“Because I’m trying to avoid becoming the subject of gossip, remember?” Marguerite rose clumsily to her feet. “Maybe this was a mistake. Will you take me home, please?”
Anthony followed her out of the ballroom and down the packed staircase to the equally crowded hall. He managed to catch her elbow and halt her flight, drawing her into the shadow of the stairwell near the servants’ door.
“Don’t go.”
She looked up at him, her expression distraught. “I have to. I can’t bear for people to look at me and whisper again; I simply can’t.”
“They won’t, I can promise you that. Everyone will be too busy gossiping about me.” He saw the doubt on her face and leaned in closer, rested one hand on the wall behind her head. “Please, Marguerite, we can do this. If we ignore the gossip, support each other and appear unaffected, it will soon die down, and we will both benefit from that.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”
He gave in to a strange desire to comfort her by kissing the top of her head. She smelled tantalizingly of violets and warm skin. Before his mind even registered his interest, his body was already reacting to her scent. At the touch of his lips, she went still and then raised her chin to look up at him.
He stared into her eyes, a dark blue similar to his own, wondered why it was suddenly so necessary to convince her to stay with him and why he would miss her if she changed her mind. She slowly licked her lips, and his cock hardened in a sudden aching rush.
“You didn’t kill your husband, Marguerite, so why should you continue to suffer the consequences?”
She looked away from him then, and he almost regretted his words, but he needed to get his unruly thoughts and body under control. And what better way to do that than by mentioning her husband, the man she still claimed to love so much that she hadn’t had sex since he died?
“It isn’t that simple, Anthony.”
“Nothing ever is, but you can’t keep running away.”
He took another breath, inhaling a hint of his own arousal along with the sweetness of her skin, and wondered if she was aware of his erect cock inches away from her stomach. Mentioning her husband hadn’t destroyed his interest one bit.
“Are you all right, Anthony?”
He blinked as she gazed at him, the concern in her eyes an added balm to the side of himself he’d ruthlessly repressed for the last few years.
“I want to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He watched her lips form a protest and edged closer so that his almost touched hers. “I just want to.”
He lowered his mouth and closed that final crucial space, carefully licking along the line of her lips, sighed when they opened to admit his questing tongue. He shivered as she kissed him back, the flick of her tongue sending a spear of heat straight to his groin.
Someone bumped into him from behind, and he raised his head, aware that they were surrounded by hundreds of people. Marguerite deserved better than this. Dammit, she deserved more than he could ever give her. He stepped away from her and bowed.
“I’m sorry, that was damned impertinent of me.”
She stared at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowed. Was she angry with him or aroused? It was hard to know with a woman.
“I’ll go and get your cloak, find Mrs. Jones and summon the carriage.”
She nodded but didn’t speak, and he sped off on his errand. Even as his mind sent out its warnings, his body craved more. He hoped his erection would subside by the time he got back to Marguerite.
Marguerite remained against the wall, one hand pressed to her hot cheek. She’d let Anthony Sokorvsky kiss her. Not only that, but she’d kissed him back. So much for her protestations of love for Justin. Anthony must think her fickle now. She swallowed hard. If he’d kissed her again, she would’ve responded, slid her hand into his thick black hair and held him captive while he plundered her mouth and drew her tight against his body.
He’d been hard; she’d felt the hot press of his cock through the thin silk of her dress and had wanted to rub herself against him and try to recreate the amazing sensations Justin had first aroused in her. Would it be different with another man? Anthony was much taller and broader than Justin, and he’d tasted differently too, more of lemon and lavender than Justin’s cigars and brandy.
God, what was she thinking? No wonder Anthony had backed away from her. He’d probably meant nothing by his kiss and here she was fantasizing about how he might perform in bed!
“Are you ready to leave, Marguerite? Mrs. Jones says she’ll be back later.”
Mentally berating her chaperone’s lack of concern for her safety, Marguerite managed to hide her blushes as Anthony helped her into her cloak. To her relief, he seemed even less inclined to talk than she was. She could only pray that the carriage ride home would be equally silent and uneventful.
5
“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me again,” Anthony said.
Marguerite bit her lip as he walked her back to their box after the interval. Mrs. Jones had decided to sit with one of her friends for the remainder of the performance, leaving her alone with Anthony in the Sokorvsky’s box.
“I think I overreacted last time.”
“It was, perhaps, understandable. No one likes to be gossiped about.”
“That is true, but I can’t continue to run away from everything, can I?”
He paused to open the door into the shared anteroom that connected the two adjoining boxes and looked down at her, his blue eyes glinting. “That’s exactly what I told myself when I met you.”
“That you should run away?”
His smile warmed her. “No, that I should take the unique opportunity you offered and make the best of it for both our sakes.”
“Such a diplomat.”
“A man in need of some honesty in his life could never succeed as a diplomat.” He took her hand and led her into the ornate box. “I’m just delighted that you wanted to see me after the way I behaved.”
She studied his expression, tried to guess whether her response to his kiss had repulsed or interested him. After almost a week of sleepless nights and vivid sexual dreams of Anthony, perhaps it was time to test the waters.
“Your behavior didn’t offend me.”
He paused before sitting in the chair beside her. “You didn’t object to being kissed?”
Marguerite studied his cravat rather than risk a glance at his face. “I thought I would, but it was…nice.”
“Nice?”
She looked up at him then, saw the male outrage on his face and fought a smile. “Yes.”
He inclined his head a half inch. “I’m so glad I rate such expansive praise.”
Marguerite sighed. “You only kissed me for a second. Would you prefer I lied and said it was earth-shattering?”
His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Of course I would.”
She looked out over the theater, focused her attention on the thick red velvet and gold curtains across the front of the stage. Strange that she felt comfortable confiding such an intimate thing to a man she barely knew.
“It is difficult for me to admit even that. After my husband died, I thought I would never kiss a man again.”
He