The artful fingers stilled. "What-no curtsy?"
Curtsying would shift her silk-clad bottom against those bold fingers. He was standing directly behind her; anyone glancing their way now would see only her skirts, nothing that could identify her. Glancing back, she murmured, "I believe we've gone beyond such formalities." She'd softened her tone to a sultry purr; she saw his lips twitch before she faced the gardens again.
"Indeed." His fingers stroked sensuously-lightly, tantalizingly-impossible to ignore. Illicit, sexually explicit, yet difficult to take umbrage at. Streaks of sensation slithered down her spine, spread beneath her skin.
With his other hand, he brushed her curls from her nape; bending his head, he touched his lips to the sensitive spot, lingered for an instant, breathing in her perfume, then licked.
Straightening, he let his fingers firm on her bottom, then ease, deliberately shifting the silk of chemise and gown against her skin. His words caressed her ear. "Do you know what I want… what I'd like to do to you now, this very minute?"
She suspected that if she leaned back against him, he'd be rigid as a rod. "No. What?"
A rumble of laughter greeted her studiously innocent reply. "Just imagine, if you can…"
Her mind streaked in a dozen directions, then he spoke again, his voice deeper, lower, "Imagine we're here but no one else is-that the ballroom behind us is empty, silent. The chandeliers are unlit. There's no music except for the wind sighing outside. It's night-dark-just as it is now. The only light comes from the moon, shining down."
"As it is now."
"Exactly." His voice breathed past her ear, sank into her senses. The hand cupping her bottom remained where it was; his other hand lightly brushed her bare shoulder. "You wait here, for me, knowing I'll come to you. That I'll come in the dark of the night to have you."
"Will you come?"
"I'm here now."
It was impossible to draw breath. "And then?"
"And then… I'll raise your skirts, only at the back. If there's anyone watching from the garden, they'll see nothing amiss." The fingers on her bottom shifted as if inching up the silk; he didn't actually raise it, just led her senses to imagine he had. "Then I'll touch you, caress you, raise the back of your chemise to your waist." He paused, then whispered, "You don't wear pantaloons."
"Within the ton, pantaloons are still considered unquestionably fast."
"Ah." Humor warmed his voice, then he continued in the same mesmerizing tone, "So I'll then have you naked, exposed, and I'll caress you, arouse you." His hand at her back mimicked the motions; his hand at her nape closed gently, as if holding her steady. Even though her skirts still covered her completely, her body reacted to the suggestive touch. "And then…"
She wasn't sure her legs would hold her. "Then?"
His hand at her nape eased; slowly, he ran his index finger down her spine, all the way down to her bottom. "Then I'll bend you forward, have you hold onto the sill-"
He broke off. She sensed his head rise, felt the immediate change in the large body behind hers. A heartbeat later, his hands left her-and he was gone; the sudden loss of his heat at her back was startling.
Giddy, she turned, heard footsteps approaching, caught the shift in the shadows as Martin slid behind the nearby column. She completed her turn.
Edward Ashford was ambling along, looking down at the ballroom, a scowl marring his handsome face. He looked up and saw her, nodded and strolled into the alcove. "You haven't seen Luc, have you?"
"Luc?" Dragging in a breath, she grabbed hold of her wits. Tried to steady them. "No. Are you looking for him?"
Edward's expression turned sour. "Futile, of course. I'll wager he's entertaining some opera dancer. More to his liking than doing his duty by Mama and the girls."
Amanda ignored the clear invitation to join him in blackening Luc's character. She'd remembered the relationship between the Fulbridges and the Ashfords; Edward would recognize Martin. And Martin was trapped behind the column. "Why are you looking for Luc? Does Emily or Anne need him?" Linking her arm in Edward's, she turned him toward the stairs.
"Not at present, but you would think…"
Letting Edward ramble, she steered him down to the ballroom.
"You're looking a trifle peaked, Amanda."
Looking up from her plate, Amanda blinked down the breakfast table at her mother. "Ah… I didn't sleep well."
The unvarnished truth. Louise seemed to see as much; she nodded. "Very well. But all your gadding before the Season commenced has drained your reserves-you'll need to pace yourself better."
Amanda sighed and looked down at her plate. "You're right-as usual." She flashed a smile at Louise. "I'll rest this afternoon. We've the Cottlesloes' ball tonight, haven't we?"