Virginity held no special appeal for him—he preferred bed partners with experience—but the thought of being the first man to show her what carnal pleasure was, was a strong temptation.
Having not seen the lady or the lord, he’d almost indulged with a lady friend inside a private hedge in the Lovers Walk. Alas, it had been put to an end rather abruptly by himself, for he could not get his mind off his golden-haired beauty. Now, unsatiated and disheveled, he stumbled out of the bushes—only to have a child run right into him.
He grabbed the lad. “Whoa there, boy. Where is the rush?”
The boy squirmed, and that was when William spotted the pearl-studded reticule dangling from his hand. “Curious artifact you have there lad. Is the new fashion for boys to wear women’s purses or did you snatch it from some hapless young lady?”
“Where are you, you thieving—”
Lady Bridget, theaforementionedhapless lady, came stumbling inside the cove, and William groaned inside his throat. This was not good—was it? Was he cursed to keep meeting her like this?
“You,” she gasped.
“Good day, my lady,” he stated wryly. “We do have to stop meeting like this.”
Her glorious gaze narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a privatetête-à-tête,” William replied off-handedly. “Did this urchin steal your purse?”
“Yes,” she snagged it from the boy’s hand. “And how was it that he happened to run into you? You set this up, didn’t you?”
His lips quirked. “I did not, but thank you for such an idea.”
Huffing, she turned and left the cove, then stepped on the broad part of the South Walk, while William followed after hefting the lad under his arm. “What do you want me to do with this boy?”
“Lady Bridget,” Hansen strode to her, his face blustering with anger at seeing William. Or was it his rumpled clothes, disheveled appearance, cravat askew and hair raked through with needy fingers? He did not know—nor did he care.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes flinging towards Bridget. “What happened?”
“A pickpocket,” she replied. “A brazen one. But I have my reticule, thanks in part to His Grace.”
Hansen’s face was stony. “I find this to be a bit too coincidental.”
“I thought so too, but it appears he is here on alternate business,” Bridget defended, then turned and curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace, you can let the boy go now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, ignoring the balking passersby.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said tightly. “I have my reticule now. No harm done.”
Shrugging, William let the lad go, who took off like a bat from the depths of hell. He fixed his jacket and undid his cravat, finding it a bother. “I am sorry to disrupt your night, so please excuse me. Enjoy the fireworks, or whatever is left of them, that is. I suppose the display is done now.”
He turned and headed off, only for Bridget to ask, “How did you know that?”
Pivoting, he responded, “My lady, it is after ten in the night. Unless you were here for an assignation, the only conclusion is that you are here for the nighttime show.” With a half bow, he spun and walked off.
Against the velvety night sky, the moonlight gleaming on his skewed locks, Duke Arlington looked more like Lancelot than King Arthur. Rugged, dashing, and mysterious.
“That cur,” Graham muttered. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Swallowing, she nodded, “I am. I must apologize for ruining our night though. It was rude and unladylike of me to run off like that.”
“No worries,” he said, pulling her in. This close, she could see the emotion running through his eyes. “Are you sure?”
She gave him the most reassuring smile she could, and Graham dipped his head, “May I kiss you?”
Before she could respond, his lips touched hers: the kiss was refined, smooth, skilled. It was pleasant… and as exciting as tepid tea. Instantly, her heart sank. This was not what she had envisioned for their first kiss.
Where was the passion? The excitement? Why did her heart pound beneath her breastbone at the mere thought of the wicked duke, yet a kiss from the proper lord made her gut twist in disappointment?
