Chapter 17

At last, Dalton noticed Gemma return to the Pavilion to dance with Lord Neville once again. It turned his stomach to see her so often in the other man's arms, and he began to calculate the best point at which to take her as his own partner in the dance.

He suffered Celeste's pouts when he turned down her sly request for another round, and waited until the opportune moment. And then, he interrupted Lord Neville and Gemma's dance, whirling away with her in his arms, and her breath caught as she lifted bright eyes to his. Once again the air grew heavy around them, his heart thundering in his ears as the music rose to a new height. Her fingers lacing in his, he guided her into another spin, and as they circled each other, he could hear her hitched breath, her red lips that matched her dress so well falling open in a charming manner. He couldn't stifle the silly grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he found it impossible to release her as the dance came to a close. Her breath came quickly as she stared up at him. "Would you do me the honour of this next dance?" he whispered.

She nodded, her throat moving as she swallowed.

His mouth dry, he led her into place, and began again the procession down the pavilion, cool breezes cooling his fevered face. He ached when her hand slipped from his at each parting in the dance, until she was returned to him again several steps later. He had not danced with her for what seemed so long, though it had been but a week.

The rest of the world melted into the ether until at last it all came sweeping back in harsh relief as the music faded, and her aunt hastened over, grasping her by the arm. Dalton strode off the Pavillion towards the guided walks, the Vauxhall Garden wildernesses, for a reprieve from his clinging cousin.

Under a large tree, he paused and withdrew his pipe, lighting it, and began to draw on it, closing his eyes as a new calm washed over him. A soft drizzle began sputtering on and off, until it at last faded into a fine mist that hung over the city. The candle lights glowed far across the stretch of greenery, reaching him through the oncoming fog. It was late afternoon now, and it would be dark before long. The pale luster of twilight had just begun to wash over the hedgerows and bowers of roses, the towering trees and waving ferns rustling all around.

How long he lingered here, inhaling and exhaling deep puffs of tobacco smoke, Dalton couldn't be sure. But his eyes opened when a twig snapped nearby, and he turned to see Gemma herself, under a tree not several paces from his own. He nearly dropped his pipe, and pocketed it once he'd snuffed it out. She stepped towards him, and his heart leapt into his throat. "Miss Hayesworth," he choked.

"Lord Blakemore," she curtsied. "I did not mean to—"

"No, no. Please," he gestured, indicating that she join him under the shelter of the tree.

She did so, slow, careful. Her eyes were large in her flushed face.

"I did not realise you were out here," she rushed to explain. "Forgive me if I am intruding…"

He shook his head, smiling. "I am pleased to see you, Miss Hayesworth."

"You—you are?"

He huffed out a hoarse laugh. "I'm afraid it is the truth."

She folded her hands in front of her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I wished to express my considerable regard for bestowing me the book from your collection. It has meant more than I can say, to once again turn through its pages. I cannot begin to express just how…deeply I cherish it, how enraptured I am to have it in my hands again."

Dalton grinned. "And I am pleased to hear it." Without thinking, he took a step towards her, but she stiffened. He took another one, unable to breathe, and then he stopped. Oh, how he longed to hold her in his arms…

To his astonishment, she swayed towards him, until suddenly, in the shadows of the tree, he took her in his arms. She lifted her mouth to him, and if he stepped closer, he would be able to kiss her. But he kept himself rooted in place. He would not tarnish her by putting his hands upon her. He could not do that to her.

"Gemma!" A young woman called nearby. Gemma stepped back with a gasp.

"I must go," she whispered. Dalton swallowed thickly, nodding.

When she turned, he slipped into the shadows, pushing through the boughs to extricate himself from her magnetic draw.

***

Gemma paused and glanced back over her shoulder towards Dalton, only to find him vanished, like some sort of phantom. Rose grasped her arm, and she pulled her gaze away. "Miss Gemma, where did you go? Lady Kenway has been looking for you everywhere."

Gemma winced. Aunt Philippa would likely be annoyed with her for disappearing without a word, without Rose chaperoning. She inwardly braced herself for a tongue lashing from her aunt. Rose led her back to their dinner box, where Lord Neville and her aunt waited. A tense silence hung over the box as Gemma hurried in after Rose.

"Ah, there you are my dear. Come, you've scarcely touched your food!" Aunt Philippa smiled at her, though it was clear her smile was forced.

She seated herself beside her aunt, across from Lord Neville. Another awkward pause drawled onward until at last Aunt Philippa spoke. "You are rather flushed. I expect it is most crowded down on the walk."

"Quite. I needed some fresh air. Thank you for waiting for me."

"But of course, Miss Hayesworth," Lord Neville said cheerily, raising his glass.

Gemma nearly sighed aloud when Aunt Philippa began to chat with Lord Neville about the performances held this season in Vauxhall Garden. Lord Neville said something to her but she didn't hear until he repeated her name. "Miss Hayesworth?" He exchanged glances with Aunt Philippa, and Gemma began to twist the fabric of her skirt around her fingers beneath the table. She knew it was unladylike to fidget, but she couldn't help it. She glanced over at Rose, whose bowed head and worried glance told her that she'd just made a grave misstep, at least as far as her aunt was concerned.

"The fireworks shall begin soon," Aunt Philippa announced, peering up at the sky. "It is now well-past sunset. Any minute now, I believe."

And sure enough, a few minutes later they heard the shrill cry of the rockets as they launched into the dark sky, lighting it with red and gold sparks.

Gemma caught her breath, rising slightly and crossing to the balustrade that bordered the dinner box. Staring up at the sky, she watched, mesmerized as the sparks showered down upon the park. It was breathtaking to watch.

She could hear people gasping and exclaiming in the neighboring boxes, the whistle of the rockets as they flew towards the stars. The sparks looked like falling stars, and she gripped the balustrade, heart thundering in her chest.

It was over too soon, but just as the final rockets flared, she turned her head, glancing across the park and as the fireworks lit the sky, she locked eyes with Lord Blakemore.

He didn't smile, just gazed back, his expression unreadable. Gemma's heart lurched and she couldn't bring herself to look away. Instead, she cast him a slight smile, trying to catch her breath. As the last firework lit the sky and the park, she found he'd vanished once again.

"You are fond of fireworks?" Lord Neville joined her at the railing of the box, leaning out like she was, to see the full breadth of the sky.

"Very," Gemma told him in her politest voice. But the last thing she wanted right now was to make small talk with him. This evening couldn't end soon enough.

***

Dalton berated himself inwardly as he turned away from Gemma, where she stood peering out the window of her dinner box and strode back towards his own family's box. He didn't want to watch that musty fellow, Neville, attempt to wrest her into inane chatter. Still, it hardly excused his own travesty not half an hour before.

What possessed you, Blakemore?

He'd been overcome—that was the only reason he could give to explain how close he'd been to kissing her, on the darkened wilderness walk. Likely, he'd already done damage enough to her repute, if anyone took notice that they'd slipped away to that notorious side of the park.

Wincing, he paused under a tree, running a trembling hand over his face. He was certainly not immune to her her sweet guileless allure that somehow counterbalanced sharp intellect.

It was an irresistible combination.