foolish, disastrous, she told herself. She could not go on in this headstrong, impulsive way.
By the time she reached home, she had made up her mind that she would not go to Granny Rose’s next Sunday, however much she wanted to. It would be better all around if she did not let anything develop between them.
NICOLA MAINTAINED HER RESOLVE all week. She tried everything she could think of to get out of going to the Earl’s ball, but her mother was adamant, and Nicola realized that nothing short of a serious illness was going to be enough for her mother to let her stay home. Deborah, a year younger and not yet allowed to go to adult parties, offered to take Nicola’s place, then retired to sulk in her room when her mother told her shortly not to be silly.
Finally Nicola agreed to go, telling herself that it was unlikely that she would even see Gil, let alone come face-to-face with him. Yet she found herself, unreasonably, taking special precautions with her dress and hair. She was aware of a drop of disappointment in her stomach when their carriage pulled up in front of the house and a footman came to open the door. A quick glance around showed her no sign of any groom, only footmen leaping to open carriage doors and help the passengers down.
Nicola went inside, telling herself that it was all for the best. It would be kinder for both of them if she did not see him.
The party itself was the usual fare here in the country—a few guests of the Earl’s down from London, the local gentry, dazzled at rubbing elbows with the sophisticated members of the Ton, and the Buckminsters, Lady Falcourt and herself. Lady Buckminster, of course, was soon engrossed in a deep discussion of bloodlines with an equally horse-mad fellow who made up one of the party rusticating at Tidings. Dutifully Nicola danced the opening quadrille with the Squire, and as it was a long dance and the Squire not much of a conversationalist, it was a rather boring half hour. Exmoor claimed her first waltz, and she acquiesced; she could hardly refuse the host. She could see her mother’s eyes gleaming, for it was a distinct honor and an indication of interest on his part.
Her dance card was soon full, but rather than enjoying the evening, Nicola was acutely bored. The men from the city seemed pretentious and condescending, the local boys unusually callow and tongue-tied. She wished she were back home with Deborah, playing some silly child’s game or reading a novel. As the evening progressed, the room grew stifling, despite the open windows, and Nicola seized the excuse of the heat to slip out onto the terrace.
She made her way quietly into the side garden, hoping that her mother had not noticed her escape, and popped around the corner of a hedge so that she was out of sight of the terrace. She could still hear the music from the ballroom, even though she could no longer see the house, and she hummed as she strolled along, the moonlight strong enough to navigate the beaten dirt path.
At a crossroads, she turned toward the right. A man spoke from behind her, “Wrong way, miss.”
Nicola gasped and whirled around, her heart beating rapidly. Gil stood a few feet away from her in the middle of the path she would have taken if she had turned left instead. “Gil.”
She could not keep the note of pleasure from her voice. “I didn’t expect to see you,” she continued, starting slowly toward him.
“Ye’ll break my heart,” he teased. “I was thinkin’ ye were out here lookin’ for me.”
“I had no idea you’d be here,” Nicola responded, choosing not to notice that she had not denied the idea.
“Surely you didn’t think I’d let the evening go by without seein’ ye.”
“I didn’t know.”
Less than a foot away from him, she stopped. The moonlight silvered his face, throwing his long-lashed eyes into shadow. He smiled, showing even white teeth, and it occurred to Nicola that there wasn’t a man at the ball who could compare to him in looks. He was dressed in his best, black hair combed back, and there was a gleam in his dark eyes that set her pulse pounding.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she said breathlessly, looking up into his eyes. “Someone might come out at any minute.”
His lips curved. “We’re safe here.”
The orchestra inside struck up a waltz, and Gil swept a grand bow to her. “Would you care to dance, my lady?”
Nicola giggled. It was wonderfully, delightfully absurd. She bent deep in a curtsey. “I would love to, sir.”
He held out his hand, and she took it, and he pulled her into his arms. She did not know how he had learned to waltz; it was a dance of the aristocracy, with most of the common folk being content with jigs and country dances. But he followed the steps correctly, if a little clumsily, and somehow moving in his arms was much more wonderful than dancing with any other man, no matter how skillfully he waltzed. Nicola laughed with sheer pleasure as they swooped and dipped across the lawn, dodging flowers and bushes and twirling around hedges.
A lively country dance followed, and by the time it was over, the two of them collapsed on the nearest stone bench, out of breath and laughing with the sheer pleasure of the moment.
“You know, my gran warned me away from you,” Gil said lightly.
“Warned you?” Nicola turned to look at him, surprised and a little hurt. “But why? Granny Rose—I mean, I thought she liked me.”
“Oh, she does. She says you’re a wonderful young lady—smart and good and eager to learn.”
“Then why? I don’t understand….”
“She says we don’t belong together. It’s dangerous, moving outside your class like that…wanting something—or someone—you can never have.”
“But who is to say that you can’t have it?” Nicola protested.
At her words, something sparked deep in his eyes, something hot and primitive. He crooked his finger and put it under her chin, tilting up her face to his. Nicola’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that she ought to flee, but nothing could have made her leave this spot at that moment. His face loomed closer, and then his lips were touching hers, soft at first, then harder and deeper. His hands settled on her shoulders, steadying her more than holding her, but it was Nicola who moved closer, curling her fingers into his jacket, pressing up into him, astounded by the pleasure of his mouth.
At her response, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him, and his mouth claimed hers. They clung together, lost in the moonlit night, heat mingling with heat, bodies alive with sensations, hearts pounding so loudly they could not distinguish one from the other. It was a moment that seemed to hang in eternity, endlessly breathtaking.
At last Gil raised his head and looked into her eyes, his own dark orbs flaming. And Nicola knew at that moment that none of the conventions mattered—nor their stations in life or their families’ wishes or Society’s shocked exclamations. There was only one man in the world for her.
“I love you,” Nicola breathed.
CHAPTER THREE
1815
TEARS GLITTERED IN NICOLA’S EYES, turning the coals of the fire into a red, wavering curtain. She would never love like that again.
She sat up, wiping the tears
