Lady Whistledown Strikes Back by Julia Quinn Read Free Book Online

lull the other gentlemen into
thinking she couldn’t be bothered to think about such weighty questions.
“Nevertheless,” she said with a sigh.
    And that was that, Peter thought admiringly. No one spoke of
it again. One “nevertheless” an d Tillie had maneuvered the discussion exactly where she wanted it.
    Peter tried to ignore the rest of the conversation.
It was mostly inanities about the weather, which had been a bit
chillier than was normal for this time of year, peppered with the
occasional remark about someone’s attire. His expression, if he had any
control over it, was politely bored; he did not want to appear overly
interested in Tillie, and while he did not flatter himself to think
that he was the main topic of gossip at the ball, he had already seen
more than one old biddy point in his direction and then whisper
something behind her hand.
    But then all of his good intentions were spoiled
when Tillie turned to him and said, “Mr. Thompson, I do believe the
music has begun.”
    There was no misunderstanding that statement, and
even as the rest of the gentlemen rushed to fill the subsequent slots
on her dance card, he was forced to crook his arm and invite her onto
the dance floor.
    It was a waltz. It would have to be a waltz.
    And as Peter took her hand in his, fighting the
urge to entwine their fingers, he had the distinct sensation that he
was falling off a cliff.
    Or worse, throwing himself over the side.
    Because try as he might to convince himself that
this was a terrible mistake, that he shouldn’t be seen with her—hell,
that he shouldn’t be with her, period—he
couldn’t quite quash the pure, almost incandescent tingle of joy that
rose and swirled within him when he held her in his arms.
    And if the gossips wanted to label him the worst of all fortune hunters, then let them.
    It would be worth it for this one dance.
    Tillie had spent her first ten minutes of the
Hargreaves’ Grand Ball trying to escape her parents’ clutches, her
second ten looking for Peter Thompson, and her third standing at his
side while she chattered about nothing at all with his friends.
    She was going to spend the next ten minutes with his complete attention if it killed her.
    She was still a little irritated that she’d practically had to beg him to dance with her, and in full view of a dozen other gentlemen. But there seemed little point
in dwelling upon it now that he was holding her hand and twirling her
elegantly around the dance floor.
    And why was it, she wondered, that his hand on her
back could send such a strange rush of desire straight to the very core
of her being? One would think that if she were to feel seduced, it
would be from his eyes, which, after ten minutes of studiously ignoring
her, burned into hers with an intensity that stole her breath.
    But in truth, if she was ready to throw caution to
the wind, if she now required every last ounce of her fortitude not to
sigh and sink into him and beg him to touch his lips to hers, it was
all because of that hand on her back.
    Maybe it was the location, at the base of her
spine, just inches through her body to her most intimate place. Maybe
it was the way she felt pulled, as if any moment she would lose
herself, and her body would be pressed up against his, hot and
scandalous, and aching for something she didn’t quite understand.
    The pressure was relentlessly tender, drawing her toward him, slowly, inexorably … and yet when
    Tillie looked down, the distance between their bodies had not changed.
    But the heat within them had exploded.
    And she burned.
    “Have I done something to displease you?” she
asked, desperately trying to shift her thoughts onto anything besides
the heady desire that was threatening to overtake her.
    “Of course not,” he said gruffly. “Why would you think something so absurd?”
    She shrugged. “You seemed … oh, I don’t know… a bit distant, I suppose. As if you did not welcome my company.”
    “That’s ridiculous,”