The Regency Season: Passionate Promises. Ann Lethbridge

with her response to his touch was a wild beat in his blood, despite knowing women were good at pretending things they didn’t feel when it suited. This attraction was a positive sign for their marriage. There was much pleasure to be had between them. As long as he made sure not to let things go too far. Not get too out of control.

      Hope blossomed in his chest, a strangely warm and painful feeling that they might indeed have a future. He didn’t want to leave the shelter of this garden. He wanted to run his fingers through her glorious mane of glossy brown hair, rip her gown from her luscious curves. He could barely keep himself leashed. Which showed just how little honour he had left. There would be plenty of time for exploration and enjoyment when she was his wife.

      ‘We really should go, before someone misses us,’ she said, not moving an inch. She sighed. ‘We don’t want to set tongues wagging again.’

      Wagging tongues were the story of his life. He had told himself a long time ago that he didn’t care. But he didn’t want her hurt by their vicious gossip. Neither did he want to break his vow by making the mistake of not being fully prepared. ‘Yes, we should.’ He kissed her forehead and linked his arm through hers, feeling for the first time in a long time a sense of hope.

      They strolled back through the moonlight in comfortable silence, until they reached the dazzle of lights strung through trees.

      Other couples were also walking around the fountains and along the gravel paths amid the shrubs. The air was redolent with the scent of roses. But all he could smell was her fragrance. Jasmine and summer sun. He wanted to pull her close, press his nose to her skin and inhale.

      ‘Shall we return to the ballroom?’ he asked.

      ‘A good idea.’ So matter-of-fact. So calm. Certainly she didn’t feel as he did. The formal touch of her hand on his sleeve was so light he could barely feel the weight of it, though it burnt him like a brand. Whereas another woman might be blushing and fluttering after that kiss, she seemed unaffected by what had happened between them.

      He liked it that she wasn’t missish or prone to giggles.

      He guided her up the terrace steps and into the ballroom, greeting those they passed. There were no suspicious stares but there was curiosity. It wouldn’t take much for the old gossip about him to surface. To send them over the edge of propriety and out onto the fringes of society for evermore. He didn’t want that for her, he realised with a protective surge.

      He would be more careful in future. More in control. More like himself.

      The hope inside him died. He wanted her too much. Once they were married, the wooing would have to come to an end.

      A swirl of colour and glitter surrounded them. A girl in white stared at them. A tall girl. Rather thin. Right. Sparshott’s daughter, Priscilla. When she realised she’d been seen, she hurried forward and dipped a curtsey.

      ‘Your Grace,’ she said, so softly he could barely hear her above the noise of the orchestra and the chatter. She raised her gaze to his and it quickly skittered away. Guilt. She should feel guilty.

      He bowed. ‘Lady Priscilla.’

      She offered Minette a smile. ‘I did not get a chance to offer you my congratulations the other night. May I do so now?’

      Freddy was surprised when Minette smiled back, a gentle sort of forgiving smile. ‘You may.’ She glanced up at Freddy. ‘Lady Priscilla and I have quite a bit to catch up on. Would you mind fetching me a glass of lemonade?’

      The girl looked intensely pleased, and her face turned a bright raspberry shade. Good heavens, the girl was painfully shy. And he’d been sent off on an errand. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

      Each woman dipped a small curtsey and immediately put their heads together as if trading secrets. Now what was his bride-to-be plotting? He hoped like hell it didn’t involve him. He had plots of his own.

      * * *

      ‘I don’t think His Grace likes me very much,’ Priscilla said, watching Freddy walk away.

      ‘Don’t worry about Falconwood,’ Minette said. ‘He’s like that with everyone.’

      ‘Everyone except you.’ Priscilla blushed. ‘I am truly am sorry for my gaffe the other evening. I hope I haven’t ruined your life. Father says I am the stupidest girl imaginable for always putting my foot in my mouth.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Minette couldn’t believe a father would be so cruel. ‘If he and I hadn’t been so stupid as to meet privately, nothing would have happened.’

      ‘I should not have followed, but you looked so worried I really thought you might need help. It was the worst possible luck, my father coming along right then.’

      Priscilla was clearly bent on blaming herself. ‘It is water down the river.’ Minette patted her arm.

      ‘Under the bridge, I think you mean.’

      ‘Do I? These English sayings are very obscure.’

      Priscilla laughed. ‘What is done is done, but you know if there is anything I can ever do to make amends, you will let me know, won’t you?’

      How surprising. It seemed she had indeed made a friend. ‘Thank you. I will remember.’

      Priscilla cringed a little. ‘His Grace is returning. I should go.’ The girl pressed her hand and scurried away.

      She wasn’t surprised at the other woman’s cowardice. The expression on Freddy’s face wasn’t the friendliest. ‘Do you have to look quite so, quite so...?’

      ‘Quite so what?’ He handed her the lemonade.

      ‘Quite so sternly aristocratic. Looks of that sort would get your head cut off in France.’

      He recoiled. Then his mouth quirked in a tiny smile for the second time that evening. Again her heart gave an odd unwelcome lurch. Hopefully he wasn’t planning on doing it too often, because she wasn’t sure she would be able to resist him.

      ‘Is that what you were plotting?’

      ‘We haven’t been plotting anything, either before or now. This is the first time we have really spoken.’

      ‘You seemed on pretty friendly terms.’

      He was teasing. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he had already schooled his face into its normal stern aloofness.

      He hadn’t been aloof outside in the kitchen garden in the dark. Her body heated, as did her face. Blushing. How strange. She hadn’t felt the slightest bit embarrassed under the moonlight. What on earth was wrong with her?

      Freddy’s expression darkened. ‘Here comes that idiot Granby.’

      Nom d’un nom. If she didn’t know better she really might have thought he was jealous. No doubt it was all part of the act to assure the ton they were really a couple. She turned in the direction he was looking. It was indeed Granby sidling up to them, his expression hot and bothered. He cleared his throat. ‘Good evening, Your Grace, Miss Rideau.’

      ‘Granby,’ Freddy said repressively.

      ‘Lieutenant.’ Minette gave him a bright smile and dipped her knees.

      ‘I wanted to beg His Grace’s pardon. Thought it over. No excuse.’

      Freddy’s expression didn’t ease, but his voice was not unkind when he replied, ‘I think the whole incident is better forgotten, don’t you?’

      More fiery blushes. ‘Very good of you, Your Grace.’ He tugged at the edge of his jacket. ‘Wondered if you’d care to dance this next set, Miss Rideau?’

      She glanced up at Freddy. His face remained impassive, no indication that he cared if she danced with Granby.

      ‘Thank you, Lieutenant, I would like that.’ She put her hand on his arm.

      ‘I