“Well enough. The poetry was a bit of a blunder. I chose Byron, and it seems she is not enamored with him.”
“Pity.” Her lips pursed into a tiny moue. “And the roses?”
“She’d have liked them more if the stems had not been cut. She prefers live plants to dead ones, it seems.” He hesitated. “But she was personable. Gracious. She gave me a book of poetry. Keats.”Ode to a Nightingale.
“Did she? That sounds promising indeed. You will call upon her again?”
“She invited me to do so. I told her that I would.” And really, there was no reason not to.
“When you do, you must ask her what events she plans to attend so that you may attend the same. I can hazard a few guesses until then,” she said. “Solong as I may have a peek at your most recent set of invitations. Have you decided to court her in earnest?”
“It would be imprudent to base such a decision upon nothing more than a dance and a single morning call.” But he had a good deal of time to arrive at a conclusion, since he could not court anyone in earnest before he was out of mourning.
Perhaps it would come by then, that bolt from the blue for which he had hoped. Perhaps there would come a time when those first tentative stirrings of a friendship blossomed into love, and he would look at Lady Cecily, and simplyknowit.
“Which is why you must spend more time in her company,” Charity said, and squeezed his arm, tilting her head toward the side of the room in silent indication that they should begin meandering in that direction. “Now you must learn the art of stealing a kiss at a crowded ball.”
“I hardly think it’s necessary here,” he said. “I’ve witnessed at least half a dozen people kissing in plain sight.”
A sparkling, scintillating laugh. “That means only that being caught will have no consequences here. Think of it like—like practice.” As they slipped off the dance floor once more into the thick of the milling crowd, she said, “There is an art to it, in slipping away unnoticed. It’s best done at the end of a dance, when you would naturally part ways. When we do, I will go to the refreshment table to fetch myself some champagne and then slip outside into the garden when the moment is right. You will keep watch—possibly affecting a bored expression to avert suspicion—and follow a few minutes behind me as soon as it is clear.”
“Is it really so simple as that?”
“Mm. The difficulty will be in persuading your intended to it in the first place. But I charge you with this: the next time you are at a ball, observe for yourself who slips out of the room at the end of a set, when the dancers are scrambling to find their partners for the next.” Her hand drifted free of his arm, and she flicked her fingertips at him in dismissal. “Now, away,” she instructed. “I’m off for champagne.”
And then Anthony was on his own, consigned to fading backward toward the nearest wall, watching as Charity wended her way through the crowd toward the refreshment table, where she selected a glass of champagne for herself, chatting idly as she sipped with those who lingered near.
When she had finished her drink, she let her gaze slide over the room for a moment until at last it alighted upon him, and with a delicate motion ofher wrist she lifted her empty glass in a subtle salute and made for the doors leading out into the night. In only a moment she had slipped through them and was gone from sight.
As instructed, he waited a few minutes more, lingering near the wall as he watched couples slide on and off the dance floor, watched numerous indiscretions play out without shame before his very eyes. The air had grown rather stifling, and he yanked at the material of his cravat, vaguely relieved that there was no one to judge him for it here.
Because no one was paying the least attention to him. In the chaos he was still invisible, and so when he’d judged it long enough, he skirted the wall toward the doors through which Charity had exited, following her out into the night, stripping off his gloves and stuffing them into his coat pocket as he went.
The garden was far from deserted. Past the hedgerows that lined the stones laid into the ground, a woman’s squeal split the night, and a man’s hearty chuckle followed soon after. A couple barreled past him, hand-in-hand, nearly stumbling in their efforts to lose themselves within the expertly manicured garden stretching out in the distance.
No one cared if they had been seen. No one cared if they had been heard. Cyprians’ balls were a fascinating study in wickedness, in the freedom there was to be found outside of the suffocating restraints ofTonsociety.
“Right on time. I do admire punctuality in a man.”
Anthony turned to his left and found Charity there, lingering in the shadows just out of sight of the nearest window. “We’re not alone,” he said.
“No. But there are still shades of privacy to be found. Come; I’ve scouted ahead.” She reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers as she led him round the side of the house, deeper into the thick of the shadows, and away from the various sounds of sex emanating from within the garden. A privacy that was not quite private, a dark hollow hidden away, obscured beneath the cover of an upstairs balcony.
A balcony where a woman sat perched upon the banister, her skirts hitched up to bare her legs, her head thrown back to the sky. From the light pouring through the windows above, Anthony could see a man’s hands clamped around her thighs, see his knees upon the ground as he knelt before her, his head obviously positioned between the splay of her legs. The particulars were hidden well enough behind the dripping flounces of the woman’s skirt, but the purpose—that had been clearenough.
Christ.
“Be glad I didn’t suggest heading upstairs instead,” Charity murmured as she pulled him deeper into the shadows coalescing beneath the balcony. “There’s always at least one room reserved for a proper orgy. We might have stumbled into it by mistake.”
“I’ve seen people fucking before,” he said. It had been an unavoidable aspect of life in the army, on a campaign. Hot-blooded young men had availed themselves of willing camp followers whenever the opportunity allowed, either because there had been no guarantee that they would live to see another day, or because they had needed some release of the simmering tension of battle. Quick couplings, with rather more speed than finesse, had been common—in all areas of the camp. Many officers’ wives had taken to shading their eyes whenever they roamed the camp, lest they risk the sight of some soldier’s bare arse at an inopportune moment. Probably Charity had seen enough of it herself.
But he had never seenthat. In open air, on a balcony, in plain view of anyone who fancied a look.
“Don’t concern yourself with it. They can’t see us from there,” she said, nestling into the crook of his arm. “And most of those present—well, they don’t much care whether or not they are seen. Or heard. They won’t be looking in this corner.” Her hands lighted upon his chest, stroking down the fine wool of his coat. “Now. Supposing you have successfully lured your intended out into a secluded corner of the garden, it is your chance to steal a kiss. Perhaps a bit more, if she allows. If you able to make her want more.”
Anthony tried to picture Lady Cecily here with him now, but his feeble imagination failed him. The sweet floral scent of Charity’s perfume consumed his senses as he bent his head, pressed his lips against her neck as he knew she liked, felt the softening of her body as she relaxed beneath the pressure.
“Mm,” she said on a soft hum. “Lovely. But a bit too familiar for a first kiss. She is a proper lady, so you must handle her gently. As if she is made of spun glass. Perhaps you place your hand at the small of her back and draw her closer.” She made an approving sound in her throat as he complied, and the warmth of her skin through the fine silk suggested she’d left off at least the stays again this evening. “Now is the prelude to a kiss. You might lean in close, whisper into her ear how beautiful she is—”
