The gallery's wooden floor creaked beneath her with the slow rocking of the chair. She leaned her head against the woven back, submitting to her daydreams.
The crackle of footsteps nearby brought Elinor up in her chair. A flash of sensation skittered over her skin like a cold shiver. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, she considered bolting for the door. She felt vulnerable, suddenly aware of being easy prey. But surely, her mind rationalized, Bayville was different from living in the city. Strange men didn't stalk women here.
The breeze lifted sliding around her body with restless fingers. Elinor searched the night with still-anxious eyes. The inky blackness of the country-dark night, lit only by a pale sliver of moon, had never seemed so filled with possibilities.
He materialized out of the murk at the foot of her steps, the faintness of moonglow coalescing on his hair. Standing at the lower step, Cole watched her.
"Come dance with me," he bid her without preamble, his hand raising in invitation.
She knew she shouldn't go with him. Elinor's fingers clenched the arms of the rocking chair. There could be no happy ending with him; still, she felt compelled to respond.
He stood waiting, silent and persuasive, his hand held out in entreaty.
She rose from the chair, her full skirt whispering with the movement. The gallery had never seemed so long, and never had she been so filled with mingled desire and dread. Cole Whittier could break her heart, but her heart didn't seem to care.
Her hand slipped into his like a homecoming, a perfect fit, the warmth of him surrounding her. She saw his smile, a glinting temptation in the faint light, and joy bubbled up in her. She loved Cole's smile. He didn't look like himself without it.
Taking her hand, he drew her down the steps and away from the driveway, into the junglelike grounds of Oakleigh.
"Where are we—?"
"Shh," he hushed her, weaving his fingers more snugly with hers.
He had to have cat eyes, she thought as he led her down a path she could hardly detect. At first, she walked hesitantly, not wanting to be tripped up as her sandals caught in stray vines. But gradually she grew less cautious. Cole seemed to know the path as if he'd walked it his whole life.
They crossed what had once been the front gardens of Oakleigh, seeming to skirt the shadowy hulk of the plantation house. When Cole drew her out of the sheltering trees, they stood on the thick grass between the house and the dark shape of the pool where ornamental fish had once swum.
The lights of the mansion were totally dark. It seemed eerily empty of life, the wide galleries suddenly peopled only by ghosts. Elinor let Cole tow her toward the house, balking only as he mounted the shallow steps.
He turned back to her. "Come dance with me."
"Here?" she hissed in a low voice.
"Yes."
"My grandfather—?"
"Can't hear much even when he's awake," her tempter pointed out irrefutably as he drew her up the steps.
"Well, what about Charlie?" Elinor tried again, maintaining a whisper.
Cole held her in the darker shadow of a huge column, his hands warm on her bare shoulders. "Charlie and I have an understanding," he claimed softly, drawing her into his arms.
"What?"
"He's out drinkin' and whorin'."
She felt Cole's soundless chuckle and suddenly had to repress her own spurt of mirth. The image of Charlie being dissolute was too priceless.
The huge gallery shadowed them, the worn brick floor smooth beneath their feet as Cole drew her into his arms. He began a slow, easy waltz, leading her with his body. They moved between light and dark, dancing into faint moonlight between the massive pillars. She'd never been a slouch on the dance floor, but no man had ever matched her steps so perfectly.
The sweetness of early roses perfumed the air as they swayed, Cole's body sure and graceful as he led their steps. The agitated pulse in her veins jumped a notch as the heat from his body brushed against hers.
The utter absence of human interruption lent an isolated magic to the air. Nature's night sounds took center stage and gave them music, rising and dropping as if joining the dance. Cole held her securely, their steps never faltering as he waltzed her along the gallery.
Elinor felt her mouth go dry. The male scent of him enveloped her as he drew nearer, her skirt brushing his legs. She felt a throbbing ache rise up in her body, an ancient call. Swallowing hard, she focused on the movement of their dance.
As they dipped and swayed, slowly circling the great house, Elinor let herself slip back in time. In her imagination, the house was suddenly alight with a thousand candles, music coming clearly through the doors, opened widely onto the gallery.
Outside, horses stood idle, waiting to draw their masters' carriages back home when the ball had ended. Inside, gaily dressed ladies swept around the room on the arms of their lovers.
Laughter was everywhere, and light, and the voices of people falling in love.
Cole's arm tightened around her waist. "I've always wanted to do this."
"Dance around a plantation house?" she whispered back, agonizingly aware of her breasts lightly brushing his jacket.
"No," he replied. "Dance with you."
Their steps whispered against the brick floor as Elinor's heart thudded against her breastbone. He was magic, leading her into her deepest fantasies where only their bodies held the music.
His steps slowed as he lowered his head, his lips brushing hers gently at first, then with agonizing eroticism. He made no attempt to deepen the kiss, concentrating instead on the softness of her mouth as if enchanted by its shape.
Elinor felt enfolded, held firm in his powerful arms. Her breath seemed trapped in her chest, as if drawing in air would chase away the blinding splendor of his kiss. Sensation splintered through her, her brain receptors jumbling the messages of his arousing scent together with the crush of his jacket beneath her fingers.
His hands caressed her back, warm through the thin cotton of her sundress, as a rush of emotion erupted in the pit of her stomach. Still swaying to their silent music, Cole kissed her as if she were treasure, a discovery he intended to keep all to himself.
Lifting his head, he whispered, "You do strange things to me, Ms. Prescott."
Sliding his arm around her more tightly, Cole cuddled her close, their waltz becoming more shuffle than step.
Elinor stared up at him, her eyes wide in her dazed state. Every nerve ending in her body danced to Cole's tune, and caution had long since been thrown to the winds.