The Silver Coin (13 page)

“I suppose so.” Breanna wondered what his amusement was based on: was it her nerves, her excessive thirst, or that stupid remark she’d made about having him?

She’d have to find out in order to make the appropriate amends.

“My lord,” she began, grateful that the area they were standing in was unoccupied. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself in front of all her guests. And as it was, she could already feel the warming effects of the punch drifting through her, making her question whether she’d underestimated the amount of liquor that was mixed in with the fruit.

“Royce,” he amended.

Breanna’s head snapped up. “Pardon me?”

“My name. Mygivenname. It’s Royce. Not my lord. Nor Lord Royce. Just Royce.”

She studied his face: the bold features and hard, square jaw, the thick raven-black hair and broad forehead over the twin black slashes of brows and midnight blue eyes. And the decisive mouth that was used to issuing orders—and having them obeyed.

Her gaze lingered there, studying the subtle curve of his hps.

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him God help her, she was foxed. She was also still staring.

“My name,” he repeated, those incredible lips moving ever so slightly, his deep baritone huskier than it had been before. “It’s Royce.”

She tore her gaze from his mouth, met his hooded stare. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to address you that way.”

He leaned negligently against the wall, regarding her with a kind of lazy curiosity. “Why not?”

“We scarcely know each other.”

“Anastasia calls me by my given name. And she knows me precisely the same amount of time as you do.”

That comparison elicited a fond smile. “That’s Stacie. She’s far more unconventional than I.”

“I think you’re more unconventional than you realize—more unconventional than that conventional veneer of yours allows.”

Breanna’s eyes widened, and she gaped at him silently.

“Ah, a waltz,” Royce commented as the strings began to play. He straightened, took her near-empty glass, and set it down on a tray. “May I have the honor of sharing it with you? Once you’ve recovered from your shock, that is.” He extended his hand, his gaze darkening, looking directly into hers. “By the way, I don’t blame all these men for fighting over you. You’re breathtaking.”

Instinctively, Breanna placed her fingers in his. “Yes,” she managed, first answering his request for a dance. “And thank you.”

“Splendid. And you’re welcome.” He guided her onto the dance floor, his fingers burning through the fine material of her glove—and her gown—as he led her into the waltz.

For the first time Breanna understood why some people considered this dance to be scandalous. Then again, most people hadn’t drunk three glasses of Regent’s punch on an empty stomach before attempting it. Still, it was unlike any dance she’d shared with any man this evening. The steps, the motions, even the proximity—those were all the same. And yet…

“So far, so good,” Royce murmured.

Breanna blinked, finding it suddenly difficult to focus on his face. “What’s so far, so good?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Your party. The fact that there haven’t been any unwelcome guests all day, nor thus far tonight.”

“Oh.” She nodded, wishing the punch had done more to eliminate the knot of dread this topic incited.

Royce seemed to sense her distress, because he frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up this subject. You’ve been living with it too much as it is.”

“That’s your job. Besides, it’s not something I can forget.”

“Maybe you should—at least for a while.” Abruptly, Royce halted capturing Breanna’s elbow and drawing her off the dance floor.

She blinked, wishing she weren’t so dizzy and puzzling over how two and a half glasses of punch could wreak so much havoc. “I felt fine before,” she announced.

“It takes time for the spirits to hit.” Royce guided her forward, and she felt a blast of cold air strike her face and arms. Abruptly, she realized they were standing just outside the French doors. “Come with me,” he urged. He led her onto the balcony, nodding as they passed the guards. “Lady Breanna and I are going to get some air,” he said quietly. “We won’t go far. And I have my pistol.”

“Fine, my lord. We’re here,” replied one guard, a big, burly fellow whose size alone was intimidating.

“Where are we going?” Breanna asked, stumbling a bit and wrapping her arms about herself as her teeth began to chatter. “It’s cold.”

“I know. The cold air is good for you.” Even as he spoke, Royce was shrugging out of his coat. He wrapped it around her, covering her bare arms and enveloping her in a layer of woolen warmth. “Better?”

“Yes.” She felt odd, like she was floating, gloriously numb to the anguish of the past weeks. “I think I’ll drink more often,” she announced.

Royce chuckled, snaked an arm about her waist as she teetered on her feet. “I wouldn’t suggest it. You don’t hold your spirits too well.”

“I guess not. A bit of fruit punch and look what happens to me.”

“Fruit punch?” Royce echoed dryly. “There are several bottles each of Madeira and champagne in Regent’s punch, not to mention a pint of rum, and a quart of brandy. No wonder you’re foxed.” He scanned the area, led her over to a small rock garden that was lined with shrubs—enough to ensure privacy but not isolation—and came complete with a small, outdoor bench. “Sit.”

“All right.” Breanna sank down, leaning her head back and staring up at the sky. “The stars are waltzing.”

“Really? Who’s leading?”

She didn’t smile. “You’re mocking me. I’m not too foxed to realize that. I suppose I can’t blame you.”

“I’m not mocking you.” He stood beside the bench, hands clasped behind him as he stared off into the darkness. “I’m teasing you. I want you to smile.”

“I do smile.”

“Not often enough.”

She twisted around to look up at him. “And how would you know that?”

“The same way I know you’re less conventional than you think. And the same way I know you need relief from the worry you’ve been carrying around.”

“Oh.” Breanna’s heart gave another of those little skips, and she wondered if Royce realized how excruciatingly charismatic he was, how powerful an effect he had on women.

“Royce?” she tried, finding it wasn’t so hard to say his name after all.

“Hmm?” His smile told her he approved.

“Margaret wants you.” She blurted it out without preliminaries or warning—even to herself. “She asked me to put in a good word for her.” Pausing, Breanna’s brow furrowed in thought. “I should do that.”

Another chuckle, this one husky. “Should you?”

“Yes. And quickly. Because Margaret has a great deal of competition. Apparently, dozens—scores of women—want you.” Even as she spoke, Breanna wondered who in God’s name was saying those things. “Are you one of them?”

Royce’s question, uttered with a fierce but quiet intensity, penetrated her clouded mind, made it swim even more. Her head dropped back against the bench-top, and she stared blindly into the night, struggling to regain her senses. “Your eyes are that color,” she noted in a whisper. “That same midnight blue. Almost black. Ebony with a sharp tinge of color—color that makes them all the more riveting. It’s hard to look away from eyes like that”

“Breanna.” He was standing in front of her. He caught her arms, drew her to her feet, and tilted up her chin with his forefinger. “Answer my question.”

She wet her lips, felt the coat he’d enveloped her in slip from her shoulders, topple to the bench.

Odd, but she was no longer cold.

“If s not fair of you to ask me that,” she murmured. “Not when I’m foxed.”

“You’d never answer me if you weren’t.”

She couldn’t deny the truth of that. “You’re right.” Stunned, she watched her own gloved fingers reach up, trace the hard curve of his jaw. “I wouldn’t answer it I also wouldn’t do this.” Her fingertips brushed his lips as she’d longed to do before, felt their warmth even through her glove. “Let me ask you the same question, my lord.”

“Royce,” he corrected her, his voice even huskier than it had been before.”A nd go ahead.”

“Royce. Do you want me?”

Sparks guttered in his midnight eyes. “Yes, I want you. You have no idea how badly. More than I realized. Much more than I should.” He turned his lips into her palm. “Does that answer your question?” Mutely she nodded.

He kissed the pulse at her wrist. “Then answer mine.”

Breanna felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the punch. “Yes, I want you,” she admitted, intentionally giving him the exact words he’d given her. “You have no idea how badly. More than I realized. Much more than I should.”

She saw the triumph flash across his face an instant before he gripped her arms, drew her to him.

“Good,” he said fiercely.

He paused only to lift each of his hands to his mouth, yank off his gloves with his teeth, and toss them to the ground—all the while staring at her, devouring her with his gaze.

Then, he crushed his mouth to hers.

If the impact of his gaze was stunning, theimpactof his kiss was fatal.

Breanna gasped, clutching at his waistcoat as Royce’s lips ravaged hers, possessing her in a series of deep, drugging kisses she felt to the depths of her soul. Their mouths fused, parted, fused again, and this time his tongue penetrated her, awakening her to an intimacy she’d never imagined. She followed his lead, opened her mouth to his, shiveringly accepting his tongue’s caresses, then eagerly returning them in a way only the blissful effects of alcohol would allow.

Royce growled deep in his chest, and his arms closed around her with staggering force, pulling her flush against him. He kissed her again, more deeply still, cupping her head in his hands and angling his mouth to allow his tongue deeper penetration.

“Put your arms around me.” He breathed his command into her lips, kissing her senseless while she complied.

Realizing she’d been clenching at his waistcoat to keep from collapsing, Breanna unknotted her fists, glided her palms up the hard planes of his chest, feeling his muscles contract beneath the fine material of his shirt. His shoulders flexed beneath her fingertips, and she stroked his neck lightly with her forefinger, lingering there to feel the warmth of his skin.

Royce must have sensed her need, or perhaps even shared it. Another harsh sound vibrated in his chest, and he dragged his mouth from hers long enough to capture her hands in his, yank off her gloves in a few quick tugs. “Now,” he muttered, flinging them aside and bringing her arms back around his neck. “Touch me. Let me feel your hands on my skin.”

Longing welled up inside her, and she gave in to it, brushing her fingers against Royce’s neck, then letting her palms discover the corded muscles and smooth flesh.

A jolt of reaction shot through him, and his eyes darkened to near black. “God,” he rasped, stunned disbelief registering on his face. “My God.” He bent to take her mouth again, his arms contracting like bow strings, bringing her up and into him. The thin silk of Breanna’s gown did nothing to hide the hardening contours of his body, but rather than freezing with horror and shame, she felt herself melt, soften as if to fit more snugly against him.

The world was spinning out of control, and Breanna never wanted it to stop. She explored his throat, slipped her fingers beneath his cravat to feel the heat of his flesh, then glided them through his hair, savored the silky texture. Her own hair had come undone, she realized absently, sighing with pleasure as Royce’s hands captured the toppling auburn waves, savored their texture before tangling in them, lifting them away so he could stroke the nape of her neck, the exposed skin of her back and shoulders. God, these sensations were too exciting to withstand—yet unthinkable to abandon.

She pressed closer.

“Breanna.”

Something inside him seemed to snap. He cupped her bottom, crushed her lower body to his as he ravaged her mouth, his tongue rubbing against hers until she thought she would die. Her breasts were tingling with sensation, her entire body heavy with longing, liquid heat pulsing through her with each plunge of his tongue, each nudge of his hips.

Almost violently, Royce tore himself away, biting off a curse as he lowered her feet to the ground, steadied her against the bench—an arm’s length away.

Gasping in air, they stared at each other.

“Are you all right?” Royce demanded, his fingers digging into her arms.

Reflexively, Breanna nodded, inclining her head in dazed non-comprehension. She was still awash with sensation, her mind and body reeling with discovery, her mouth clamoring for his.

“Royce?” She said his name in question, in bewilderment. When he didn’t answer, she blinked to clear her head, to make out the expression on his face.

His handsome features were taut, strained, a muscle working furiously at his jaw. His midnight eyes were blazing with sparks, and his forehead was dotted with sweat, despite the evening’s chill. His teeth were clenched, his breath coming in hard rasps, sending erratic puffs of vapor into the night sky. He looked livid—no, not livid, tormented, as if hewe r efighting some harsh internal battle.

An internal battle over her.

Another long minute passed, and the cold began sinking back into Breanna’s bones, causing her teeth to chatter.

Royce swore again, snapped into action. He bent, scooped his coat off the bench and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms to warm them. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know what came over me. I know that’s no excuse, but it’s the only one I’ve got.” His hands glided up to cup her face, and he inspected her closely, frowning as he surveyed her disheveled tresses. “How do we fix your hair?”

Automatically, Breanna’s hands came up, discovering the extent of the damage. “I can manage.” At his dubious expression, she forced a weak smile. “I’ve had practice.”

That made his eyes narrow. “Have you now?”

She realized instantly how he’d perceived her remark. “Notthatkind of practice.” She swallowed. “My father insisted on my looking immaculate at all times. That wasn’t easy to manage, especially when I was a child. I learned how to readjust my hair in record time. Watch.” She stepped back, smoothing loose waves of hair back up, twisting and braiding them until they’d reformed their original sleek coronet.