“Tonight won’t be pretty.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I shall be appealing to Rothesbury’s vanity, and you will be the foil.”
Jamie found his jaw tensing, for he understood two facts at once. He would be playing her fool tonight. And he would have to keep a tight rein on himself.
Not like last night when he slipped the bit and lost all control.
She watched him, expectant, assessing what substance he was made of. She needed his agreement.
At last, he summoned every shred of grit he possessed and nodded.
Oars continued steadily slicing through the water, and she finally nodded back. Reserve hung about her. She had her doubts.
That made two of them.
As their boat slid into Vauxhall’s water gate, he would have missed the subtle changes in her demeanor had he not known her so well. A spark twinkled in her eyes. One corner of her mouth curled into a playful smile waiting for a witty rejoinder to tip into full bloom. The set of her shoulders wasn’t so square anymore, but rather relaxed into an openness that suggested invitation to a dalliance. She’d fully slipped into the role of coquettish marchioness.
She flashed flirty eyes at him. “Are you ready, my husband?”
The dark feeling from last night slithered through Jamie. He didn’t like this version of her.
He jumped from the boat and noticed the boatman’s subtly extended hand. Jamie dug into an inner pocket and slipped a gratuity into the meaty palm, while keeping six shillings ready for their admittance into the gardens. Hortense took the boatman’s hand, stepping from the boat and onto the landing, a coy tilt to her head as she stared up at him through her eyelashes. A sheepish smile tottered about the man’s mouth. Good gads, was he blushing?
They ascended the water stairs and were soon promenading along Vauxhall’s Grand Walk, a gravel path lined by stately elms strewn with glass lanterns providing the illumination of a dozen constellations. All around were other guests seeking their pleasures in the myriad ways Vauxhall so amply provided. Fountains, artificial ruins, cascades, temples, grottoes, and minstrels parading about. The gaiety of the atmosphere effervesced a bit much, in truth. But when had pleasure seekers ever given a thought toa bit much?
Hortense’s head angled back, her gaze sweeping across the canopy above. Jamie had to fight the impulse to lean down and press his mouth to the exposed curve of her pale throat.
Which wouldn’t do.
Not even at Vauxhall.
“Do you know how many lanterns are strung about the place?”
“I’ve heard fifteen thousand,” he said.
She gave a dry snort. He couldn’t help feeling a bit relieved. That snort was very much in keeping with the Hortense he knew.
“This place is beyond extravagant.”
“I believe they’re preparing for a reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo this summer.”
“Wasn’t there one only a few years ago?”
“It will have a thousand soldiers and horses, complete with artillery and ammunition wagons.”
“Surely not live rounds?” she asked, shocked.
“You wouldn’t put anything past the pleasure of an aristocrat, would you?”
An emotion flickered within her eyes and was gone. “Nothing.”
“I believe fireworks will be employed.”
“I—” She began and stopped. A shyness hung about her. A hint of the genuine her. “I was interested in your history of St. James’s Park.”
“Oh?”
