Page 20 of How to Start a Scandal

‘Peonies,’ she supplied.

‘Yes, of course, the peonies.’ He gestured to the white flowers. ‘And the, uh...well, the...’

‘Daisies.’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I never realised you were a connoisseur of flowers, then.’ She nodded her head as though thoroughly impressed. ‘Do you have a favourite?’

Ah, now there was an answer he readily knew. ‘Violets.’

‘Flatterer,’ she chided. Yet, even as she did, her cheeks coloured with a pretty blush.

He’d had it in his mind to nudge their conversation towards the late-night carriage he’d seen, but then their eyes met and he thought better of it. There was something tender beneath her flirtation, something shy and perhaps wounded.

Suddenly, he recognised himself as the cad he was. No doubt she was still upset over his abrupt departure from the ball.

‘I apologise again for not dancing with you,’ he said earnestly.

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. ‘Well, I suppose you were eager to join your regiment,’ she replied in a halting stammer.

He paused, uncertain what the devil she was talking about.

Her cheeks went scarlet. ‘I thought you were referring to my debut.’ She touched her hands to her face as though she could press away the flush of embarrassment. ‘Forgive me.’

At her debut? He concentrated, driving his memory back six years, and recalled that yes, he had promised he’d dance with her first at her debut. Had he not?

‘You don’t remember.’ A look of pain flashed on her face and she quickly turned her head to the side to break the connection between them.

Without thinking, he reached over the narrow hedge and touched her cheek to turn her pretty face back towards him. It was a mistake to do so. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his touch, no doubt scented with a delicately feminine fragrance. The slight connection made him want to touch her more, to lift her face up to his and kiss her deeply.

He half-hoped she would draw away, but she did not.

She allowed the gesture, looking up at him in supplication, her stare brimming with hurt. A hurt he had placed there.

And the worst part about it was that he’d been too foxed at the time to remember what had even happened.

‘I was an idiot, as I’ve said.’ His thumb moved against her jaw, stroking the smoothness of her skin. God, she was sweet. Tempting. Perfect. ‘I’m not that man any more and never want to be again.’

She swallowed. ‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not,’ he countered. He had to make it right with her. ‘Will you dance with me?’

He wanted to regret the words once they had left his lips, but he could not. After all, it would only be one dance. To put things right between them once more.

She exhaled a nervous laugh. ‘Here?’

He laughed with her and dropped his hand from her lovely face lest he give in to the temptation to kiss her. ‘When the next opportunity presents itself. Most likely at Almack’s on Wednesday night.’

She gave him a shy smile that made him want to draw her towards him and wrap his arms around her. ‘Almack’s?’ She put a hand to her chest. ‘My, you have changed.’

He’d tried not to glance down at her bosom, but with her fingertips resting lightly on her fair skin, his gaze wandered of their own volition. Her breasts were high and round, supple skin rising over the modest neckline that made his imagination take over.

His stare lingered for only a second, a glorious, tantalising second, before he met her eyes once more.

‘My mother,’ he grumbled. But he stopped himself. He didn’t want to talk about his mother right then, or the fight they’d had over her planned discussion with the patronesses of Almack’s to get him permitted back in.

And though he shouldn’t admit it, he was exactly where he wanted to be: in the garden, alone with Violet, and wishing the hedge between them wasn’t there so he could pull her into his arms and kiss her. Even as he thought it, he leaned closer. The hedge dug into his waist and pressed at his stirring arousal.