almost laughed in delight. She couldn’t have planned it better.
Harland put his hand at her waist, and her breath caught as he tugged her close and lifted their joined hands to shoulder level. Good lord, he was tall.
“We’ve never been introduced,” he stated with utter certainty as they whirled around the floor in a breathless spin. “I’d remember if we had. Tell me your name, princess.”
Emmy laughed, blissfully aware of the thrilling nearness of his body, the warmth of his hand at the small of her back.
“I’m no princess, sir. For all you know I could be a scullery maid who’s stolen her mistress’s dress. I could be a criminal. A thief.”
“A thief.” He laughed softly. “Now that I can believe. You’ve stolen the breath right out of my lungs. Stolen the heart from my chest.”
His teasing words, which he’d somehow made sound so sincere, made her ache with poignant longing. If only. But handsome princes never ended up with criminals. Not even in fairy tales.
“And you, sir, are a silver-tongued devil,” she countered sternly. No doubt he said such things to every woman with whom he danced. And yet it was so tempting to believe him.
“Who are you?” he murmured. “And where have you been hiding? This can’t be your first London season. You’re no simpering miss of sixteen, just up from the country.”
“That’s true,” Emmy conceded. She didn’t need to think about the steps of the dance. With Harland, it was effortless, as if they’d danced like this a thousand times before. “I live here in town. And this is not my first season. But you are correct; we have never been formally introduced.”
“Have we been informally introduced?” He chuckled, and his low whisper did funny things to her insides.
She shook her head. “No. You wouldn’t recognize me, even without this mask and wig.”
“That’s something I’d like to remedy.”
The dance ended, but he didn’t let go of her hand, or return to his friends. He pulled her out onto the terrace, and Emmy followed, unresisting. Hand in hand, he led her down the steps and out into the moonlit garden. It seemed like something from a dream. They ventured through an iron gate set in a red brick wall and stepped into the kitchen garden, wreathed in shadows. He tugged her under an apple tree.
Suddenly nervous, Emmy twisted a half-grown apple from a branch and smiled.
“What’s so amusing?”
“Hmm? Oh, this reminds me of a poem I once read about fairies who like to steal apples.” She met his eyes in the dim light. Every one of her senses was alive, prickling with awareness. “It goes: Stolen sweets are always sweeter: Stolen kisses much completer; Stolen looks are nice in chapels: Stolen, stolen be your apples.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. They tingled in response.
“Stolen kisses, hmm?” he murmured. “Maybe we should try it?” He reached up and untied the ribbon holding his mask in place. “Since you already know who I am, I think we can dispense with this.”
He took a step closer, and Emmy’s heart pounded as she studied his face. Strong, straight nose, lips curved in gentle amusement. She dropped the apple and slipped her hands between the lapels of his jacket, flat against his chest. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, feel the unyielding strength beneath her palms. She had the oddest thought that this was home. The place she was destined to be.
He slid his hands around her waist, his long fingers almost spanning the circumference. “Will you take your mask off, little thief?”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
She lifted herself on tiptoe and pressed closer, tilting her head and offering her lips in shameless invitation. Carpe hominem.
Her heart almost stopped when he bent his head and kissed her. A light, almost questioning touch. He repeated the action, his lips soft yet firm, and Emmy closed her eyes, determined to savor the experience. This might be her one and only kiss with Alex Harland, ever.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips. Without thought, she opened her mouth and he slid his tongue inside to tangle with hers. Emmy stilled in shock, then realized the sensation was extremely pleasurable. She flicked her own tongue tentatively against his and was rewarded with a low groan of encouragement.
His hands came up to cup her face. He angled her head and kissed her again. And again. Deeper. Darker. Drinking her in. It was a revelation. A glorious, swirling taste and tease that