Page 69 of A Perfect Gentleman

She spotted Graeme at last. She marveled, as she often did, that even in the same formal attire as all the other men he could look so much more handsome than any of them. He was standing, a glass of champagne in one hand, with his gaze fixed on Abby.

When their eyes met, a small, secret smile curved his lips. He raised his glass and sipped at it, watching her across the rim. Abby felt a flush rising in her face. She knew that look in Graeme’s eyes. She dropped her gaze demurely, then looked back up at him provocatively from beneath her lashes.

Graeme handed his glass to a passing waiter and started toward her. Abby turned back to the women, trying to suppress a smile of satisfaction. She watched from the corner of her eye as he wound his way through the crowd.

“My dear.”

“Why, Montclair,” she said, feigning surprise. “I didn’t see you.”

“Mm. I noticed.” His hand rested lightly on her waist, not enough to draw Lady Eugenia’s wrath for being unseemly, but enough to establish possession. Enough that Abby felt the heat of his skin through her dress. He greeted the other ladies, flashing a smile guaranteed to charm them. Behind Abby, out of sight, his thumb moved in a circle over her back. “I’ve come to steal my wife from you. She’s promised me a waltz.”

Neatly he cut her out from the group, guiding her forward with the faint pressure of his hand on her back. Abby cast a sideways glance up at him. “This isn’t the way to the dance floor.”

“Is it not?” he asked innocently. “How odd. Perhaps we should take a stroll, then.”

They wound through the crowd, emerging from the ballroom into the less noisy corridor.

“Where are we going?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know. Anywhere but there.” He bent his head to murmur in her ear. “Have I told you how much I like your dress?”

“Yes, but you may tell me again.” Her steps slowed, as did his.

“It makes the most delightful noise as you walk.”

Abby giggled. “Does it?”

“Yes.” She felt his breath against her ear. “I can’t think of anything but taking it off you.” He nipped her earlobe.

“Graeme . . . someone will see.” The warning slid out of her mouth in a purr.

“Shocking.” He slid his hand around to the front of her waist, spreading his fingers wide over her stomach. “Perhaps you should not have worn this dress then.”

“Would you like for me to take it off?”

Abby felt the surge of heat in his hand. “God, yes.”

He glanced around, then whisked her down another hallway. It was smaller and narrower, leading into the back of the house. Graeme pressed her up against the wall, one arm braced beside her head, and nuzzled her neck.

“I’ve been going mad the past hour, watching you walk, imagining that sound.”

“Taffeta.”

“Hmm?” His mouth was now occupied with exploring her ear.

“The dress. It’s made of taffeta. That’s what makes that rustling sound. And I was with you only twenty minutes ago, so it can’t have been an hour.”

“It felt like an hour. When can we go home?”

“Now, Graeme, you know we can’t leave yet.” Abby tilted her head to the side so that his lips could more easily roam her neck. She put her hands on his chest and slid them beneath his jacket, gliding up and down his ribs. “It would be rude.”

“I find I don’t care.” His hand curved around her breast, the thumb tracing the outline of her nipple beneath the cloth.

“What would your grandmother say?” Her breath hitched as his teeth grazed the cord of her neck.

“I think I don’t care about that, either.” He raised his head, gazing down into her face. His eyes were hot, his face flushed and slack. He pressed his body into hers even more firmly. “How the devil do you do this to me? I’m in the most indecent state.”

“I know. I can tell.” Abby slid her hand down between them, fingernails grazing the hard line beneath his trousers.