It was all so delicious—even if no one knew she was being naughty. She knew. And so did Finn. He liked that about her. Thornley would not. The duke expected her to remain above reproach. How frightfully boring it was to always do what was expected. She could only hope her eventual marriage wouldn’t be as unexciting. Yet she’d have memories of Finn to see her through it.
No matter where she was in the grand salon—on the dance floor, standing about with other debutantes and whispering about one gent or another—she felt Finn’s gaze on her, had merely to look over and, with unerring accuracy, would find him, always alone, carefully avoiding being drawn into any conversations, into being questioned by someone who wouldn’t take Dick Turpin as the answer to his identity. How lonely it must be for him. How selfish she had been to invite him.
Yet when the next waltz arrived, the one that gave them some time to be alone, he didn’t seem the least bit put out. Instead his eyes grew warm and his grin welcomed. When she’d first met him, she hadn’t realized that eventually he’d become the most important person in her life, the one for whom she got out of bed each morning, the one she carried with her into her dreams.
She really needed to be forthright with Thornley and inform him she had misgivings about their arrangement. Although there was always time for that as neither of them was in any hurry to see it through. Maybe he even had someone special he’d prefer to marry; perhaps that was the reason his time in her company felt compulsory rather than desired. Unlike her time with Finn. She was with him because she wanted to be, because she would cease to breathe if she wasn’t.
“So how do we manage this secretive tryst without getting caught?” he asked.
“As discreetly as possible, make your way to the open doors, go through them, and down the steps. Wait for me there. I’ll be thirty seconds behind you.”
“Done this before, have you?”
“No.” She grinned. “But I’ve watched others slipping out.” Thornley had never sought to arrange a tryst with her. She found the notion of having one with Finn exhilarating. Quite honestly, as handsome as Thornley was, she never thought about kissing him, while she thought about kissing Finn all the time. But then most of her day and almost all her night was spent thinking about him.
When the music stopped, he led her off the dance floor, took her hand, and bowed over it, pressing another kiss to her gloved knuckles. “I’ll be waiting,” he murmured seductively.
She watched as he walked off, wending his way through the gathered throng of guests, suddenly disappearing from her sight. How had he accomplished that? To blend in until he became invisible to her? Perhaps he’d managed breaking into her room because he was still a thief, hadn’t given it up as he’d claimed. He’d certainly succeeded in stealing her heart.
Chuckling at the last thought, the silliness of it, the reality of it, she swung around and came up short at the sight of her mother standing there with condemnation and disappointment etched clearly in her face.
“Who was that with whom you were dancing?” she asked sternly.
“Dick Turpin.”
Her mother continued to stare, her glower growing sharper as though her eyes were being rubbed over whetstone.
“The infamous highwayman?” The teasing didn’t go over nearly as well with her mother as it had with Dearwood, was rather silly, really. She sighed in defeat. “I don’t know. We were both pretending to be who we were dressed as and didn’t make proper introductions.”
“I did not see him descend the stairs. He did not introduce himself to me. I shall alert the footman—”
“No, he had an invitation. I’m rather certain of it. He showed it to me.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and she feared she’d detected the bold lie. “Or perhaps he didn’t, but he came with someone, a cousin, he said. He’s new to town. I believe this is his first ball. He might be unaware of proper protocol. When next I see him, I’ll bring him over to you for a proper introduction. He’s really quite fascinating.” The last might have been the only truthful thing she’d said to her mother during this horrid inquisition.
“You’re not to dance with him again.”
“I won’t.”
Her mother glanced around, and Lavinia feared if she spied Finn she’d toss him out on his ear. “I shall begin making inquiries, have your father keep an eye out. If he’s not versed in manners, it’s very likely he is an imposter. I should insist everyone remove their masks.”
“Don’t ruin everyone’s fun. He’s very gentlemanly... oh, and he’s the son of a lord. He told me that.” The truth was reflected in her voice. Her mother must have heard it, because she jerked her head back in a manner similar to the way a chicken did when strutting around a coop in search of grain.
“Which lord?”
“An earl, I believe, but I can’t recall which one. A lesser one. One hardly known.”
Her mother pursed her lips, arched a brow. “Bring him over for an introduction but associate with him no more than that until I am satisfied his family is above reproach.”
Was any family above reproach? She was fairly certain both her brother and father were keeping women on the side. She thought it possible that even her mother had a lover, as she spent many evenings out. “Yes, Mama.”
Watching her mother walk away was not nearly as interesting as watching Finn, but it did bring with it a great deal of relief. Although drat it all! As she casually made her way toward the terrace, she realized she’d have no further waltzes with him. As a matter of fact, it would be reckless for him to even return to the ballroom. She’d have to say goodbye in the gardens.
A few couples were standing on the terrace, chatting and drinking champagne, no doubt seeking to escape the stifling warmth of the ballroom. Lavinia headed down the steps that led into the garden. Her slipper had barely hit the ground before she felt a hand close around her arm and gently pull her against a broad chest.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come,” Finn said in a hushed whisper.
“My mother stopped me. She is suspicious of you.” Bending back her head, she looked up at him, locking her eyes with his. “You can’t return to the ballroom.”
Beneath his breath, he released a harsh curse—or at least she assumed it was profanity. She wasn’t familiar with the word he’d uttered, but it didn’t sound like a nice one. At first she’d thought he’d referenced a duck, but then realized the word wasn’t referring to a fowl at all, although she wasn’t quite certain what it was referring to, wasn’t certain a lady of good breeding should know. “We still have time to take a walk around the garden,” she assured him.
