Page 4 of Midnight Rendezvous (Sins & Sensibilities #4)

CHAPTER 4

P enny hovered on the periphery of the terrace, knowing that tonight, she was prepared to take an irrevocable step that could lead to ruin and disgrace. Yet, as she stood in the shadows of the glittering ballroom of Lady Neville's townhome, her heart stuttered with reckless anticipation. She had never attended a masquerade before and never imagined it could be so scandalous. Couples danced far closer than she had expected, and behind her, in the garden, a pair was caught in an unmistakably illicit embrace. Her cheeks burned. Nervousness coiled in her belly, but she brushed it aside.

It had been nearly two hours since she had daringly snuck from home. By chance, she had overheard her brother mentioning Lady Neville's masquerade, and the temptation had been too great to resist. The sinking sensation in her belly was awful, and she gripped the edges of her gown, scanning the crowded ballroom, which was sultrily decorated in an Arabian theme. Many of the ladies wore delicate filigree masks, as she did, while the gentlemen ranged from boldly unmasked to those in simple black or white.

Will you come, Alexander?

Those silent words whispered through her heart, and Penny briefly closed her eyes as bittersweet longing swept through her. They had known each other for only seven weeks, yet it felt like a lifetime. She knew his smile intimately, the quiet strength of his character, and his rare laughter—offered so freely to her and almost no one else.

A ripple of awareness coasted over her skin, her body softening in instinctive welcome.

He is here.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute as she discreetly searched the crowd. When her gaze found him, a wild flutter ignited in her chest. Alexander moved through the throng with effortless grace. Clad in a midnight-black tailcoat, his cravat tied with immaculate precision, he embodied control. But beneath it all, she sensed the wild energy simmering below the surface.

She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, thinking of the heated argument with her mother only days before. She should not entertain the selfish thought that their family's salvation ought not to rest solely on her shoulders—but she did. Penny was expected to be obedient.

Tonight, she did not want to be the dutiful daughter her family expected. Tonight, she wanted to be a woman who chose for herself. She longed to live, bloom, and breathe, even for a short while. Penny desperately wanted to feel the warmth of his hand at her waist, to see the intensity in his eyes when he looked at her as if she were something interesting and precious. Perhaps, if daring enough, she would finally steal a kiss.

Because after tonight, she belonged to another man.

Unless I do everything to sabotage the courtship, whispered the rebellious voice in her heart. A shiver raced over her skin as he stopped before her. "Lady Penelope," he said, his voice low and smooth. "How lovely to see you again."

Her pulse leaped. Such pleasantries masked so much. They did not speak of how, only a week ago, she had laughingly danced with him beneath the stars. Nor did they reference the moment three nights ago, when she had risen onto her toes, silently begging for a kiss—only for him to brush his lips across her cheek before stepping back and leaving her breathless.

His gaze swept the length of her gown, lingering at the soft swell of her bosom before returning to her face. She had chosen it with him in mind—ivory satin clinging with scandalous precision, the square neckline baring her shoulders dusted in pearl powder. Silver embroidery curled along the hem like vines, and a cluster of ivory roses cinched the waist, drawing attention to her figure. With each step, her whisper-thin stockings and satin slippers flashed into view.

How Alexander looked at her now made her curl her toes in her shoes. She tamped down the reckless urge to close the space between them, to breathe in his scent and anchor it in memory.

"Never say I have robbed you of speech," he drawled.

Penny blushed. "How did you know... this is me?"

His gaze held hers, steady and unblinking. "I would know you anywhere."

It was not said flirtatiously. Not like a rake with a clever line. It was said with a terrible, beautiful truth that made her breath catch. She should have said something—should have stepped back. Instead, she simply looked at him, waiting.

"Come here," he murmured.

Slowly, she stepped closer. To her utter shock, his hands came to her waist—strong, warm, claiming. He drew her flush against him. She gasped, tilting her head up, their breaths mingling.

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly.

She could feel the press of his body—his broad chest, the strength in his arms, and lower still, the hard ridge against her stomach that made her blood heat and her limbs tremble.

"I wanted to dance," she whispered.

One dark brow arched. "That's a lie."

"I wanted..." She faltered, not daring to say what she truly yearned for. "One memory."

His gaze darkened. "You intend to dance with me, then vanish forever?"

"Yes," she said almost teasingly, lest he realize the truth buried in her voice.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Without a word, he took her glass, set it aside, and led her to the dance floor. The orchestra had begun a waltz—lush and slow. He swept her into the dance with fluid, powerful steps, one hand clasping hers, the other pressed to the small of her back. He held her scandalously close, tighter than any gentleman should, his gloved hand splayed wide across her spine.

"Are we to dance like this ?" she asked, breathless.

"Afraid?"

The taunt unfurled through her like smoke. Her heart thudded wildly as he moved, drawing her into the rhythm of the waltz. His hold did not loosen. He kept her close enough to feel the heat of his chest, the press of his thigh against hers as they turned.

She ought to be frightened. And she was—just enough to feel thrillingly alive.

Every movement of his body seemed calculated to test her, to see if she would flinch or pull away. She didn't. Every glide, every turn, he molded her against him, guiding her as if she belonged there. Penny's breath came in shallow bursts, her heart racing from the closeness and the intensity in his gaze.

Alexander watched her as if he could see behind the golden mask she wore. His stare wasn't filled with polite interest or admiration but with something far more dangerous—curious, consuming. He still looked every inch the gentleman, yet she sensed the quiet peril of a man who could ruin a lady with a single touch... or worship her with one.

She slid her hand to his shoulder and whispered, "You're testing me."

His mouth curved slightly. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see how wicked I could be before you swoon."

Penny's knees weakened, but he danced as though she were weightless, his strength supporting her every step.

"Is that to say you wish to be wicked with me? Never say I am meeting the rake ladies whisper about," she murmured provocatively.

A low sound of amusement rumbled from his chest.

She smirked. "I am not the swooning sort, my lord."

"You are not the naughty kind either... are you?" he said regretfully.

The words struck her with terrifying pleasure. She should be afraid. Especially now, with temptation tugging at her senses, Penny should remember duty. But her pulse beat wildly in her ears, her body shivering beneath his hand, caught in a dance that felt like the edge of sin.

A slow heat curled low in her belly, spreading outward in waves of decadent pleasure. His touch was warm and sure, even through the layers of her gown. Her pulse fluttered, her body alive with awareness. The music blurred, and the ballroom vanished. There was only him.

"I would like to call upon your father tomorrow."

Her breath stilled. No .

A crack formed inside her chest, splintering outward like the first fissures in fragile glass. "Please... do not."

His steps faltered for the briefest moment before he tightened his hold and spun her in a graceful arc. The motion pressed her closer.

His breath warmed her temple. "Why not?"

Alexander's voice was softer now, intimate. "Have you no awareness of my feelings for you?"

Awareness ? His regard was all she had thought of for weeks. It had consumed her, burned through her, and made her ache.

"I..." Her throat closed.

His fingers flexed at her waist, his touch steady. "Have I been mistaken in your regard?"

Her heart twisted. "You have not."

He exhaled as if her words unraveled some restraint within him. For a single, stolen moment, Penny allowed herself to pretend that she belonged to him.

"I... I cannot accept an offer of courtship," she forced out.

He studied her, eyes sharp with perception. She had the feeling he already knew—suspected the truth. But she would not let him shoulder this burden. She would protect him from the humiliation.

So she lied.

"My feelings are not deep enough to speak of marriage," she whispered, though each word splintered something inside her. "And I dare not think yours are when we've only known each other for a few weeks."

Alexander's jaw clenched. His steps slowed. She felt the tight coil of emotion in his frame, the way his hand nearly tightened before he forced himself to release her. He swallowed hard, the muscle in his throat ticking, his features carefully schooled into composure.

But his eyes betrayed him.

The waltz ended. The final chords hovered in the air.

Penny wanted to explain, to say everything. But she didn't. Instead, she turned and walked away, slipping from the crowded ballroom and toward the library.

Hoping. Praying.

That he would follow.

That, despite everything, he would grant her this one night of madness—one she would treasure forever.