“Indeed?” Gervase read the open invitation in Lady Hardesty’s eyes, and felt nothing but irritation. Why in such a crowded room had Madeline paused there?
“I understand you live in a real castle, my lord.” Miss Bildwell leaned across the circle, all but batting her lashes. “It must be utterly romantic.”
“Many suppose so but the reality is regrettably mundane.” His tone was designed to depress all inclination to ask to visit said castle, and more, to make it plain he’d joined their circle for one reason only; he turned to Madeline. “My dear, Sybil wishes to speak with you, if you can spare her a moment.”
Madeline blinked at him, but what she saw in his eyes must have made his underlying temper clear. “Of course.” Allowing him to tuck her hand—which he hadn’t relinquished—into the crook of his arm, she turned to Lady Hardesty and inclined her head gracefully. “If you’ll excuse us?”
To Gervase’s surprise, Lady Hardesty stared at Madeline as if she’d only just noticed her—all close to six feet of delectable curves sheathed in jewel-hued silk. How anyone could overlook his Valkyrie he had no idea, but after that stunned minute, Lady Hardesty managed a smile and nodded, sufficiently graciously, in return.
With a general glance at the others, the barest minimum to be polite, he drew Madeline away.
As he steered her diagonally across the room, she glanced at him. “I assume Sybil has no idea she wishes to speak with me?”
“None whatever.” Over the sea of heads, he surveyed the room. “I simply saw no reason to waste my time or yours in that company.”
Entirely in accord, Madeline smiled and looked ahead. “Where are you taking me?”
He glanced at her, slowed. “Where would you like to go?”
She met his eyes, then succinctly replied, “Somewhere private.”
He studied her eyes, confirming she was serious, then looked ahead. “An excellent notion.”
The note of intent rippling through his deep voice sent a quiver of anticipation sliding through her.
“The terrace, I think.”
“There’s lots of others out there.”
“Not where I’m thinking of.”
Convinced he’d be proved wrong, with an inward sigh she acquiesced and let him guide her toward the open doors giving onto the long terrace.
Their progress was interrupted, numerous acquaintances hailing them to exchange greetings and the latest local gossip. It took half an hour to gain the terrace flags, and another fifteen minutes before they won free of the knot of guests congregated just outside the doors, enjoying the balmy night.
At last Gervase drew her away; tucking her hand in his arm again, he strolled down the terrace away from the drawing room. The terrace ran the length of one side of the house; while she’d attended any number of Lady Caterham’s events, Madeline had never walked to the far end—let alone around it.
When, after one swift glance back, Gervase whisked her around the corner, she halted in surprise. The terrace appeared to terminate in a curve at the end of its long length, but in reality the curve extended around the corner to form a landing above another set of steps leading down.
They now stood on the landing out of sight of those gathered near the drawing room, and were also screened from those guests who’d ventured down onto the lawns.
She smiled. “Perfect.”
Turning to Gervase, she walked into his arms.
They were waiting, very ready to receive her, just as his lips were waiting to meet hers. Surrendering her mouth, she stepped into him, into the kiss, and was instantly swept into the now-familiar landscape, increasingly turbulent, fraught with suppressed hunger, with simmering passion barely restrained. She gave herself up to it, to the heat, to the moment, to what would come.
To what she wanted.
Like a searing wind, desire rose and took her. Caught her, engulfed her, overwhelmed her. Tossed on a sea of uncomprehending need, she gave in to the urgency, speared her hands through his hair, clung to him and kissed him back.
With all the fire she suddenly discovered she had in her.
Gervase mentally staggered under the onslaught, abruptly finding himself awash in a sea of heat, of flames that licked greedily over his body—following her hands.
He inwardly cursed; he wanted to catch them, end the torture before it had begun—but that would mean releasing her, dragg
ing his arms from about her, his hands from her lush curves, from the avid, heated exploration that had suddenly, unexpectedly, turned mutual.