Of course…his fingers had already been deep inside her. She shouldn’t really be surprised his understanding could follow.
She hesitated, loath to expose any more of herself. However, if she could trust Elisabeth’s judgment—and she felt she could—he was an honorable man. Her friend had warned her Orwell was untrustworthy even before he had so blatantly revealed his nature to her.
So, she risked lowering her shields a bit further. “My greatest passion is for music. I agree music gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, charm and gaiety to life…and to everything else, I wager.”
His approving nod had her relaxing in his arms. “Thank you.”
She returned his smile. She tried to warn herself not to sink into the sensual invitation that radiated from him. He was a fantastic dancer, lissome, but with a raw, untamed power.
“So, the sincerest way to your heart lies in dancing and music? How is it your legions of suitors have not discovered this?”
Was he interested in the way to my heart? She studied him carefully and only saw teasing and objective interest. She relaxed further still, banishing the warning bells that clanged in her head. And her heart. “None of them understand my spirit.”
He tilted his head. “Your spirit? Pray, tell me.”
“Sometimes London is so…stuffy. Stiflingly so.” She chortled. “Just once I would love to dance something scandalous and exciting and play a bawdy tune on the pianoforte.”
Anthony barked out a laugh. “Good God, gel.”
Lord, he was so different from Lord Hoyt’s staid and quiet composure that she wondered if Anthony were real. Some months ago, she had regaled a small gathering at Hoyt’s house with a rowdier version of Czerny, for which she had received the severest of tongue-lashings from her aunt. She’d been shocked to see that she had embarrassed and mortified Lord Hoyt’s mother. She was actually surprised she was still welcomed in their home.
“The waltz is not scandalous enough for you?” Anthony queried.
Phillipa gave an inelegant snort. “The waltz, Anthony, is certainly not scandalous. It may have been considered indecent a few years ago, threatening the morality of innocent women, if you can believe that. But it is now as banal as the two-step. I fear I may have been born in the wrong time. I either belong to the past…or to the future.”
“The past?” Anthony asked, seeming enthralled. “Elaborate.”
“Like the primitives I’ve seen pictures of. Even in Boston I could immerse myself more in dancing and music than in England. It is as if the joy of the rhythm that pulses in the body has been crippled here. There is no adventure. Dances should be exciting and creative,” she said firmly.
“You don’t find the country-dances creative?” he asked.
“Are they? I’ve never been to a country-dance in England. I have attended a few London soirees, and the only things danced are the cotillion, polka, and frequently the waltz. It is as if all the exuberance has been choked under puritanical rules. One day, I hope to experience a dance that is wickedly indecent and adventurous. Failing that, I shall have to dream of being transported to the primitive past in my imagination. Or perhaps the future will be less strictly laced.”
She held her breath in an agony of anticipation for his response. She felt as if Anthony’s reaction to her treatise was the single most important thing she had ever waited for. Never had she wanted so desperately to trust a lord.
And prayed this one was not like all the rest.
Chapter Eight
Phillipa’s golden eyes glittered, alight with excitement, intoxicating Anthony in the most curious of ways. Nothing else could account for the light-headedness he felt.
He shook his head to clear it of his fanciful notions. She waited for his reaction, and at his lack of response, vulnerability seeped into the depth of her eyes as she lowered them in embarrassment.
He tipped her chin back up with a finger. “Your passion for music is inspiring. I would love to dance the mazurka in private with you,” he drawled. “And anything else you desire. The more exciting the better.”
She gave him a radiant smile, and he accepted then and there he would court her. He would delve beneath her reserves, strip her layers, and whatever she wished for, he would offer to her gladly.
“I’m afraid I have always been scandalous, Anthony. I’ve ridden in several buggies without a chaperon.” She nodded as if he’d said something. “Shocking, I know.”
He liked that she teased him. “Very.”
“Oh, dear. I’ve mortified your noble sensibilities.”
They chuckled together, and more than a few frowns of disapproval were thrown their way. Anthony liked her so much like this. The icy wall of reserve had thawed to reveal a woman of warmth and passion. Need slammed into him instantly, and he cursed his weakness for her.
“I assume this explains your banishment to our rigid soils.”
Shadows chased her face, only to vanish as quickly.
His curiosity deepened. “Ah, I see I’m right. Tell me, what scandal did you leave behind in Boston, my sweet?”
Her eyes widened, and he watched in fascination as she tried to erect her wall of coldness. He decided to topple it before she succeeded.
“I am twenty-eight,” he declared. “And I, too, must lack noble sensibilities since I don’t subscribe to the stilted nature of British society, either. I’ve had three mistresses, and several lovers of whom I have not, and will not, speak, as I hold the utmost respect for all women.”
Phillipa spluttered at this bold confession, staring at him aghast. “I—”
He grinned back at her. “Hmm. I didn’t think you capable of being shocked. Didn’t you say you like living on the edge?”
Her eyes narrowed. Then a rueful smile curved her lips. “You are incorrigible, my lord.”
“I decided I must inform you of my own licentiousness before you would tell me about whatever happened in Boston to darken your eyes so. Now that you know all my secrets, I am waiting to hear yours.”
Her laughter tinkled, and she shook her head, dismissing him. “I believe I have no secrets from you, Anthony.”
He was intrigued more by the naked need he saw on her face than anything else. No, her body kept no secrets from him. But it was her soft laugh that truly stirred him—fresh, crisp, and utterly captivating.
He wanted to give her everything she desired, and more. The compulsion burned deeply and powerfully.
He would have her. And soon.
…
Phillipa had to admit that Anthony was an amazing dancer, his movements embodying raw masculine power and beauty. He swung her, and she swiveled, and the heat of his hands on her lower back, burned through her gown. Just being held in his arms was sinfully delicious.
The next waltz started, and she was thrilled when he did not relinquish her. He was dancin
g with me twice?
She felt the eyes of assembled guests upon them, and for this moment in time, she cared not one jot what they thought.
She tried to ignore his questioning that hinted she might have a truly disgraceful past, but he was having none of it. So she relented, and gave him a half-truth.
“I distressed my family by attending women’s rights conventions and meetings. I think they feared my wild ways would have led to my disastrous downfall. My aunt recommended dancing to soothe my excessive passion—or so she told my father.”
“You chose to focus your passion on dancing. Pity.”
She probed his features to ascertain his meaning. “I adore dancing, and I find it to be the only thrilling thing offered to women by society. The restrictions heaped on young ladies are frightful,” she declared.
Her curiosity about him drummed at her, but she reined in the questions that buzzed insistently in her head. He had several secret lovers of whom he didn’t speak, so their scandalous actions in the garden were safe from the gossips?
“Restrictions do not exist in Boston?”
“I daresay they do.” Rueful laughter spilt from her lips. “However, the pretense is more subdued. I could have wed a banker or a lawyer back home, and I would have brought my family esteem. Here, my aunt is appalled at the mere notion. There, I could attend a picnic without the need for a chaperone. Here, to visit my dear friend Lady Elisabeth, my aunt insists I travel with a ladies’ maid and a footman at all times. The most ridiculous thing is, it is not for my protection, but because it is appalling for a young lady to be seen walking alone. Well, a virtuous female, at any rate.” She could not prevent the incredulity that rang in her tone.
He pursed his lips. “And this is what you seek to be free from?”
“False propriety, yes. It all seems incredibly pretentious, don’t you agree?” Phillipa smiled at the surprise that etched his features. “I had already felt suffocated in Boston, and now in London, I am truly fit for Bedlam. It is a daunting task to understand what is acceptable by the haute monde and what isn’t.”