She was late. Not overly much but enough to make him wonder if she’d changed her mind about dining with him. Her response to his invitation had been surprisingly simple. She’d sent her maid, Emma, to inform him she’d be there. That was all.
He gestured for the bartender to refill his glass while glancing around the dining room. Mr. Pontoppidan stood on the opposite side, ready to give the diners assistance or issue orders to the waiters, though he did so with a far more relaxed air about him than Mr. Greene ever had.
Steven set his glass to his lips and was just about to take another sip of his drink when his gaze swept to the left and he saw her.
His heart stumbled to a near halt as he froze, mesmerized in a way he’d never been before. Hell, in that moment, thugs could have picked his pockets while the entire hotel burned down around him, and he’d have been none the wiser. Only she filled his vision and drew his attention, snaring him like a helpless sailor faced with a siren.
Good God, she was stunning – glorious even—in that incredible dress she wore. He’d been right to make her visit a modiste, if only for the pleasure looking at her would give him for the rest of the evening.
Swallowing, he abandoned his glass on the bar counter and straightened his spine before stepping forward. The heat at the back of his neck fanned out across his shoulders while blood rushed through his veins, forcing his heart into a much faster rhythm.
His stomach tightened. Muscles flexed and strained as he started to move in her direction, drinking her in with each step he took. Heaven help him but the dress she wore revealed her figure in ways not even the wrapper had managed to do. Creamy skin graced a pair of bare shoulders with silky smoothness while the low neckline showcased the sumptuous swell of her breasts.
Steven flexed his fingers again, this time in response to the unbidden urge to reach out and touch her. To run his fingers down the delicate column of her neck, or through the glorious pile of golden locks dressed in shimmering crystal-tipped pins.
“Miss Smith,” he croaked, and promptly cleared his throat, forcing himself to relax.
She was just a woman, after all, though undoubtedly the most stunning one he’d ever seen. Perhaps the most admirable one as well, considering she’d been prepared to earn her way through hard labor when fortune had failed her. She’d not been raised to wash dishes or scrub vegetables, yet she’d done so without complaint while her co-workers made her life even more miserable.
Indeed, Miss Smith was not only gorgeous. She was also incredibly strong. And he somehow sensed he would feel her absence in the hotel when she eventually left – as she would soon do.
Her ocean blue eyes met his and it took all the strength he possessed not to sink to his knees and pledge himself to her right there, like a medieval knight swearing allegiance to his queen. Thankfully, his voice was once again steady when he spoke next. “You look incredible this evening. Like a fairytale princess.”
A lovely pink hue tinged her cheeks and her gaze flittered away from his for a second before returning. Eyelids slightly lowered as if with abashed self-awareness, she offered a hesitant smile. “Thank you Mr. Donahue. You look rather…dashing yourself.”
Warmth flooded his insides. It was ridiculous how much her compliment pleased him, yet he could not deny the effect she was having on him. Never before had he been this aware of a woman, or more eager for her approval. He wanted, he realized, for her to like him.
Stepping slightly closer, he offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She dipped her head in silent agreement and curled her fingers into his arm, prompting a flex of muscle as sparks of awareness ignited. It was a jolt, not just to his body but to the core of his being – his soul. The tiny gasp she emitted suggested she’d felt it too and while he reveled in that knowledge, he cautioned himself against it.
Careful. She’s an innocent woman under your protection.
And she won’t be staying.
The reminder was like a cold wash of ice to his heated blood. It cleared his mind and allowed him to recover his senses. With a shake of his head, he chastised himself for his potent response to her presence and guided her to the table where they would be dining.
And yet, despite his better judgment, he could not stop from grazing her arm with his hand while helping her into her seat, solely to gauge her reaction.
Lord, he was wicked. He had to stop.
But doing so was a challenge when the rosy hue from her cheeks spread down her neck, pinkening every visible inch of her skin.
Steven gripped the back of her chair and took a deep breath, intending to steady himself, only to draw in her scent, an intoxicating aroma uniquely her own.
With difficulty, he forced himself to add distance, to step around the table and take a seat opposite her. A waiter swiftly arrived with the bottle of chilled champagne Steven had told Mr. Pontoppidan to prepare, offering Steven a welcome reprieve from the powerful spell Miss Smith cast upon him with her mere existence. The champagne was poured and the waiter vanished. Steven raised his glass, angling it slightly toward Miss Smith, and waited for her to follow his lead.
Her delicate fingers curled around the top of the stem and then she clinked her glass against his.
“To seeing you safely home,” he said, holding her gaze.
Her lips parted, her eyes filled with wonder, and in that moment the only thing Steven could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her.
“Does that mean you have made progress?” she asked, banishing his inappropriate musings. “That you have found someone who can accompany me?”
“Yes.” The word did not slide off his tongue with ease. He forced a smile to hide the strange objection he felt at the idea of parting ways with her soon. “Let’s order some food and then I’ll tell you the plan.”
11
It was impossibly hard not to let Mr. Donahue’s presence affect her. From the moment she’d entered the dining room and her gaze found him, she’d been enthralled. Her heart had fluttered about with mad abandon as he’d approached, her stomach swirling like water vanishing down a drain.
Curiously, his shadowed expression and rigid bearing did not offend or instill the tiniest hint of trepidation within her. On the contrary, she experienced a thrilling awareness while he perused her with unfeigned interest, and again when she placed her hand in the crook of his arm.
And when she’d slid into her seat and he’d brushed her with his fingers, her breath had caught while time stood still. A shiver had followed, not from discomfort or cold, but from overheated pleasure.
It was unlike anything she had experienced before, a new and profound sort of attraction made all the more acute by his masculine scent – a mixture of brandy and some deeper fragrance she failed to identify.
She stopped trying when he spoke of her departure.
Acute disappointment settled beneath her ribs. Of course she had to return to New York. That was her plan and one she could not abandon if she were to help her father. Yet she wished she’d have more time here in England – additional moments to spend with Mr. Donahue.
A silly notion to be sure, since no amount of delay would alter her fate. Or change the fact that she and Mr. Donahue were nothing to each other besides acquaintances of a sort. To suppose for even one second that there could be more was ridiculous. For all she knew, he already had a fiancée. Or maybe even a wife.