Something Old Rebecca Connolly (ink ebook reader .TXT) 📖

no simpleton. He ceased his complaining and gestured for Thomas to lead the way back into the ballroom.

They’d managed cards for an hour or so, and neither had lost enough to be missed, which would undoubtedly make both of their wives happy. Thomas, for one, never played in games where more than a farthing was required for entry, and he was all the better for it. As were his finances.

The distraction of cards had been welcome, but the question now was if they had been enough of a distraction from the other particular distraction of the evening. One that could linger and would struggle to stave off the less gentlemanly parts of his nature which had so plagued him prior to his retreat to the card room.

The men paused once inside the ballroom, each trying to get their bearings and find their wives amid the other dancers and guests.

Thomas spotted Lily after a moment’s examination, his heart stock-still in his chest as he watched her dance with a man he did not recognize, her smile glowing brighter than the light of the room. He could not look anywhere else, could not dream of thinking to dance with another, despite the lack of politeness it would say about him. There was only Lily, and there only ever would be. His eye knew no lovelier or more welcome sight, his heart knew no other name.

Lily was everything, and Lily was all. And no time away from her could rid his need for her. It could only delay it, and with the delay came a growth of its intensity.

He’d tear across the room and wrench her away from the entire group if he’d had an ounce of less restraint.

The music finished, giving the dancers pause to recover themselves and for others to take their places in the center of the room. Thomas tracked Lily as she moved off and immediately started in her direction, abandoning Roskelley to his own interests.

Every man for himself in these conditions, and Thomas could barely see straight for his own intentions. A dance with his wife meant heaven on earth for a time.

“Mrs. Granger,” he intoned the moment he reached her, bowing deeply. “I believe the pleasure of the next dance is mine.”

She turned slowly, a rosy color entering her cheeks. She curtseyed, dipping her chin lower than expected. “I believe it is, Mr. Granger.”

His breath caught as she rose once more and met his eyes, her tempting lips curving in a smile that removed all feeling in his left knee.

How had she turned more angelic in the hour he’d been away? How had the gold in her hair and her dress begun to glow with such light? How had her dark eyes taken in the light of every candle in the room and carried them now in their depths?

“Forgive me, madam,” he murmured as he took her hand and drew it to his lips. “I find I am… without words.”

“I don’t mind that,” Lily replied, her voice lower than its usual tone and instantly raising all his hair on a fiery end. “Sometimes words are not required.”

His throat closed, and he found his legs moving, taking her with him, his eyes refusing to move away from her. Gads, how he loved her. How he adored her. How he wanted, needed, and craved her. How could he have wasted all of their marriage by being absent and leaving her so alone? How could he have thought that an improvement for either of them, just to spare his own guilt? How had he been such a fool, knowing now what she felt for him?

The music struck up, and Thomas swallowed an impossible lump as he closed the distance between them, taking her waist in hand and inhaling sharply when her hand came around his own waist. Slowly, they raised their free hands above their heads and took hold of the other, beginning the motions of the dance, their feet moving in such synchrony there was art and perfection in it.

Her skirts swirled about his legs, his foot brushed against hers, and he began to feel each beat of his heart in his ears. Each breath thundered from him, and every shift of her fingers on his back sent fire up his spine. His mouth went dry as he heard a ragged breath pass her lips, felt the rush of it against his skin, and he took the chance to pull her closer, reach his hand around her farther, his fingers gripping ever so slightly against the gauze of her gown.

More stirring was how she adjusted her hold on him, drawing him closer to her as well, and the bodice of her gown nearly scraped against the buttons of his coat with every motion of the dance.

He would go mad before the dance was over.

Mercy, he thought, unable to speak the word, praying somehow she would know all the same. Mercy, my love.

Her eyes held some message for him as well, and he focused his efforts on receiving it, clawing his way through the dense fog clouding his mind. What would she tell him? What would she say if she had the words at this moment?

All he knew for certain was that she was here with him in this madness. She was just as immersed in it as he was, drowning in its depths with no rescue in sight. No rescue was needed, as far as he could tell, and she showed no hesitation on her part. What a rush of emotions and sensations such a truth rendered, knowing none of this was one-sided.

He pleaded for mercy to spare his sanity, but what did she wish?

The lower half of her lips suddenly tucked beneath her teeth to one side, her eyes remaining on his, and it was all he could do not to collapse where he was.

Distraction.

She knew what she was doing, fully and completely, and this was the time she would do what she knew would have a powerful