But not like this.
She pushed Mr. Medford away and tucked her bosom back into her bodice. “I must go.”
“Go where?” He tried to kiss her again. “Why?”
She wiggled out of his embrace. “They’re calling me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“The Blushing Maid Inn, on the main street. Second floor, left hand side, suite twelve. Arrive before ten or Mr. Alsop will beat you there and we’ll lose our chance.”
“Ten o’clock… a.m.?” Mr. Medford recoiled in comical horror. “That’s the crack of dawn!”
“Then call me Lady Dawn.” Gladys gave him a peck on the cheek. She couldn’t wait to see her parents’ reaction to a marriage proposal from the heir to a viscountcy. “You must know that my answer is an enthusiastic yes. Don’t be late. I’ll be holding my breath.”
He reached for her. “Yes, of course I’ll come to your hotel, but first—”
Of course, he said. Of course he would offer for her first thing in the morning. Could anything be more splendid? Another kiss or three, perhaps. And whatever came after. Gladys danced out of range before temptation could melt her back into his arms. They would have the rest of their lives to succumb to passion. They could survive a few scant hours apart.
Gladys raced around the hedgerow and over the grass and back up the walking path toward the open ballroom door.
As she burst back into the main room, she nearly toppled over her very shocked sister.
“Dear God,” said Kitty. “What happened to your hair? Are those bits of leaves stuck in it?”
Gladys batted absently at her ruined coiffure as she glanced over Kitty’s shoulders. “Where’s Mother?”
Kitty pointed. “She went to look for you by the refreshment table.”
Gladys looped her arm with her sister and dragged her toward the punch and cakes. “I have the very best news. You are never going to believe who fell for me. I’m going to be a bride!”
Chapter 3
In utter confusion, Reuben stared at the empty space on his lap where Lady Midnight had been just moments ago.
Women did not run from him. Women ran to him. They threw themselves at his feet, in his arms, on his cock. He had to bat them away like horseflies. Lady Midnight’s impromptu flight from his embrace made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
Meeting here had been her idea.
Reuben hadn’t wanted to come within a hundred miles of the Marrywell Festival of Abject Desperation. Would not have done so, in fact, had Viscount Oldfield not ordered him to do so. Oldfield was his paternal uncle, which was the only paternal thing about him. Reuben had spent a fruitless childhood trying to earn his only remaining family member’s affection, only to be told he wasn’t worth anyone’s time. The viscount wouldn’t even bother ordering Reuben about, if it weren’t for the pesky rules of primogeniture forcing a connection.
Reuben had ceased being under the viscount’s thumb five years ago, when Reuben had come into his majority and an inheritance. He could have ignored his uncle’s latest summons to join him at the festival. But the viscount was the only relative Reuben had left.
His uncle also possessed an aging cat that Reuben had missed dearly ever since moving out on his own. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the real reason Reuben was in Marrywell was to chase after a graying puss called Lucifur.
Not that Lucifur appreciated Reuben’s presence. Nor did anyone else, not really. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t the marrying type… he wasn’t marriageable. No one wanted to be his bride, and with good reason. He wasn’t worth much in that regard. But he had learned to be tolerable in small doses.
Take Lady Midnight, for example. She had been eager for Reuben’s company. Persistent. The delectable Lady Midnight had sent three letters a day until he’d agreed to meet.
She had picked the time, she’d picked the place, and she’d picked the activity: two naked, sweaty bodies coupling beneath the stars. She’d been after him for weeks to agree to this assignation. And then, when the good part was just getting started…
There had been a brief moment when he might have been able to dash and stop her before she reentered the ballroom. Reuben hadn’t moved from the bench in time—or at all—because the thought didn’t even occur to him until after she’d disappeared.
He had never once been in a position that required chasing after a woman. The opposite. In six-and-twenty years of being the ton’s most storied rakehell, no woman had ever voluntarily quit his side. Which was the primary reason he met Lady Midnight out here in a public garden, rather than invite her to Reuben’s private quarters at the inn.
Kicking a woman out of one’s rooms was distasteful to all parties. Much easier for him to be the one to leave.
Usually, he prided himself on never indulging more than a single dalliance with any lover, then quickly forgetting her and moving on. Yet in this case, his planned tryst with Lady Midnight had not only left Reuben uncomfortably aroused, but also phenomenally, incomprehensibly, unsatisfied.
