.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the first time she had danced since Fielding’s death.
Joan felt oddly bemused as Vale guided her through the sweeping turn.
She had never thought to waltz with any man again, had never even dreamed that someday she might enjoy the music and the graceful patterns with anyone other than her beloved Fielding. Yet here she was, in the arms of one of his more dangerous friends, and it was intoxicating.
“Your gown is exquisite, madam,” Vale said. “But I cannot help but notice that you still wear the colors of mourning, even though it has been a year since Fielding departed this world.”
“I miss him,” she said quietly.
“I understand. I miss him too. Fielding was my friend. But I must tell you that I do not believe that he would have wanted you to wear nothing but gray and black for the rest of your life.”
She did not know what to say to that. The truth was that until quite recently she had not even thought about ending her period of mourning. She had had no desire to end it. Indeed, she knew that some part of her had anticipated wearing somber hues forever.
But the certainty that she was doomed to live out her days in a state of melancholia had begun to abate in recent weeks. Lavinia and Tobias had broken through the dark trance in which she had been ensnared. They had found answers to the questions surrounding Fielding’s death, questions that had haunted her for months. In doing so, they had helped free her from a gloom that had seemed unrelenting.
“We shall see,” she said.
Vale smiled, obviously content for now with her response. He swept her into another long, gliding turn.
He was, she thought, an excellent dancer. She relaxed and gave herself up to the glorious strains of the waltz and the sure strength of his arms.
“You have acquired some interesting new companions,” Vale said after a while.
The comment brought her back to the reality of the moment with a decided jolt. This was no pleasant dream. Vale did nothing without a reason. She must be on her guard.
“You refer to Mrs. Lake and Mr. March, I believe,” she said smoothly. “They are, indeed, somewhat out of the ordinary. But I find I enjoy their company.”
He chuckled. “That is no doubt because you, madam, are very much out of the ordinary yourself.” He paused for another turn. “I know nothing of Mrs. Lake, but there are a number of rumors about March.”
“You surprise me, sir. I would not have thought you the type to give credence to gossip.”
“You know very well that I pay very close attention to certain types of gossip, just as Fielding did.”
“What do the rumors say of Mr. March?” she asked.
“Among other things, they tell me that he served as a spy during the war and that he continues to make a living in a rather unorthodox fashion.” Vale gave her a knowing look. “I believe he accepts commissions to conduct private investigations on behalf of persons who prefer to avoid Bow Street.”
“A most unusual line of work.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But no doubt quite an interesting occupation.”
Vale’s brows rose. “One hears that he and, presumably, his good friend Mrs. Lake are presently searching for a certain antiquity.”
“Ah.”
Vale looked amused. “What does that signify, madam?”
“Merely the fact that you mention this relic implies that you too are looking for it, sir.”
He sighed mockingly. “Subtlety is lost on you, madam. You know me too well.”
“On the contrary, sir. I do not know you well at all. But when it comes to the matter of rare antiquities, I am acquainted with some of your tastes.”
“Yes, of course. You and I and Fielding discussed the pleasures of collecting many times over the years, did we not?” He spun her into another turn. “I believe that you are something of an authority yourself.”
“I do not claim any great expertise, but I admit that I learned many things about relics while listening to you and Fielding discuss and compare your acquisitions,” she said.
“And of course, you have inherited Dove’s outstanding collection, have you not? Tell me, madam, do you intend to add to it?”
Keep him guessing, she thought. Give nothing away.
“If that is a subtle way of asking me whether or not I plan to acquire the Blue Medusa,” she said, “I cannot give you an answer as yet. I have not made up my mind.”
“I see.” He brought her to a halt at the edge of the dance floor, neatly manipulating her into the seclusion of a private alcove. He did not take his hand from her arm. “I have no wish to find myself competing directly with you.”
“But that wish would not stop you from doing so should the need arise, correct?”
He smiled and ignored the question. “There is another aspect of this situation that alarms me, madam.”
“I am astonished, sir. I did not think anything could alarm you.”
“On the contrary. You are the widow of one of the few men I have ever called friend, and I would be negligent in my responsibility to Fielding’s memory if I did not try to prevent you from exposing yourself to undue risk.”
“I assure you, I am not at risk in this matter.”
“I am concerned about your role in this affair, Joan.”
“Do not trouble yourself with any concerns on my behalf, my lord.” She smiled. “I assure you, I am well able to take care of myself. My husband was an excellent instructor in many subjects, not just antiquities.”
“Yes, of course.” He did not look pleased with her response, but he inclined his head very civilly. “I apologize if I have intruded into your private affairs.”