As the music slowed, then ceased, she looked at him assessingly. He released her and bowed, and she curtsied. When he raised her, she gripped his hand and met his eyes. “It’s grown rather stuffy in here. I believe the doors to the terrace are open. Shall we take a stroll out there?”
He glanced toward the terrace.
Through the uncurtained windows, they could see several couples ambling in the cooler air.
“I’m all for escaping this hothouse for a while.” He returned his gaze to her face. “But I know of a place where we can savor the fresh air without having to interact with others.” With a teasing light in his gray eyes, he quirked an eyebrow. “Of course, it’s not a spot of which our mothers would approve. Are you game?”
She laughed. “You’ve piqued my interest, my lord.” She waved toward the garden. “By all means, lead on.”
It wasn’t a simple matter for them to slip away without being noticed. By degrees, stopping and chatting along the way, they made for the far corner of the ballroom on the opposite side of the room from the terrace.
Intrigued, Melissa followed Julian’s lead, including in engaging with the others they were using as cover for their escape. In due course, they fetched up with their backs to the room’s corner and a group of guests in a circle before them, screening them from the rest of the room.
Then the musicians started playing the introduction for the next dance.
As everyone in their circle looked toward the dance floor, Julian caught Melissa’s eye and turned the other way, reached out and touched the paneling, and a concealed service door popped open. He whisked her through, followed, and drew the door shut. It clicked almost silently into place.
As far as Melissa had seen, none of the group they’d been conversing with had noticed their departure. “That was slick,” she murmured.
In the gloom, with the only light coming from a distant wall sconce, she saw Julian’s teeth flash in a grin. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
He grasped her hand and moved past her. “Come on.”
Of course, he knew where he was going. They stepped out of another door into a side corridor, and he swiftly drew her on. The sound of the ball faded as he turned down another hallway. “We’re in the other wing that gives onto the rear lawn.” He stopped by a door, opened it, and confidently led her through.
While he paused to shut the door, she looked around at what was clearly a summer parlor. On the opposite side of the room, double French doors gave access to a small balcony-cum-terrace.
Without needing more light than what seeped through the uncurtained windows, Julian moved past her, catching her hand and, avoiding the shadowy furniture, towing her across to the French doors.
They were locked and bolted, but the key was in the lock, and it was the work of a moment to set both doors wide, then he bowed and waved her forward. “Our own private terrace.”
She walked out onto a narrow balcony draped in shadows and silvery moonlight.
A few feet above ground level, the balcony overlooked one shorter side of the rectangular rear lawn while the ballroom terrace lined the longer side to their left. The two areas were separated by a section of the building and garden beds, and trees and leafy bushes shielded the balcony from the larger terrace and the ballroom beyond and muted the music and chatter emanating through the open ballroom doors.
The balcony was more open in the other direction. Looking that way, Melissa saw deeply shadowed garden beds backed by large trees and, above those, a section of the night sky, black as ink with a bright crescent moon riding high and stars twinkling through the darkness.
With the cool night air caressing her arms and shoulders, she placed her hands on the top of the stone balustrade and tipped her face up to the moon and stars. After the crush of the ballroom, with its noise and pressure, the peace on the small balcony held a magical appeal.
Julian joined her, and instinctively, she turned to him.
The moonlight etched his smile as he drew her to him, then he bent his head, and she slid her hands over his shoulders and let her lids fall as his lips found hers.
The kiss held confidence and certainty. They savored, sipped, supped, then he licked the seam of her lips, and she parted them, and his tongue found hers and stroked and lured.
Their slide into passion was gradual, yet inexorable. The compulsive power built and swelled until it became an aching tide. At some point, he’d drawn her fully into his arms; now, they tightened, and he crushed her to him. She sent her splayed fingers to tangle in his hair; they clenched and gripped as a whirlpool of desire, of heat and yearning, rose and swept her—swept them—away.
Hunger surged, steady and sure and unrelenting. Like a drumbeat in their blood, it pounded and drove them on.
His hands shifted, sliding over her silk-clad curves, tracing, sculpting, then one rose to close about her breast, and her breath hitched, then she tightened her grip on his hair and, through the kiss, urged him on.
He kneaded, slowly, possessively, then his artful fingers went roaming. His fingertips circled her aching nipple, then closed and delicately nipped, then more firmly squeezed.
She gasped, then brazenly pressed closer, boldly demanding, and he responded with experienced understanding, the play of his fingers sending her senses leaping, then reeling, until she felt battered by their insistent, persistentneed.
She ached to seize the moment, but…
On a gasp, she broke the kiss and, eyes closed, tipped back her head. “Oh Lord! We can’t.”
