His Wicked Charm. Candace Camp
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It was disconcerting to have this uncertainty. It was even more alarming that it also excited her. Surely that was not how it ought to be.
They reached the end of the walkway and turned to look out over the garden below. Delicate paper lanterns lit the garden paths, but up here on the terrace, they were deep in shadow. Con set his glass on the wide stone balustrade and leaned casually against a column, his eyes on Lilah rather than the view.
Lilah’s pulse picked up. It was dim and secluded here, the occasional sound of a voice a distant background. She remembered the other time she had stood on a terrace with Con, almost breathless with a volatile combination of excitement, anxiety and a guilty certainty that her aunt would not approve.
“Tell me, truly,” Lilah said impulsively, “that night… Why did you ask me to dance, much less stroll in the garden with you? I understand your doing so tonight—I’m your new sister-in-law’s friend, and you must be polite. But why did you ask me to dance back then?”
“Have you looked in a mirror?” Con countered.
“You were swept away by my beauty?” Lilah cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “There were dozens of pretty young girls there, and I would wager I am not the sort you normally dance with. Much less take out on the terrace with ulterior motives.”
“My motives weren’t ulterior. I thought they were quite straightforward.”
Lilah was reminded why she found him irritating. She turned away, fixing her eyes on the flowers and shrubs below. “Was it—did you do it because I was newly out? Because you thought I would be so naive I wouldn’t realize I was risking my reputation?”
“No!” Con’s voice was filled with affront and astonishment. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t ask you to dance because I thought I could trick you into anything. Do you really think that badly of me?”
Lilah relaxed, surprised at how relieved she was by his indignant response. “No. Well, perhaps I did wonder a bit. Afterward.” When he never approached her again.
“I asked you to dance because I wanted to waltz with you. I asked you out on the terrace to spend more time with you without the noise of the party. And I asked you to take a stroll through the garden because…very well, I did hope I might get a chance to kiss you. But I didn’t want to kiss you because you were the low-hanging fruit on a tree.”
“Or to add another girl to your collection?”
“My collection!” Con goggled at her. “What the devil do you take me for? I don’t have a collection. I’m not some rogue out seducing young ladies. Good Lord, Lilah, but you are a suspicious woman.”
“It’s not absurd to suspect that,” she retorted. “You find me rigid, prim and proper.”
“You forgot judgmental.”
“Oh, yes, sorry—and judgmental.” She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “So why would you want to dance with such a woman?”
“If you must know, it was because you were wearing lilac stockings.”
“What?” Lilah stared at him.
He shrugged and turned away, now the one to keep his eyes on the view. “You asked.”
“But why… How…”
“It’s nice to know I can render you speechless.”
“That’s absurd. How could you know what color stockings I had on? I don’t even remember what color they were.”
“Clearly the sight of them made more of an impression on me than it did on you.” Con glanced back at her. “I was standing at the foot of the stairs when you came in. You were so terribly prim and proper, all in maidenly white, modestly covered to your neck, your face blankly polite, your hair braided and curled into a knot like a governess, your chaperone glued to your side. I thought, there’s a beauty, but she looks an utter bore.”
“How kind of you,” Lilah said drily.
“Then you climbed the stairs, lifting your skirt to keep from stepping on it, and I saw your ankles. You were wearing bright lilac stockings. And I thought, there’s more to her than meets the eye.” He paused, considering. “Besides, you have lovely ankles.”
Lilah gaped at him, then began to laugh. His reasoning was so strange, so very Con-like—flattering, insulting and preposterous all at once—that she couldn’t work up either affront or anger, only a baffled amusement.
“You should do that more often,” Con told her.
“What?”
“Laugh. You look beautiful.”
“Oh.” She hoped the darkness concealed her blush. Otherwise, Con would doubtless tease her about it every time they met.
Except, of course, she would not see him now that the wedding was over. Constantine Moreland didn’t frequent the sort of parties Lilah attended with her aunt. He preferred more exciting entertainment. Even when they did attend the same function, Con did his best to avoid her. Her life now would return to its usual pattern. Lilah sighed as she thought of the weeks ahead, paying calls and receiving visitors in her aunt’s parlor.
“What is it?” Con asked. When she glanced at him questioningly, he explained, “You sighed just now. Is something wrong?”
“What? Oh. I didn’t realize I had.” Her cheeks, already pink, flamed. “I was, um, just thinking that things would settle back to normal now that the wedding is done.”
“Yes, it will likely be more boring.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she protested. “I meant, it will be quieter. Calmer. But that’s a good thing. One can rest and relax and, um…”
“Embroider handkerchiefs?” Con suggested, raising an eyebrow.
She glowered. “I’m sure there will be nothing so mundane for you. You’ll be off chasing ghosts or seeking the meaning of Stonehenge.”
“Hopefully I’ll find an adventure or two to pass the time.” He grinned down at her. “Here, now, don’t look so grim.” He smoothed his finger over the lines of her frown, then moved to her cheek, lightly skimming a strand of hair that had escaped its pins.
Self-consciously Lilah moved to pin the stray curl back in place, but Con reached out to stop her. “No, don’t. It’s lovely like that.”
“Like what… A mess?” She forced a bit of tartness into her voice to combat the sudden heat his touch stirred in her.
“I doubt that anything about you is ever a mess.” Con stroked his thumb lazily along her cheekbone. His smile was still there, but different now, no longer amused but warm and inviting. There was a look in his eyes very like the one she’d seen in Alex when he gazed at Sabrina. Dark and a little hazy.
Lilah’s breath caught in her throat, and her thoughts went tumbling madly. She definitely should not have drunk that glass of champagne. Con leaned in. Lilah tilted her face up.
Masculine laughter burst from the ballroom as three men stepped out onto the terrace, chatting among themselves. Lilah froze. What was she doing? Con had been about to kiss her. And she had been about to let him. Worse yet, she had been about to kiss him back. “I—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t—goodbye.”
Lilah slipped around him and hurried back into the ballroom.
CHAPTER THREE
LILAH WAS BORED. She had spent the morning in the drawing room with her aunt, answering correspondence. There was little of that, as her father, to whom she had once written faithfully, had passed on two years ago, and it had been many years since she’d exchanged letters with his sister, Vesta. Sabrina, with whom she had maintained the longest, largest correspondence, was away on her honeymoon.
She missed Sabrina. Her friend had lived in London for