‘Was it? Why?’
He lowered his voice. ‘Just two people, a man, a woman, moving so closely together there’s barely any space between them. His arm holding her to him, her hand clasped in his. He can feel her breasts pressing against his chest, smell the shampoo in her hair. If he wanted to...’ He paused and looked directly into her upturned face, her mouth parted. ‘If he wanted to kiss her then all he has to do is bend his head.’
‘What if she didn’t want him to kiss her?’
‘Doesn’t she?’
‘Well...’ Her lips curved into an enticing smile. ‘Not in the middle of the dance floor. That really would cause a scandal. He would have to marry her if that happened.’
Alex blinked and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘In olden times I mean, silly. Don’t worry, that wasn’t a proposal.’
‘Of course not.’ But the words echoed round and round in his head. Then he would have to marry her.
* * *
The evening passed by in a quick blur as if someone had pressed fast forward. Alex lost Flora soon after their dance. Camilla whisked him away to meet, greet and act merry with the local dignitaries and influential industry movers and shakers while Flora was absorbed into a laughing group of revellers. The band switched to covers of popular songs and the dance floor was full.
But he could always find Flora; she stood out. Not just because of her height and her vibrant dress, but because she glowed as she moved across the floor.
He envied her even though he knew she deserved a carefree evening. He, on the other hand, was on his best behaviour, projecting the right image as he chatted to the VIPs Camilla needed him to impress.
Tomorrow it would all be over. This dazzling throng would pack away their finery ready for their trips home. He would return to Kent with Flora ready to resume their old friendship. Would it be enhanced by this week or tarnished? Maybe now they had given way to that old thrill of attraction they could move on—properly. She deserved a good man, someone to worship her, love her properly.
Alex folded his hands into tight fists, jealousy burning through him at the thought. How would he be able to stand there and smile as she held hands with another man, laughed up at another man, kissed another man?
There was only one way to bear it—to start thinking of his own future. A future beyond work and the need for success and recognition that had driven him so far, so fast. Was it so unthinkable that he too could have a long-term relationship? Maybe even marriage? Plenty of people had satisfactory, even successful lives together based on mutual respect and shared goals rather than passion and romance. Why not him?
He took another glass of kir royale from a passing waitress, mechanically nodding and smiling as the conversation around him turned to families and Christmas. His least favourite subject.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love spending the festive season with the Buckinghams. It wasn’t as if they ever treated him as anything but one of the family. They didn’t. He had been expected to muck in with the rest of them long before he’d started living there, peeling potatoes, setting the table, chopping logs for the fire—whatever was needed. Yes, they treated him like one of the family. But he wasn’t family.
His own family had cast him out and one day the Buckinghams would too. Not on purpose but time wouldn’t freeze. They wouldn’t all return to the small Kentish village for the festive season for ever. One day Minerva would want to host Christmas, or Horry, if he ever looked up from his scalpel long enough to have a relationship. Or Flora would. Would there be a place for him in the family then? In ten years? In twenty?
He downed his drink. The solution was simple. It was time he thought about creating his own place. His own traditions and memories. Somewhere he built so he couldn’t be cast out. The problem was he couldn’t imagine anyone beside him but Flora.
And she deserved more...
He took another glass from a passing tray. And he watched her, trying to ignore the unwanted leap his heart gave when she smiled over at him. A secret smile of complicity.
Yes, she deserved more. But would she get it?
The thing was, he decided as he finished one glass and swapped it for another, that good things didn’t always come to those who waited. After all, Flora hadn’t had much luck with her past boyfriends. Just because he was prepared to do the right thing and stand aside didn’t mean she would end up with someone who deserved her. It was all such a lottery. He could offer stability, space, affection. These were all good commodities in the trading place that was marriage. In return he would get a home. A place that was his.
It was a good trade.
Marriage.
Was he seriously thinking about it?
The room had darkened, the music quietening back to the classical waltzes so typical of Austria and the dance floor was now occupied by couples, the English swaying together awkwardly, the Austrians waltzing with the same grace he had admired on the ice rink and on the slopes.
Flora stood on the opposite side of the room, leaning against a chair and watching the dances, yearning on her face. Alex put his glass down and weaved his way over to her. He had drunk more than he usually allowed himself to; everything felt fuzzier, softer. Sweeter.
‘Hi, have you been released early?’
‘Time off for good behaviour. Having fun?’
‘You know what...’ she blinked at him, owlish in her solemn surprise ‘... I have. There are some really lovely people here.’
‘Dance with me.’ It wasn’t a request and she obediently took his proffered hand, allowing him to lead her back onto the floor. She sank in close, her hand splayed on his back, and he could feel where every part of her touched him as if they weren’t separated by layers of material but as if they were back in the ski lodge, learning each other anew.
Her head was on his shoulder, nestled in trustingly. They had trust. They had friendship.
They had passion.
It was a lot.
Alex stopped. ‘Flora?’
‘Mmm...why aren’t we dancing?’ She looked up at him, her mouth curved invitingly, and that was all he needed. Alex dipped his head and kissed her, a sweet, gentle caress.
She smiled up at him. ‘That was nice. What was that for?’
‘I wanted to.’ He began to move again, slowing the steps down so that they were out of time with the music, dancing to their own private beat, their lips finding each other again, a deeper, intoxicating kiss. He was dimly aware that they were still moving, that the violins were soaring, the lights were low, but none of it was real. Only they were real. Just the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her. He wanted to sink deeper and deeper, to be absorbed by her, into her.
Only she was real. She made him real.
‘Not here.’ Flora’s breath was ragged as she broke away. ‘Not like that.’
He
