Regency Temptation: The Greatest of Sins / The Fall of a Saint. Christine Merrill
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was holding out a hand to him, sure he would come to her, as he always had, and swing her easily in his arms.
‘I do not think that is wise,’ he replied. Just the thought of touching her made his palms begin to sweat.
‘Dancing, not wise?’ She laughed. ‘Is that your professional opinion? I assumed that such harmless exercise would be recommended by a physician.’
‘You know that is not what I mean,’ he said in a harsh whisper, glancing around to be sure that no one else could hear.
She gave him a coquettish flutter of her fan. ‘I really have no idea. If you mean something specific by the refusal, you had best tell me directly.’
‘If you truly mean to marry St Aldric, I think it is unwise for the two of us to dance,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘My commitment to him has not stopped me from standing up with every other man in this room. Save yourself, of course. You have been avoiding me.’
‘I have not,’ he said, wishing that it was not such an obvious lie.
‘I am sure that St Aldric has no objection to it.’
‘What he wishes does not concern me.’ And now he sounded like a jealous fool.
‘If not him, then whom? What reason could you possibly have that would prevent you? If people notice you avoiding me, they will wonder. And they will talk.’
Now she had trapped him. She was probably right. Someone would remark at how strangely he behaved around her. Above all else, there must be no talk.
She continued to pressure him, sure that he could not refuse. ‘I am open for the next waltz. Stand up with me and stop being silly about it.’ She gave him a sly smile. ‘It will be over before you realise and, I swear, no harm shall come to you.’
‘No! Not a waltz.’ He’d said it too loudly and a matron a few feet away gave him a sharp, disapproving look. But the idea was simply too much to bear. ‘I will stand up with you, if you insist. But let it be some other dance.’
‘All right,’ she said, giving him a disgusted sigh. ‘La Belle Assembly. It is starting now. And we will stand up with St Aldric and another, so you need have no fear of upsetting him.’
Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is not from fear of him that I refuse you.’
‘Fear of me, then?’ She gave a toss of her head. ‘That does little to improve my opinion of you.’
The letter had been a lie. She did not need moral support to make this decision. She merely wished another opportunity to torment him. He seized her hand with no real gentleness, as he had done when they were children, and dragged her towards the centre of the room. ‘Come on, then, brat. The sooner it is begun, the sooner it will be done. Then you must leave me in peace for the rest of the night.’
He had been right. This had been a mistake.
She had thought that a public temptation might force a commitment out of him. At the very least, it would give her one last chance to be with him. But this was not the memory she wished for. It was too painful.
They shared the set with St Aldric and his partner, a lady of great beauty and little wit, but she was a skilled dancer and little more was required of her now. They traded bows and curtsies, and the dance began.
Sam swung her to a place opposite him and circled. And though he followed the steps to the letter, it felt as though she was being stalked by a wolf. In comparison, St Aldric’s pass was easy, relaxed and confident. He smiled at her, enjoying the dance, enjoying her company.
She turned back to Sam, who was watching her too intently, a frown upon his face. His eyes bored into hers, taking in her every movement to the point where it became alarming. And past the frown and the beetled brow, she saw the truth.
Jealousy. Frustration. Rage. It was not distaste that kept him away. He wanted her as much as he had on the day that they had kissed.
And now she danced with St Aldric again. In his eyes, she saw nothing of importance. He possessed her already, or very nearly did, and thus he was thinking of something else.
But each time Sam took her hand, it was as if he never meant to let it go. The release was stiff and graceless, as though he’d forced his fingers open to let her escape. He was gritting his teeth in concentration. He did not need to count the steps, for he seemed to have no trouble keeping track. His posture was rigid, as though he suffered pain at each touch of her fingers.
Yet he could not seem to get enough of it.
When they finished, she allowed him to escort her back to the place they had been standing. Then he walked away without a word.
She stood for a moment, in indecision, then she followed, out of the ballroom and through the halls of the house, to the place she knew he must go.
It was dark in the garden, smelling of night-blooming flowers and the beginnings of the still heat that would drive the ton to Bath or the country. They had not bothered to light the yard, so no one had strayed from the house. But someone who was familiar with it would need no light to find the garden bench under the elm. He was there, of course, a dim outline against the darker bark of the tree.
She sat down beside him. He did not acknowledge her presence, so they sat in silence for a time, not wanting to spoil the moment. Then he said, ‘You promised, Evie. You promised that it would not come to this if I stayed.’
‘You were right, before, when you said we could not waltz.’ If they had, she’d have made a fool of herself, clinging to him on the dance floor. If she was in his arms, how could she do else?
He sighed. ‘You feel it as well, then? I hoped perhaps you had been spared and that the other day, in my rooms, had been an aberration.’
She nodded, wondering if he could see. ‘If it is not possible to master the feeling, then perhaps we should not try.’
He did not move to look at her, sitting as still as he had when she’d joined him. ‘You do not understand. Not truly.’
‘I understand that there are scant minutes left, before my choice is irrevocable. If there is any reason to change my mind, I will take it.’ She reached for his hand and squeezed it, hoping that he would feel the urgency.
‘You must trust me to know what is best for you,’ he said with his best physician’s tone, ‘And I tell you that there is no reason for you not to marry St Aldric. In fact, I insist that you do.’
‘Why must you keep playing the tiresome older brother?’ she said with an amazed shake of the head.
‘I have not done it enough in recent years.’ he replied. ‘You need someone to talk some sense into you, since your father cannot seem to manage it.’
‘Sometimes, I wonder if you are just thick, despite all your fancy education, or if you are joking with me. You know that brotherly wisdom is not what I want from you.’
‘What else can I offer?’ He sounded so hopeless, she wavered between pity and annoyance. It seemed that if she wanted words of love, she would have to speak them herself.
‘Let me put it plainly, since you refuse to. I love you, Sam. I always will. I wish you to offer for me. But you are pretending that you do not understand. Please, Sam. Please. Declare yourself. I will speak to Michael, and to Father.’ She gave his hand another urgent squeeze.
She shifted her body, ever so slightly, towards his and turned so that their faces were only inches apart—and suddenly they were kissing in a moonlit garden. In an instant, it was as it had been in his rooms.
She tried to remember where she was. And when. There were people waiting for her in the ballroom. And a man who wanted nothing more than to make her his bride.
But she could not stop wanting the man who would make no promises. There were so many things wrong with the moment that she could hardly enumerate them.