He blinked at the unbidden, heated thought and forced a smile as she reached him. “My lady.”
“Good sir,” she said, laughing.
“Your gathering seems a success,” he said as they both took in the ballroom scene.
She shrugged. “I suppose it is, yes. Not that it is hard to make it so.”
“A dozen hostesses in London who wish for half your style and flair would argue that point.” He turned toward her. “Your father is lucky to have you as his representative.”
A tinge of a blush warmed the apples of her cheeks to a fetching pink, and she dipped her head. Henry had rarely seen Evangeline blush, perhaps never now that he tried to find a previous memory of it. It was lovely to see her thus. To see her just a tiny bit vulnerable when she normally wore her confidence like knight’s armor.
“I am glad you came,” she said. “You were the only person I truly wished to see tonight.”
He swallowed. “Me? Are you certain you are thinking of the right Henry Killam?”
She didn’t laugh at the joke. “I am certainly only thinking of you.” She broke the heaviness of the moment by looking around with a deep sigh. “You do not know how tired of this room I am. Will you save me from my duties for a while and take me on a turn about the house? I need a moment with a friend.”
Henry drew back. Evangeline had never asked to be alone with him, and here in the span of a few days she had manipulated conditions so they could be alone not once but twice. She wanted something, that much was clear. And since he could not determine it through pure deduction after reviewing the facts, he had only one choice as a scientist: to investigate the situation, to seek evidence directly. To go with her wherever she led and see what would happen next.
Something he most certainly looked forward to doing, perhaps more than he should. But he didn’t argue with himself any further. He merely offered his elbow, thrilling when her warm fingers curled into the crook of it, and led her from the room as she had required.
Henry was very quiet as they strolled through the winding halls of her father’s home. It wasn’t that Evangeline had expected him to chatter on. It had never been his way to fill the silences with empty platitudes. But there was something different about this silence. It had a heaviness that had never existed between them. An anticipation of something she hoped he felt as strongly as she did.
She guided them to the music room and, with a gentle tug, led him inside. The room was dimly lit by a dying fire, as the servants probably hadn’t expected anyone to come in here during the party. Which was why she had selected this room for her…well, it wasn’t exactly a plan. She wanted it to be a plan, but she hadn’t much idea of how to do what she wanted to do when it came down to it. If Henry had been a rake, well, that would have been easy. A little batting of the eyes and he would have had her against a wall.
But Henry wasn’t that kind of man. He wouldn’t sweep her away, so she had to do the prodding and poking to get them there.
“This is a lovely room,” he said, pulling away from her hand and pacing the large space. “All the holly garland and gold makes it feel very much like Christmastide in here. And I haven’t heard you play in an age.”
“I don’t do it to exhibit quite as much as I once did,” she admitted, moving to place her fingers gently on the keys of her pianoforte. There was a soft ding of the note in the air.
“I’ve always like to hear you play,” he said, watching her. She felt him watching even when she turned away. “You always capture the mathematics of any piece perfectly.”
She laughed even though she suddenly felt unsteady. “You think of music as mathematics?”
“It’s all it is. A series of equations.” He cleared his throat and stepped closer.
“So is dancing, but you do not do that very often,” she whispered, tracking him as he stopped at the edge of her piano and placed hand along the edge. His fingers were close to hers now. Almost close enough to feel their warmth as she had in the parlor the other day.
“The mathematics of dancing are complicated by the gangly nature of one’s legs,” he said. He smiled, but there was a hesitance there. “And the ability, or lack thereof, to move one’s hips.”
“I have danced with you before, Henry Killam,” she said, her voice cracking in the most shocking manner. “And your hips move fine.”
It was a scandalous thing to say, filled with a double entendre someone like her was never supposed to use. And yet Henry didn’t step away. Henry didn’t move at all, except to extend his fingers along the piano top and gently, carefully, brush them over hers.
Electric awareness jolted from that tiny point of contact and rushed through each and every nerve in her body. Pulses settled in the most sensitive places. Places she had touched before—she knew they could bring pleasure. Now she felt echoes of that pleasure with just his hand grazing hers.
“Evangeline,” he whispered, the timber of his voice rougher, lower, more dangerous, even though she wanted him to lose control. Didn’t she? Wasn’t that what this entire performance was all about?
She couldn’t quite remember now that they were standing half a foot from each other, now that he was touching her, now that she was staring up into green eyes behind glinting spectacles.
She inched farther into his space and lifted a shaking hand to rest on his chest. She felt the thud of his heartbeat against her palm, the cadence wild. She pulled the other hand free from his on the piano and lifted it to touch his cheek, then wound it around the back of his neck.
“Henry,” she murmured back as she lowered his head to hers and let their lips meet.
She’d never kissed a man before. It wasn’t that the opportunity hadn’t arisen in the past. But there had never been anyone she wanted to kiss. This was not what she expected when she pictured the act, with a fair amount of disdain.
Henry’s lips were soft against hers, but firm and warm. The pressure was uncommonly pleasant, and she leaned closer so she could feel more of it.
Henry made a soft sound against her mouth, and suddenly his arms closed around her. He tugged her flush to his body, molding all her curves to the surprisingly hard and unyielding planes of him, and the kiss’s intensity increased tenfold. He angled his head and his mouth…opened.
She gasped at the unexpected warm heat and his tongue breeched her lips. He tasted good, so good, a hint of sherry, a taste of mint, something warm and needy and mesmerizing. She should have pulled away then, teasing him, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, she let her tongue meet his and the room shrank into them, growing hot and close as she found herself lifting to be closer to him. As his hands dug into her back to bring her nearer still. As she felt the hardness of his body between them and realized, with a shock of awareness, that this was that thing she’d read about in naughty books she was not to read, but did anyway so that she would understand what exactly would be expected of her in a foggy future where she would be someone’s bride.
Never had those descriptions seemed enjoyable until now when their bodies were grinding against each other and the world was fading away until nothing mattered but Henry and what he would do next.
And in that moment where it felt like she would burst from anticipation, he suddenly dragged his mouth from hers. He released her, steadying her by the elbow gently before he paced away, running a hand through his already unkempt locks.