Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,6
transform – and yet, he had always been that way. Tall, broad shoulders, his jaw clenched at this very moment, which meant his mother was being more trying than normal.
Then he laughed, and that dimple she knew better almost than her own appeared.
Priscilla found she had stopped walking to stare, take him all in.
Charles was in many ways, the perfect gentleman. Titled, not that it mattered. Kind, which was far more important. A strong sense of fairness, a strong sense of fun. Joyful, playful, educated without being stuffy, honorable without being dull…
And as she looked at him, her gaze dropped to his hands. Strong hands. An engulfing hug from Charles could knock the wind from you, and she shivered at the very thought of it.
Well, if marriage was what he needed, why not her?
The thought was laughable, but was it impossible? Many a marriage was less companionable than theirs would be – and if the heat that had just risen through her body was any judge, they would have plenty of pleasure, too…
Now her cheeks were warm, and she tore her gaze away from Charles and continued walking around the dancers.
The very idea of it! Just thinking of…well, that intimacy that belonged between a husband and wife…it was shameful.
A young lady from a respectable family such as hers should not be even considering something as scandalous as wooing and making love. It was not merely impermissible, it was inconceivable that she would wish to!
“Such a wonderful wedding…”
“I thought the bride very elegant despite her bluestocking nature.”
“And Irish! I had no idea…”
Voices flittered in and out of Priscilla’s hearing as she circled the room and moved into another, which comprised of no dancing but plenty of chatter.
She looked back through the doorway, at the slice of dancing she could still espy.
Was not dancing just a facsimile of the marriage bed? True, it was not an exact metaphor, but there was enough similarities for it to strike her. Finding your perfect partner, coming together, touching, enjoying each other…
Priscilla raised a hand to her cheeks and almost gasped at the heat. They must be flaming, and no wonder! It simply was not right thinking this way.
Even less, thinking of Charles this way.
A drink, Priscilla thought wildly. A nice, calming, refreshing, and most importantly, cold drink would restore her equilibrium. She noticed a punch table at the back of the room and hastened there as elegantly as she could.
As she reached out for the ladle, a hand bumped into hers.
“Oh, I do apologize,” she said, looking up.
“No, the fault is all mine,” said the voice of Miss Frances Lloyd.
Priscilla had to work hard to keep her face calm as she realized Charles’s betrothed was standing right beside her. Was it possible that – but no, she chided herself silently. Miss Lloyd could have no idea what licentious and scandalous thoughts had flashed through her mind!
“I should have looked at what I was doing,” Miss Lloyd was continuing with a gentle laugh. “I hope you can forgive me.”
Priscilla’s mouth fell open. She had never spoken to Miss Lloyd before, their circle of acquaintances had never intersected. And yet here she was, still apologizing for something as simple as touching her hand.
“I am afraid I was a little distracted,” Miss Lloyd said. “Are…you are Miss Seton, are you not?”
Priscilla closed her mouth. Well, she had never sought out Miss Lloyd’s company, but it had been thrust upon her by…what? Fate? Destiny?
Whatever it was, she was not going to let the opportunity disappear.
Smiling as naturally as possible, she said, “Miss Lloyd. Will you walk with me?”
In the hindsight of a few seconds, she could have been warmer, but Miss Lloyd did not seem put off by her slightly brusque approach. On the contrary, she nodded with a curious look.
Priscilla did not know why her heart was fluttering as they began to promenade around the room slowly.
Say something, her mind urged her. You need to say something!
“I…I do not believe we have been officially introduced,” she said haltingly.
Miss Lloyd nodded. “No, but I know you. Miss Priscilla Seton, am I right? Friend of the Orrinshire family.”
A spark of jealousy pushed through Priscilla’s heart like a barb, and she had to bite down her instinctive retort that she was no friend to the Orrinshire family, but she was Charles’s closest friend in all the world.
It was probably not a clever idea to say that to Charles’s betrothed…