Frantically her hands moved over him, over shoulders, arms, back, neck. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, needed more, as he plowed and she met him thrust for thrust. His mouth never leaving hers, he took the kiss deeper, as deep as her body was taking him.

Every nerve ending, every muscle tightened. An explosion of sensations ripped through her. Screaming his name, she clung to him, aware of his body tightening, his back bowing. He broke free of the kiss, his feral groan echoing around her, as he went still before collapsing on top of her and burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.

Chapter 22

Fancy didn’t know why she was at this blasted ball, striving to prove that Dibble held no sway over her decisions, when ironically she was only in attendance because of her misguided need to demonstrate what required no demonstration. Yesterday her sire had dominated her thoughts and today she’d thought of little else save Matthew and how it had felt to be held in his arms.

She hadn’t seen him since he’d crept out of her residence near midnight, and she missed him terribly. Because no classes were being held tonight, she hadn’t seen him before leaving for the ball, and there had been an unexpected emptiness in her chest. She wanted to ask how his day had gone, wanted to sit in a chair reading with him across from her, wanted to share his meal, wanted his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin.

She was always striving to prove her worth to the people crowded into this grand salon. With Matthew, she’d never had anything to prove. He accepted her as she was.

And she accepted him. His kindness to Dickens. His slipping coins to barefoot children on the street. Embracing her desire to spread reading to those who had never known it. His determination to see her sire imprisoned. His comforting of her during her darkest hours. His ability to reach into her soul and heart to mend the cracks that threatened to shatter all.

Arriving here tonight, she knew she should have been impressed with all that surrounded her: gaiety, stunning gowns, and jewelry. Knew she should have been overjoyed when handsome gents asked her to dance. Within twenty minutes of her arrival, her dance card was filled with the names of lords who wanted to take her for a turn on the dance floor.

As she danced with Mr. Whitley, she realized she wanted more than a gentleman’s interest. She wanted his love. Whether the love came quickly or slowly, all that mattered was that the spark of it was there, so it could blossom into something remarkably fulfilling.