She grimaced, let her uncertainty show. “That he’s perfectly sound. He’s never had dealings with any moneylenders, but they would be happy to have him on their books. His credit is excellent, his estates are in exemplary order. Financially, he passed with flying colors.”
“So why aren’t you thrilled?” Two matrons took up position on the other side of one set of palms. Grasping Alicia’s elbow, Tony guided her out of their nook. A waltz was just starting; the dance floor seemed the next safest place.
He drew her into his arms, looked down at her face as he started them revolving, noted the frown in her eyes. “It’s obvious your sister favors Geoffrey, and he’s intent on her. You’ve received reports from all and sundry that his character and situation are beyond reproach. Why, therefore, your hesitation?”
They revolved twice before she met his eyes. Her gaze was level and serious. “Money, title, and estate are all well and good, and character to date as well. But who can foresee the future?” She blew out a breath and looked away. “If I could be certain he’s all Adriana deserves, I’d feel happier.”
Tony steered her around the tight turn at the end of the room; she remained relaxed in his arms, warm, at ease, yet as so often was the case, focused on her family, in this case, Adriana. He studied her face as they precessed up the room; he could read her abstraction clearly.
What a lady deserved.
He’d never heard that advanced as a criterion for marriage, yet for the sort of marriage Alicia wished for her sister it was perhaps more pertinent, more relevant. And she was right; such a stipulation was much harder to guarantee—that a gentleman could and would provide what a lady deserved.
The waltz ended, but her concept remained, inhabiting his mind, directing his thoughts as they strolled through the glittering throng. Lady Magnuson was old but wealthy and well connected; all those of the haut ton already in town were certain to attend, to look in for at least an hour and show their faces. Many stopped them, most trying their hand at divining just what their relationship was; neither he nor Alicia gave them any joy. Which only fed the whispers.
He glanced at her. She was frowning, trying to catch a glimpse of her sister’s court. Lifting his head, he looked over the crowd. “Adriana appears hale and whole.” He glanced at Alicia. “She’s managing perfectly well.”
She frowned at him. “I should return to her—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” He anchored her hand more firmly on his sleeve. “She’s too sensible to go out of the ballroom without your permission, and with both Geoffrey and Sir Freddie standing guard, no bounder will have any chance of whisking her off undetected.”
“Yes, but—” She broke off as he whisked her into a dimly lit corridor. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” That was the worst of having spent the last decade elsewhere. Taking her hand in his, he strolled on. “I don’t know this house.”
His hearing was acute; he passed door after door, hearing muffled giggles or grunts from the rooms within.
She tried to slow, but he kept her with him. She tugged at his hand. “We can’t just—”
“Of course we can.” He stopped outside a door, listened, then hearing nothing opened it silently. Caught a glimpse of a white rump plunging, and swiftly closed it.
“Just not there.”
He heard the growing frustration in his voice; from the odd glance she threw him, she heard it, too.
They turned a corner; it was instantly apparent they’d reached a wing that was no longer in use. No lights glowed; there was dust on the sidetable farther along. He stepped to the side and opened a door, cautiously. Looking in, he breathed again. “Perfect.”
He drew her over the threshold and closed the door, with one finger snibbed the lock. Busy looking around, she didn’t hear.
“What a lovely room.”
He released her and she headed for the windows; uncurtained, they looked out over a stone-flagged courtyard with a long pond in its center, a fountain, still and silent, rising from the black water. Lily pads were unfurling, spreading across the obsidian surface. Moonlight, stark and ghostly white, poured softly over all, casting black shadows in the lee of the creeper-covered walls, edging each new ivy leaf in silver.
She glanced at him as he joined her. “I wonder why the room’s unused.”
“The Magnusons were a large family, but there’s only Lady Magnuson left now. Her daughters are married and gone.” He hesitated, then added, “Both her sons died at Waterloo.”
She looked around the room, at the furniture swathed in holland covers. “It seems…sad.”
After a moment, she glanced up at him.
What a lady deserves.
How unpredictable, how ephemeral, how precious life was.
Slowly, he bent his head and kissed her, despite all gave her the chance to deny him if she chose. She didn’t. She lifted her face, met his lips with hers. They touched, caressed, firmed. She raised a hand and gently, tentatively, laid her fingers along his cheek.
He slid an arm around her, smoothly yet more slowly than usual; it seemed important to savor each moment, to draw each instant, each movement, each acceptance, each commitment out. To fully know and appreciate every subtle nuance as they came together, as without words, he steered her to the next step.