Once Upon a Time in Bath (The Brides of Bath #7) - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,50

him a foppy-boy!

As he glided along the ballroom with her in his arms, intoxicated by her sweet scent of spring roses, it occurred to him this was the woman who would bear his children. Thinking about her bearing his children got him to thinking about bedding her, and thinking about bedding her got him thinking about what it would be like to lie with her and . . . kiss her. . . to feel her tongue touch his . . . to slowly peel the garments from her body and stroke her satiny skin . . . to fill his hand with the plumpness of her breast . . .

All these thoughts nearly debilitated him with powerful desire. He looked at her as he’d never looked at her before, with a burning hunger.

Something in the back of his lust-fogged brain told him this was good. Desire for Dot certainly trumped his former indifference. He’d been dreading marrying a woman he couldn’t love. But marrying a woman he potently desired. . . now that was something to look forward to.

He drew her closer and spoke huskily. “We need to set a date.”

“For what?”

How could she not be feeling what he was feeling, not be throbbing with desire, not be anxious to swiftly wed? “For our wedding.”

“Before we catch the murderer?”

He was crushed by her disinterest in their marriage. “My dear Dot, we may never catch the murderer.”

She nodded most morosely.

He had thought she’d be anxious to marry him. Didn’t all women crave being married?

Then it occurred to him that perhaps she did not love him. Perhaps she was merely marrying him for his title.

It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t be agog to wed him. The fact that she might not be in love with him left him feeling low.

When they returned to their chairs, the only ones seated were Mr. Pankhurst and the elder Mrs. Blankenship, who were locked in lively conversation.

“I wonder if Papa will ask Mrs. Blankenship to dance,” Dot said.

“What about his leg? Or is it his foot?”

“It seems to vary.” She had a distasteful look on her face. “But it seems to vanish in Mrs. Blankenship’s presence.”

As, indeed, it did. The very next set, Mr. Pankhurst led the lady out onto the dance floor.

Appleton turned to Dot. “Forgive me, my love, for not telling you how splendidly you waltz.”

“It’s my dancing master who’s to be commended.”

He ran a seductive finger along her nose. It was a perfect nose. “You’re too modest. You were wonderful.”

As his friends, including the newly arrived Sir Elvin, closed around him, he watched with a mixture of pride and jealousy as Dot became a figure of other men’s admiration.

Not once during the remainder of the night was he able to claim her for a dance, not even for the Sir Roger de Coverley that closed out the night.

He stood back sulking as she merrily danced with a fashionably dressed young gentleman who’d just come from London and appeared to be taken with his fiancée. When he heard Glee comment on what a fine-looking man was dancing with Dot, Appleton was overcome by the urge to spar with said man during his sparring session the following morning. He would take great pleasure in knocking him to the floor.

On the way home that night, Mr. Pankhurst was effusive in his praise of Mrs. Blankenship. “Did you not think she was the most handsome of the older women there tonight?”

“Undoubtedly,” Dot said.

“She regrets that I’ve still not met her son,” Mr. Pankhurst continued. “He’s a scholar, you know.”

“So I’d heard,” she said. “As is Sir Elvin’s twin brother. I should like to meet them both.”

“As would I,” her father concurred. “As I told the good lady. She promised that she would present me with a copy of her son’s latest book.”

“How delightful. Did you know, Papa, his bride helps him with his research?”

“I didn’t, but Mrs. Blankenship did say they were both very bookish and not inclined to attend assemblies.”

Mr. Pankhurst soon resurrected the topic of Mrs. Blankenship. “And was Mrs. Blankenship not an excellent dancer?”

“Frightfully good,” Annie answered. “But I was awfully impressed with your unfaltering

skill, Mr. Pankhurst. I cannot credit that it’s been more than twenty years since you’ve danced.”

He shrugged. “I suppose it’s one of those skills that always comes back to one.” When they reached Dot’s house, Mr. Pankhurst left the coach first.

As Appleton moved toward the house, he slowed and whispered to Dot. “As You Like It