meant nothing.
Oh, stubble it! You think too much. After five years, we’re finally attending a party! Smile, you damned fool!
Grant frowned, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time if he were completely insane.
Of course you are. Now go enjoy yourself!
That was it then. He was mad. Not surprising really. Only a madman or a fool would believe that five years of hard labor wouldn’t change him. That he could pick up his old life as if he were putting on a favorite shirt or tying an intricate cravat. But it wasn’t easy. Perhaps it wasn’t even possible. After all, he’d been out of the game for five years. Could he charm a girl who’d gone five seasons without a proper offer? All he knew about her was that her name was Josephine, and she was generally considered too outspoken to make a proper bride.
That’s good. Proper brides are boring!
He flashed on the delightful Mrs. Knopp. Now there was a woman! Five years ago, he wouldn’t have bothered. Her general demeanor was rather dour, especially in her severe black. But now, he had some understanding of the strength it took to continue after something devastating. She’d lost a husband. He’d lost his entire lifestyle. That she’d had the fortitude to not only survive, but to work as a buyer, impressed him. She was smart too, which was fun. But what really set his heart to pounding was the way she’d relaxed into his arms as they were dancing.
Imagine what other things you could coax her to do!
He tried to resist his madness’s suggestions, but some thoughts would not be denied. Her body was too stiff, but once she’d started enjoying their dance, he’d felt the suppleness that came with delight. Her body had molded to his, her eyes had widened in surprise, and her lips had gone soft and moist. After years of hard things—the bed, the factory, the ledgers—her softness against him had felt like a miracle. That it hadn’t come easily to her either made the sensation all the sweeter.
You should have kissed her!
Yes, he ruefully admitted, he should have. Now that he was about to sell himself into an unwanted marriage, he wished he’d indulged himself one last time with a woman of his own choosing. He could have peeled Irene’s severe black off her body. He’d bet a pony she had a body that would glow. Skin that would flush rosy pink, legs that were long and strong to grip a man, and a sweet wetness that would taste like ambrosia.
He closed his eyes, imagining the moment when he penetrated her. He’d watch her eyes widen, her lips part on a gasp, and then he would stroke her slowly. He’d build the passion with a steady thrust and grind that never failed to delight both man and woman.
There’s still time to do it! Tonight, before you set to seducing the heiress.
He couldn’t do that, he told his madness. He had to focus on charming Miss Josephine, the too-wild heiress.
He stepped into the ballroom a half hour later. He’d walked to save money, using the time to calm his racing heart. But what had really happened was that his mind began spinning with a million possibilities and possible outcomes. So much so that when he was announced at the top of the stairs, “Lord Crowle,” spoken in booming accents, the shock of unreality had him swaying slightly on his feet.
It all looked the same. The ballroom, the people, the slightly bored stares as they turned to inspect him. It felt exactly the same, as if it were still five years ago. And yet, damn, it wasn’t the same! Or rather, he had changed, while the rest of the ton hadn’t.
He descended slowly into the ballroom proper, trying to orient himself to this old landscape. With his merchant’s eye, he noted the cut of fabrics, the new styles, even the details of cloth and stitching. He’d never have seen that before. But with his old eyes—the bored aristocrat’s eyes—he saw the women inspect him, the men raise their eyebrows in greeting, and the elegant spread of food that would feed him