What he had done after the kiss hadn’t been quite as enjoyable, but it had still been exciting. To know that she affected him so deeply, that she could make him lose control . . .
It was intoxicating. She had never known such power.
“I have been very busy with my parents,” George said, but his eyes told her that he would rather be with her.
“I miss you,” she said daringly. Her behavior was scandalous, but she felt scandalous, as if she could take the reins of her life and chart her own destiny. What a grand thing it was to be young and in love. The world would be theirs. They had only to reach out and grasp it.
George’s eyes flared with desire, and he glanced furtively over his shoulder. “My mother’s sitting room. Do you know where it is?”
Annelise nodded.
“Meet me there in a quarter of an hour. Don’t be seen.”
He went off to ask another girl to dance—the better to deflect any speculation about their hushed conversation. Annelise found Charlotte, who had finally finished her discussion of all things yellow, green, and gold. “I’m meeting him in ten minutes,” she whispered. “Can you make sure that no one wonders where I am?”
Charlotte nodded, gave her hand a squeeze of support, then motioned with her head toward the door. No one was watching. It was the perfect time to leave.
It took longer to reach Lady Chervil’s sitting room than Annelise had expected. It was clear across the building—probably why George had chosen it. And she’d had to take a circuitous route to avoid other partygoers who had also chosen to make their celebrations private. By the time she slipped into the darkened chamber, George was already there, waiting for her.
He was on her before she could even speak, kissing her madly, his hands reaching around to her bottom and squeezing with proprietary intimacy. “Oh, Annie,” he groaned, “you’re amazing. Coming here right in the middle of the party. So naughty.”
“George,” she murmured. His kisses were lovely, and it was thrilling that he desired her with such desperation, but she was not sure she liked being called naughty. That wasn’t what she was, was it?
“George?” she said again, this time a question.
But he didn’t answer. He was breathing hard, trying to lift her skirts even as he steered her to a nearby divan.
“George!” It was difficult, because she, too, was excited, but she wedged her hands between them and pushed him away.
“What?” he demanded, eyeing her with suspicion. And something else. Anger?
“I didn’t come here for this,” she said.
He barked with laughter. “What did you think was going to happen?” He stepped toward her again, his eyes fierce and predatory. “I’ve been hard for you for days.”
She blushed furiously, because she knew now what it meant. And while it was exciting that he wanted her so desperately, there was something discomfiting in it, too. She wasn’t sure what, or why, but she was no longer so sure she wanted to be here with him, in such a dark and secluded room.
He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward him with enough of a jerk that she stumbled against him. “Let’s have a spot of it, Annie,” he murmured. “You know you want to.”
“No, I— I just—” She tried to pull away, but he would not let her go. “It’s the Midsummer Ball. I thought . . .” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say it because one look at his face told her that he had never intended to ask her to marry him. He had kissed her, then seduced her, taking the one thing that should have been saved for her husband, and he thought he could take it again?
“Oh, my God,” he said, looking as if he might laugh. “You thought I would marry you.” And then he did laugh, and Annelise was sure that something inside of her died.
“You’re beautiful,” he said mockingly, “I’ll grant you that. And I had a fine time between your thighs, but come now, Annie. You have no money to speak of, and your family certainly will not enhance my own.”
She wanted to say something. She wanted to hit him. But she could only stand there in dawning horror, unable to believe the words that were dripping from his lips.
“Besides,” he said with a cruel smile, “I already have a fiancée.”
Annelise’s knees threatened to buckle beneath her, and she grabbed the side of his mother’s desk for support. “Who?” she managed to whisper.
“Fiona Beckwith,” he told her. “The daughter of Lord Hanley. I asked her last night.”