For now, however, and despite the ache it put in her heart, she would turn her focus to uncovering proof of the earl’s iniquitous dealings.
Stopping in her tracks, Heather touched her fingertips to the bud of a pink rose.
“It’s a lovely evening,” a deep, rumbling growl said from behind her.
Heather spun, her heart in her throat and her body poised for attack, staring through the obscurity at a man…dressed as a peacock.
Amusement relaxed her tense muscles. Feathers stuck out at all angles from his coat, and the purple of his waistcoat seemed somehow bright under the moon’s hazy glow. There, however, was where the ridiculousness of his costume ended. His legs were thick and muscular, his shoulders impossibly broad, and his neck—blimey—his neck had incredible girth. Gloved hands double the size of hers hung at his sides, and his eyes glittered darkly behind his domino. Beneath the mask, his lips were full, and quirked up in a cocksure grin as though the man knew precisely how his visage made women feel.
Even obscured by the darkness of night, this man was a sight. She knew large men—Percy, for example was particularly large—but, despite the plumage, this man cut a dashing figure that made her breath quicken.
“I did not hear you approach, sir,” she said breathily.
His smile grew, revealing gleaming white teeth. “My apologies for startling you, madam.”
“What are you doing out in the gardens?”Foolish question, Heather.
“Going for a walk. Escaping the heat of the ballroom,” he whispered. His gaze swept over her, from the tips of the black ribbons in her hair to the hem of her black, feather-adorned dress. “You?”
Her breath caught in her throat at the flare of heat in his dark gaze. Her friends had been right on that score—shedidknow that this man was interested. “The same.”
“You ventured into the gardensalone?” His voice was a breathy growl.
“Yes,” she replied on a gasp.For pity’s sake, Heather, pull yourself together!
Tingles prickled along her skin as she took in the man’s relaxed stance. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldgive her the last night she so desired and boost her confidence before her assignment.
She boldly took a step closer to him as the wind ruffled the feathers upon his coat and carried his impossible scent to her. Absurdly, she imagined that he smelled of salt—like the ocean’s spray—and soap. It was intriguing, alluring…and achingly familiar.
She stepped yet nearer, and his gaze darkened on hers. It became more evident the closer she drew just how very tall the man was. Despite her own substantial height, her forehead scarcely reached his chin.
Whowasthis man? Part of her was desirous to peek beneath his domino, but there was something decidedly thrilling about an anonymous flirtation.
A delicious heat melted low in her belly. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his body.
Blimey, but they had scarcely exchanged a few words in the dark and she was fully prepared to give him her virtue. In fact,shewas attempting to seducehim.
Percy’s pulsefluttered in his chest, his every nerve attuned to the mysterious woman’s movements and his stiffening cock wedged firmly between his thigh and his too-tight breeches. The woman stirred the scent of flowers around her as she approached, their bodies very nearly touching.
Christ, but she was skilled at seduction. And Percy was eager to be seduced. The daringly low-cut bodice, long black silk gloves, and matching feathered frock told him that she was a widow—a young one, at that—and likely well-versed in the art of the tryst. That was a relief, for he couldn’t taint a woman’sreputation with his name. But a widow of middling reputation—fuck knows aladywouldn’t venture out into the gardens alone—understood the way of society and the risks involved in a tryst.
“Does your wife await your presence in the ballroom?” she asked coyly.
He shook his head in one swift movement. “I’m unattached.”
A low, purring hum sounded from deep in her throat, and Percy’s cods tightened.
Her hair, of indeterminate colour, waved in the breeze, catching the moon’s hazy glow. Another flash of a challenging gaze and a thick, shapely form raced through his mind’s eye, and his shoulders stiffened. It was dark, but from what he could see of this woman, she carried herself like one who’d experienced much of the world—and had a similar physique to a certain student of his who had been inappropriately occupying his thoughts of late. It would be wise, in this instance, to take this widow up on her offer, for evidently it had been too long.
“What is your name?” Percy blurted, his voice far lower than he recognised.
The widow’s full lips widened, and eyes of indistinguishable colour gleamed with mischief behind her mask.
“Ah-ah,” she chided on a whisper. “You mustn’t break the rules of the masque.”
He matched her grin and murmured, “You follow the rules, do you, madam?”
Her gaze burned into his as she inched closer. “The rules of the masque, indeed, must always be followed. However”—she hesitated, and his heart faltered—“the rules of society? Most assuredly not.”
