The Knickerbocker Bride: A Gilded Age Romance

Part Eight

Uneasiness roiled through Cora's stomach as she approached the private dining salon. This is what you've wanted for months. Everything you've wished for. Dinner, alone, with John Drexel.

So, why didn't she feel happy?

This felt wrong. Like she was betraying Harry somehow. Which made no sense, seeing as how Harry had arranged tonight's dinner with John. Harry had told her to come here, to "snare" Drexel this evening. Then why wasn't she bubbling with anticipation?

Stop being ridiculous. John was everything she desired, the perfect man. Every woman in the city salivated after him. He was gregarious, charming, handsome . . . What more could a woman ask for in a man? She had no reservations about him and their future. They would be happy together, once she convinced him of their suitability.

Never mind that the two most important people in her life—Harry and Lily—both disapproved. Well, they would come around in time, once they saw Cora and John together, their love for one another obvious to all.

The attendant opened the door for her and she crossed into the salon. A man stood up from the lone table. John. He wore black evening clothes, well-tailored for his fit frame. A lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead, and the handsome angles of his face were sharply highlighted in the gaslight. Oh, mother mercy. He took her very breath away.

"Miss Hampton," he said, bowing slightly at the waist. A tumbler full of amber liquid dangled from his fingertips.

My name. He knows my name.

"Good evening, Mr. Drexel." She came forward, ignoring the restlessness in her chest. This would go perfectly. This was perfect. Everything was perfect.

He held out the empty chair for her, nodding at the attendant to begin service. "Thank you for meeting me." The sound of his deep voice sent shivers all along the surface of her skin.

She lowered herself down into the chair and smoothed out her skirts. "Thank you for the invitation."

He mumbled something as he sat but she couldn't catch it. She only heard the word "choice." Hmm. "I'm sorry but I didn't hear you."

"Never mind." He sprawled in his chair, taking up quite a bit of room, and she felt his leg brush against hers. Out of habit, she shrank and shifted her limbs out of his way. "You don't mind if I call you Cora, do you?"

Bold. Intimate. She liked that. "Yes. And I may call you John?"

"Please." A waiter poured both wine and champagne. John reached for the champagne glass as soon as it was filled. Cora wasn't used to imbibing but she didn't want to disappoint him.

"Let's toast," he said, raising his glass and shifting toward her. "To new friendships."

Her chest bubbled, much like the liquid in her hand. This was actually happening. It was real, not one of the countless dreams she'd had over the last year. "To new friendships."

He drank, his eyes assessing and intense on her over the crystal rim of his glass. The stare caused her to shift in her seat, though her belly remained cold. What was he thinking as he looked at her? Had he found her lacking in some manner?

She started when his leg found hers once again, his limb pressed squarely against her knee. Hadn't she given him enough room? She hadn't dined this intimately before. Perhaps this was what men expected, to be given all the space under the table. Shifting, she eased farther away, her body twisted at an odd angle.

Leaning in, he lowered his voice. "Are you trying to get away from me, my dear?"

"No. I just assumed . . . " The teasing light in his eyes had her trailing off. Oh. Oh. She was so stupid. He was trying to rub up against her. Heat washed over her skin. God, he must think her a complete dolt.