Chapter 8: In which there is dancing. And it is romantic.
Later that evening
Serena and Viola had arranged for dancing and music in the great hall as that evening’s entertainment. The guests took turns performing on the pianoforte, as the local musicians who would have comprised the orchestra were all stranded by the snowstorm.
The room was dominated by the large evergreen tree, which had been embellished with candles and other decorations the ladies had made while gossiping and drinking tea all afternoon. Garlands of holly and other greenery decorated the windows. Mistletoe hung in the doorways.
Footmen milled about with spiced mulled wine and crisp, cold champagne. The guests were all merry and starry-eyed and singing and indulging in biscuits and mince pies. The younger guests—Bridget, Alexandra, and the young Viscount Newton—were making mischief under the mistletoe and sneaking sips of wine.
Grey paused, taking it all in, remembering when he had been one of those young ’uns. There was nothing like an English Christmas. He was deeply glad, down in his heart and soul, to be here enjoying it in such splendor, especially since he didn’t know when he’d be back to do so again.
But as wonderful as it all was, none of it compared with the softness and desire in Serena’s eyes after he had kissed her.
He had kissed her.
He had kissed the lovely and perfect Lady Serena.
He had hoped and dreamed of that moment for years. Even when his best friend was engaged to her, he dreamed of her. And especially when Frye revealed he’d broken the betrothal, Grey had hoped and dreamed. He had carried a torch for her that whole while.
If he hadn’t been leaving England, Grey didn’t know if he would have taken the chance. As it was, he hadn’t known how she would react—would she slap him? Or kiss him back? He just knew that he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try.
And when he thought she would give him a chance...well...there was only one thing to do.
Kiss the girl.
Every second had been better than the fantasy. The softness of her lips, the way she surprised him by yielding at first and then matching his passion, the way her fingers threaded through his hair, the breathy sigh of something like sweetness and contentment after.
And then she had gazed him with softness and desire, instead of her usual stormy and flinty gaze.
It was clear that she was almost as undone as he.
He wanted to get undone with her again.
Grey also badly wanted to know what she meant by “that is the second most interesting thing to have ever happened to me.”
The good thing about being snowed-in together in a castle was that he had a good chance of being able to find her and ask her.
He found her easily; unfortunately, she was dancing with Gosling, the lovesick swan who was currently proving to be quite the rival. Well.
Grey strode determinedly across the room, through the dancers.
“May I cut in.” It was not phrased as a question.
Gosling was startled by Grey’s impoliteness, but then took advantage of the opportunity to demonstrate his gentlemanliness and chivalry. Or maybe he didn’t fancy a fight. He acquiesced.
“I shall look forward to another dance with you later, Lady Serena.” He kissed her palm.
Grey took over.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t mind.”
They began to dance.
Of course, Serena was an excellent dancer. The result of the finest instructors, hours of practice, her innate grace. She was made for ballrooms.
“I’ve been dying to see you all evening,” he told her.
“We have spent the better portion of the day together.”
“There’s something I’ve been dying to ask you.”
“Dying, Mr. Jones? You seem to be in perfectly fine health to me.”
She was teasing him. Maybe even flirting with him. This was all the encouragement he needed.
“You said our kiss was the second most interesting thing to have happened to you. What was the first?”
“I would think you, Mr. Jones, should know.”
“Relieve my poor male brain of the struggle of figuring it out.”
“Being jilted, of course,” she said, with a rueful smile and his heart sank and he remembered what he’d said. “Nothing like being thrown over by a duke to give a girl an air of mystery and tragedy.”
“Ah. Right.”
Words he would never, ever live down. Words she would never, ever let him forget.
“Speaking of dukes, where is Frye? I am worried that he hasn’t arrived yet, especially in this weather. I confess I did imagine at least a dozen horrible things happening to him after he jilted me, but none involved him freezing to death in a blizzard, which I am beginning to worry about.”
“He’s a strong and resourceful man; I’m sure he has no need of our worry. Tell me more about the kind and lovely Lady Serena and her violent fantasies for her former betrothed.”
“Are you surprised? Just because I am well-mannered and demure, you think that I am not imagining all sorts of wicked things?”
“Please, please tell me more about your wicked thoughts.”
Grey tried to give her a charming, wicked grin and didn’t quite manage it. He and Lady Serena were conversing about something real, she was revealing another side of herself, one that she didn’t show at all, if ever, and he was the lucky man who got to hold her and waltz with her while it happened. His grasp on her tightened.
“When Frye jilted me, it was the first time the world did not conform to my expectations. It was an eye-opening experience, to say the least. But now I often wonder what else might not go according to plan. I cannot quite imagine another life for myself, other than wife, mother, and Lady of the Manor, but still...I wonder. The possibilities are endless.”
“And the kiss?”
“Of course you would ask about the kiss. I suppose you want to know if it turned my world upside down, made my heart burst, sparked a deep longing within...all that romantic stuff.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“What does it matter to you? A rake, man about town, about to leave for foreign lands perhaps never to return...What does one little kiss matter to you?”
He nearly stumbled.
What did one little kiss matter to him?
To start, it was hardly one little kiss. It was only something he’d fantasized about for years. He could have made some flippant remark about collecting kisses from English lasses before setting sail for foreign lands. But this was his moment to give her an idea of how much he had longed to kiss her and of what it meant to him when their lips touched.
Finally.
“It matters to me. And it wasn’t a little kiss,” he said, his voice low but firm. “A little kiss is quick, fleeting. A brief caress of lips, if that. It’s almost perfunctory, being so quick, because a real kiss makes you want to linger. Our kiss lingered. I don’t know about you, but time stopped when I kissed you. It could have been moments, or hours, or days, I know not, just that something so soul-consuming can’t have been little. What I do know is this: I’ve wanted to kiss you since forever. If it pleased you, I could kiss you forever.”
He had watched as a blush crept into her cheeks as he spoke. Was he embarrassing her? Or was that the flush of desire? Grey didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying all those things. So much for his training as a diplomat—there he was, laying all his cards on the table, leaving his heart open to a crushing attack.
“I...I don’t know what to say.”
“You could say that you feel the same way,” he said, because this was no time to retreat. Grey continued. “You could say that when our lips touched you felt the whole world spark to life. That time stopped as it did for me. That when it was over you felt like life might never be the same.”
“Until yesterday I despised you.”
“I know,” he said, with a faint sigh. “I deserved it. And today? Tonight?”
“I am confused.”
Confused. He would take confused. It was better than being despised, and a step in the direction toward love. He had less than a week before the conclusion of the house party to maybe make her love him.
“That, my dear, is the power of a kiss. It might make you fall in love with me.”