A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Four

A parquet floor of oak the stage for many a pair of dancing slippers. Lush green foliage tumbled down the columns of ivory stone. Garlands of white chrysanthemums strung along the moss green walls of the ballroom . A sea of cerulean blue, tangerine and lavender gowns. White gloved hands resting on the arm of gentlemen in dark suits. Rouge upon the cheeks of ladies and a well placed smile on their lips.
Polite conversations circulated the room but by the end of the night, lips loosening by a glass too many of brandy may find their words written in the pages of the local scandal sheet.

Lies spoken could destroy a reputation. A fate Ilona was trying to avoid with what little reputation she did have as she stood next to her mother. Annalise was dressed in a purple gown, ruffles adorned the bell shaped skirt while Ilona had chosen an orange shade for her own gown.
A couple moved off to one side to greet old friends and Ilona saw Henry in a brocade jacket of sapphire and cream striding towards her.

"Miss Bennett."

He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth. His kiss a heated brand that sent her heart a flutter. He met her gaze as he spoke, "I am so very glad you could come tonight."

"Henry, I mean Lord Westmore, this is my mother, Anna Bennett."

Henry brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Mrs Bennett."

"Lord Westmore."

He turned his head, gesturing to the older woman who had finally caught up to her son. "May I introduce you both to my mother, Lady Margaret Westmore."

Lady Margaret was a woman in her late fifties with blue eyes. Her silver curls pulled back into a braided bun, not a single strand would escape the hold of her bejewelled hairpins. Her gown the shade of artic blue. A diamond bracelet upon her wrist and more of the dazzling stones around her neck. Elizabeth stood to her mother's left. Tendrils of honey brown framed her heart shaped face, her slender frame clothed in a heather coloured gown.

"My lady," Ilona said, dropping into a curtesy. Then she turned to Henry's sister and repeated her action. "Elizabeth."

The youngest of the Westmore siblings inclined her head.

Margaret's expression one of coldness as her gaze swept over Ilona. "Well, I can see why my Henry is enamoured with you, Miss Bennett although I was under the impression his correspondence were to Miss Fiona Reed."

Henry's brows furrowed into a slight frown. "I am sure I mentioned Ilona's name to you, Mother."

Lady Margaret waved her hand in a dismissive motion. "It matters little now. Do enjoy your evening, my dears. Henry." She gestured for him to follow her as she turned to leave.

"Actually Mother." His words putting a halt in her tracks. "I do believe I promised Miss Bennett a dance."

He extended his right hand to Ilona, his other clasped behind his back. "May I have this dance?"

"With pleasure, my lord," Ilona replied, slipping her hand into his.

Sheet music was shuffled. Violins bows at the ready. Henry's hand a light touch on her upper back as he took the lead with the other. Ilona met his gaze and her lips curved into a smile. The soft chime of a flute, the signal to begin. Henry, her guide to the sweeping arches of hands, sharp turns on your toes and gowns set for collisions until at the very last second when the dancers were pulled back into the safety of their partner's arms.

"Ilona, I am so glad that you were able to attend tonight," Henry murmured, their bodies encircling each other.

"As am I," Ilona replied.

She watched as Henry opened his mouth then he clamped it shut, dismissing whatever thought he had.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. It is a matter to be discussed at a later date," he replied, his tone a little sharper than he intended it to be and it stung her no less. Ilona lapsed into silence for the remainder of the dance.

As the final note played, Henry offered his arm to her. "I'll escort you back to your mother."

Ilona was reaching for him when a man emerged from the crowd in front of her.
Their gazes met.
Ilona's hand fell to her side.
All air leaving her in a breathless rush.

For a moment, all Carrick could do was stare at the woman before him. Her raven curls were pulled back into a braided bun except for a handful which were twisted into tight ringlets. The ringlets sitting on the creamy ledge of one shoulder, their coiled ends brushing against her neckline of apricot and lace. Sensual lips of dusky pink parted in utter surprise at the sight of him and Carrick wanted nothing more to have his mouth sealed over her lips, to taste the sweetness he craved. However he resisted such an urge as he met her wide eyed gaze.

Storm grey and to think I once feared those forces of nature. I was a fool then because now I have seen the beauty in them.
And I have never wanted anything more in my life than her.

Then his gaze flickered to the man standing close to her. A frown marred his face, that wasn't the red haired gentleman his source claimed now held Ilona in his arms. No, it seems that man was foolish enough to let other men to dance with her when he should be holding her close and if that was the case, well then...

"May I have the honour of the next dance, Miss Bennett?"