Page 7 of Souvenir of Love

Alix, Al-ix.The sharp syllables of the name seemed to echo the ticking of the ebony and gilt clock on the mantelpiece. Alix, the reason he was here in the room with Elizabeth. The reason he must move quickly.

“I am well aware that women are complex creatures.” He walked over to the fainting couch and drew the champagne out of its bed of ice. “And that is why they fascinate me.” The cork popped and bubbles escaped in a foamy hiss down the side of the bottle.

“Oh, no.” Elizabeth reached quickly for the glasses on the floor. “Let me help you.” Kneeling, she held the flutes up for him to fill.

He was beyond help. He poured the sparkling wine and glanced at the pearly face of the clock: twenty before one. In twenty minutes, he’d be beyond redemption.

He clinked his glass with hers.

“I don’t see Elizabeth.”Rafe Moreham searched the Dinsmores’ ballroom for what seemed like the hundredth time and frowned. “Has anyone any idea where she’s gone?”

“Good Lord, Moreham,” Cole said, gesturing at the crowded dance floor. “She’s probably caught up in the crush.” He shook his head, murmuring audibly enough for his friend to hear, “Next thing you know the poor fellow will want to post guards in the retiring rooms.”

“In the case of my half sister, it’s not an entirely bad idea. I knew I should have convinced Louisa to accompany us.”

“Rafe,” Alix said, shaking her head, “you know how Louisa abhors crowds and noise. She’d have gotten a megrim simply walking through the door.”

“The Dinsmores do have that effect on a number of people,” Cole added.

“Baiting Moreham like a bear when he’s worrying over Elizabeth will only get you swiped,” Phoebe advised, slipping her arm through her husband’s.

“Not to worry, love, I can best him with a sword. Of course,” he added lightly, “if he insists on pistols, that’s another thing entirely.”

Rafe tugged at the watch fob hanging beneath his green and gold embroidered waistcoat. “Quarter of one. I leave her unattended for less than a half hour and she disappears.”Blast the girl—why can’t she ever stay put?“You and Phoebe take the left side of the ballroom,” he directed tersely. “Alix and I shall search the right. If you don’t find her, look outside and see if she’s out on the veranda.”Then I’ll check the portrait gallery, he thought grimly.

“Most likely she’s stepped out for some air,” Alix said gently. “It’s beastly hot in here and, no doubt, she’s perishing in that velvet wrap you insisted she wear.”

“That gown was cut too low! It didn’t look a bit like the drawings the modiste showed me… It revealed far too much…” His words trailed off and he gestured vaguely in the region of his chest.

“Bosom,” Cole offered. “She’s of marriageable age, Moreham. That’s why you brought her out. As for her breasts…”

“That’s my little sister you’re talking about,” Rafe growled warningly.

“Try to think of them like teeth on a horse, men like to get a glimpse of ’em before they decide whether to buy.”

“I’ll be certain to remind you of that, Davenport, when you finally father a girl.”

“After four boys, I suppose it’s a possibility.”

“I think it’s time we split up and searched for Elizabeth,” Phoebe suggested, a shade too brightly.

James Dinsmore’seyes followed the dip of Elizabeth’s collarbone down the smooth slope of her breasts into the concealing wrap of her mantelet. “You must be warm, sitting so close to the fire.”

Flames from the hearth behind them reflected gold in her eyes, mingling with the natural copper and green. “I like the heat,” she said, even as she loosened the velvet around her waist, letting the fabric slide, ever so slightly, down her shoulders.

Then let me show you more.The words sprang with practiced ease into his mind, but would not leave his mouth. “Don’t you think you should return to the dance?”

“I’ve had enough of dancing,” she said, lowering her glass. “Haven’t you?”

“Elizabeth…your reputation…”

“Is safe. In a crush like this, I doubt anyone saw us leave.”

“In a crush like this, where people cannot move, they have little to do besides stand and watch…”

“And speaking of reputations, aren’t you supposed to be a notorious libertine?” Still seated on the floor, she wriggled closer to where he sat on the fainting couch. “I’ve never been kissed by a libertine.”

“And have you been kissed by a great many men?” He smoothed a stray chestnut curl from her forehead.