Scandal At The Christmas Ball. Marguerite Kaye
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gave a gruff little laugh. ‘To distraction.’
‘And so this offer of a post with the Duke of Wellington...’
‘Is a godsend. So I ought to think.’ Drummond winced. ‘That sounds damned ungrateful, and I’m not. You can have no idea, Joanna, what this would mean to me.’ He hunched forward on the chair, his fingers curled into his knees. ‘I have served my country for most of my life. My father bought my first commission when I was fifteen. It was all I’d ever wanted.’
‘Then it isn’t surprising that you’re finding life as a country squire frustrating,’ Joanna said, leaning towards him, close enough to cover his hand with hers. ‘Even if I did not have to earn my bread, I think I would still want to teach. It gives my life a purpose.’
Drummond nodded. ‘A purpose. Aye, that is exactly what I need.’
‘Yet you have mixed feelings about the one which is on offer?’
‘It is not so much the position itself, it is...’ He thumped his thigh with his other hand. ‘One of the reasons I can’t bring myself to talk of it is because I know I’m being so contrary. I should be grateful that Wellington is willing to take a chance on me, that the Duke and Duchess of Brockmore are willing to open the right doors for me. It is more than I deserve, I know that.’ He stared down at his clenched fist, slowly, deliberately unfurling it, his mouth set, his eyes narrowed. ‘All the same, it sticks in my craw that I’m reduced to depending on others to do what I can’t do myself. But I have no other options, I’ve proved that beyond doubt.’ Drummond heaved a huge sigh, managed a very twisted smile. ‘It just feels so bloody unfair, but there it is. If I wish to end my seclusion, I must do so on their terms. And so here I am.’
‘Reluctantly willing,’ Joanna said, with a twisted smile of her own.
He laughed softly, getting to his feet and pulling her with him. ‘You’ve a way with words.’
‘I should hope so.’ She was still frowning. The wheels were turning furiously in that clever mind of hers. There were gaps, he supposed, in his explanation, and she’d find them quickly enough. He tried to smooth the furrow between his brows with his thumb.
She caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. ‘Don’t worry, I can see you’ve had a surfeit of weighty talk for tonight. I only wish I could help.’
‘Oh, there’s nothing to be done, it is all being done for me, providing I behave like a good wee laddie. You must be thinking I’m a right misery guts.’
‘I’m thinking no such thing.’
‘What is it then, that’s going on behind those big brown eyes of yours? Though they’re not actually brown.’ He trailed his fingers down her cheek to tangle in her hair, caught up loosely at the nape of her neck. ‘They’ve a sort of golden light to them, did you know that?’
‘No.’
She was staring, as one mesmerised, into his eyes. Was he imagining the passion smouldering there? ‘And your hair,’ Drummond said, gently easing her closer, sliding his arm around her waist. ‘I thought that was brown too, when I saw you first, hiding yourself away in the gloom, but brown is far too dull a colour to describe it. Chestnut maybe, or chocolate.’
Her laugh sounded breathy. ‘One cannot describe hair as chocolate.’
‘Yet it is permissible to describe lips as cherries?’
She shivered as he caressed the back of her neck with his thumb, and her shiver set his pulses racing. ‘Ridiculous,’ Joanna said, twining her arm around his neck, closing the gap between them, her skirts brushing his legs.
‘You’re right,’ Drummond said softly. ‘Not cherries, but rose petals.’ His lips touched hers. ‘Soft pink, warmed by the sun, with a promise...’ He groaned, pulling her tight up against him. ‘With a promise I cannot resist.’
This kiss was just as delightful as the first one, only more so, for their mouths moulded to each other without hesitation. Not a tasting kiss, but something more raw, more sensual. He closed his eyes, a frisson of desire shooting through him as the tip of his tongue touched hers, and angled his head to deepen the kiss. With a soft moan, she leaned into him, her breasts brushing against his chest, sending the blood rushing to his shaft.
When they broke apart they stared at each other, eyes clouded, cheeks flushed, lips parted, astonished by the passion which had swept them up. From the ballroom, he could hear the Duke ordering the servants to dim the lights. ‘Would you like to play with fire?’
‘I thought we just had.’
He laughed. ‘That is not what I meant. Come with me.’
Drummond opened the door, edging them both through the darkness to the crowd gathered by the flaming bowl of hot punch and raisins. He eased them to the front. ‘Do you trust me?’
Joanna eyed the flaming bowl. ‘Implicitly.’
‘Good.’ In the crush, no one noticed that he slid one hand around her waist, that she pressed herself back into his embrace, that he pressed his lips fleetingly to the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. ‘Now take off your glove, and do exactly as I say, and I’ll show you that it’s possible to play with fire, without getting your fingers burnt.’
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