Her resolve to flee to the safety of Ravello as soon as she possibly could was melting under the warmth in his sky-blue eyes. “But—”
“No buts,” countered Dominic. “Just think of poor Arthur and myself, condemned to a mournful Christmas with Bella all mopey because you’ve gone off and left her in the dismals again.” Glancing down into her sweet face, and seeing that desire was winning his battle, Dominic withheld the news of Bella’s condition. He would keep that as an ace up his sleeve, in case of future need. “You couldn’t possibly be so cruel.”
The music ceased, and for one silent moment they stood, eyes locked. Then, suddenly frightened she would see the strength of his desire in his eyes and be alarmed, Dominic smiled and broke the contact. He raised one long finger to caress a golden curl that hung by her ear. The finger, with a will of its own, moved on to trace the curve of her jaw.
At his touch, Georgiana shivered, pure pleasure tingling along already overstretched nerves.
Dominic’s eyes widened slightly. His gaze returned to her eyes, large and luminous under softly arching brows. Instinctively he sought to reassure her. “Besides,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper, “there’s no reason for you to run away.”
Georgiana’s tired brain accepted the statement, with all its layered meanings. She understood he knew she had no pressing need to return to Italy, but also, in her heart, heard his vow that she would have no cause to flee him.
“Say you’ll come. I promise you Christmas at Candlewick will be everything you could wish.” Dominic had not the slightest hesitation in making that vow. He had every intention of seeing it fulfilled.
Entranced, with his darkened eyes demanding only one answer, Georgiana found herself nodding.
A brilliant smile was her reward. Warmed through and through, she allowed him to settle her hand on his arm once more.
The other dancers were leaving the floor, heading for the supper-room. Dominic’s appetite had no interest in food, and, from her pensive expression, his Georgiana was not in the mood for lobster patties either. With an imperious gesture he commandeered a footman and sent him on a search for two glasses of champagne.
With the foresight of a man accustomed to success in the field, he had already made arrangments to allow him to appropriate much of the rest of Georgiana’s evening without raising any scandalised eyebrows. When the footman returned with their drinks, Dominic handed one to Georgiana and, taking the other himself, steered her away from the crowded supper-room towards the entrance to the ballroom.
With the fizz of champagne tickling her throat, Georgiana held her peace until it became clear he did indeed intend leading her out of the ballroom. Then she raised her face, her eyes meeting his in mute query.
Dominic smiled slowly, allowing just enough time for her to sense his thoughts and blush delightfully, before saying, “I thought you might like to see the Massingham art collection. It’s quite impressive, and includes, I’m told, a number of your father’s works.”
It was, of course, the perfect ploy. Georgiana was all eagerness to view her father’s protraits of the last generation of Massinghams. And no one would remark on their absence on such an errand, particularly
not when Dominic had had the forethought to request permission from Lord Massingham to show his sister’s protégée around the collection, dispersed about the gallery and the large library downstairs.
Delighted with their excursion, Georgiana relaxed entirely in the enjoyment of fine paintings, many of which she, with her tutored eye, could accurately place and appraise. To her surprise, Dominic proved to have a sound knowledge of the painters whose works were displayed. She eventually forced him to admit to an extended Grand Tour, which had included many of the galleries and great houses of Europe.
He did not press her to speak when they stood before one of her father’s portraits, but stood back and perceptively left her to her musings.
After long moments of studying again the brush strokes she knew so well, Georgiana sighed and moved on, coming up again level with Dominic, smiling tremulously at his now serious face with its gently questioning look. She allowed him to take her hand. He raised it and, to her surprise, brushed it gently with his lips before returning it to its accustomed place on his sleeve. Strangely comforted, recognising her need only by its relief, Georgiana felt herself curiously but totally at ease by the side of this man who more normally reduced her to quivering mindlessness.
With no need for words, they descended the staircase and crossed the chequered-tiled entrance hall to the library. The door stood open, glasses and a decanter on a tray bearing witness to the Massinghams’ care for their guests, all of whom had apparently succumbed to the lure of the lobster patties. The room was empty. Ushering Georgiana in, Dominic quietly closed the door behind them.
The walls boasted two Tintorettos, a Watteau and one Hartley—a small protrait of one of the sons of the house. It hung between two sets of long windows. Dominic appropriated a three-armed candelabrum from a sidetable and placed it on the sofa table beneath the portrait.
Head on one side, Georgiana studied the small picture. Dominic watched her. The flickering candlelight gleamed on her golden tresses, striking highlights deep in the silken mass, like flames in molten ore. His fingers itched to tangle in those glorious curls, to see her golden eyes widen in surprise, then darken with delight. He could not see the expression in those bewitching eyes, but her lips, warmly tinted and full, were pursed in thought, pouting prettily, all but begging to be kissed. Desperately he sought for some distracting thought. If he continued in this vein, he would never be able to resist the temptation posed by the deserted room.
“It’s one of his better works,” said Georgiana. She smiled up at her companion, so still and silent beside her. His face was a polite mask, telling her nothing of his thoughts, but his eyes, so intensely blue that they seemed, in the weak light, to be almost black, sent skittering shivers along her sensitised nerves. She found herself wishing she had not donned the latest of Fancon’s creations—a sheath of bronze satin which revealed rather more of her charms than she was presently comfortable with. She reminded herself to keep talking. “Papa always said that children were especially hard to do. Their features are so soft—almost unformed—that he claimed it was excessively easy to make them look vacuous.”
Dominic, with no interest in anything save the flesh-and-blood woman beside him, asked, “Are there any portraits of you?”
Alerted by the rasping huskiness of his voice, Georgiana moved slightly, ostensibly to gaze out of the uncurtained window, thereby increasing the distance between them. “Of course,” she replied, surprised at her even tone. “There are three at the villa in Ravello, and there was supposed to be one, done when I was very young, left in England.”
If Georgiana had seen the smile which curved Dominic’s lips as she stepped into the window embrasure, she might have recognised the unwisdom of the move. As it was, it was only when, after a moment’s silence had further stretched her nerves to tingling awareness, he closed the distance between them, coming to stand behind her, that she realised she was effectively trapped, unable to retreat, her exit blocked by his large body. And he was so close that she dared not turn around.
Dominic’s smile was devilish as he moved so that no more than an inch separated them. His hands came up to stroke her upper arms gently, where her ivory skin gleamed bare above her elbow-length gloves. He leant forward so that his lips were close by her ear, and whispered, “In that case, we’ll have to make a special effort to locate these mysterious paintings.” He grinned at the shiver that ran through her. “Perhaps, now that you own the Place, you should institute a search.”
“Mmm-mmm,” murmured Georgiana, her mind far from her father’s missing paintings. He was so close! Through the thin satin gown, she could feel the radiant heat of him. His breath wafted the soft curls by her ear, sending all sorts of feelings skittering through her body. The caressing hands, drifting so gently over her skin, had ignited a funny warm glow deep inside her, quite unlike any sensation she had previously experienced. She decided she liked it.
Caught up in her novel discoveries, Georgiana was unaware of her instinctive movement, of leaning back against the hard chest at her back, letting her coiffed head rest against one broad shoulder, exposing the long column of her throat and a creamy expanse of shoulders and breasts to the blue gaze of the man behind her.
Dominic stopped breathing. This wasn’t how he had planned it. Suddenly the rules of the game seemed to be shifting, leaving him confused, struggling to control a rampant desire which had somehow slipped its leash. His eyes flicked to hers, and found them half closed, heavy-lidded with the first stirrings of passion. Her lips, luscious and ripe, were slightly parted, her breathing swift and shallow. Full understanding of the effect he was having on her hit him with the force of a sledgehammer.
A muffled groan escaped him, then, unable to resist, he bent his head and touched his lips to where the pulse beat strongly beneath the soft skin of her throat.