Her heart hammered more with each second the couple spent locked in their passionate embrace. She had never imagined a kiss to be quite so… all-consuming.
Would anyone ever kiss her in such a way? Would she like it if they did? Her face grew warm at the wicked thoughts, and still she could not look away.
The man broke their kiss, and Lady Mulholland released a heavy sigh as she swayed in his arms.
“I have missed you as well,” he said. Stepping around her, he brought his chest up against her back, then reached around her to cup her breasts through the fabric of her gown.
Phoebe swallowed hard as she watched him kiss the lady’s neck while he kneaded her breasts. Scandalous, indeed! Still, Phoebe could not turn her attention elsewhere.
Lady Mulholland moaned in pleasure as she wriggled her bottom against his groin. “Stop teasing. Take me here and now before I perish from want.”
Phoebe’s mind spun. Lady Mulholland meant to… Right here in the garden? Phoebe’s breath caught. She could not remain as she was while the couple did… while they bared themselves. It was too much.
Praying the lovers were too engaged to notice, Phoebe attempted to reposition herself so she would no longer be staring at them.
Her foot slipped on the branch. The sound of fabric scraping against bark filled the air, and she stilled, holding her breath. Lady Mulholland paid her no mind, but the gentleman—if she could even call him that—glanced up into the tree.
Her breath froze in her lungs, her body stiff and still.
Could he see her?
Phoebe stared down at him, but could not tell if he was staring back or just curiously searching for the source of the noise she had made. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Lady Mulholland clearly had not heard the racket, for she began gathering her skirts in her hands, pulling them up her thighs. “Now, Graham. I need you now,” she pouted, her tone husky. “Fill me, my love.”
His name buzzed through Phoebe’s brain—Graham. She searched her mind, attempting to place him. Surely that was his given name, Graham… She knew a couple of men with that name, but none who matched what she could make out of this one—tall and lean with light-colored hair.
He returned his attention to the lady, and Phoebe released the breath she’d been holding.
“Not tonight, pet.” The man swatted Lady Mulholland’s bottom, then stepped away. “Hurry back before you are missed.”
Phoebe stared down at them as she nibbled at her lower lip, watching and waiting with bated breath. But what was she waiting for? The rogue to turn his attention back to her? She squeezed her eyes shut. No. She was waiting for them to be gone. Both of them. Hoping against hope, he had not taken notice of her even though she knew he had.
Perhaps he would be gentleman enough to pretend he had not seen her and go on his way. Leastwise, she could take comfort in knowing that he did not recognize her—he could not have, considering she wore a mask and sat in a dark tree.
Lady Mulholland huffed out a frustrated breath, pulling Phoebe’s attention back to her. The lady dropped her skirts and spun to face him. “You cannot be serious,” her voice dripped with indignation.
“But I am quite serious, I assure you.” He stroked his fingers over her cheek. “Do not pout.”
Lady Mulholland pressed against him. “I will surely perish if you send me away now.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I have waited far too long as it is.”
He chuckled. “You will desire me all the more for being denied, and it will make our next meeting all the sweeter.”
“You are a cad. A miserable lout,” Lady Mulholland ground out the words, but Phoebe did not miss the playful undertones buried beneath her outrage.
“So I have been told.” The man chuckled. “Go on now, and I will make it up to you when we next meet.”
The lady sighed. “Very well, but I intend to hold you to that promise.”
“I would expect nothing less.” He kissed her fast and hard, then swatted her bottom again. “Back to the ball with you.”
Phoebe stared in disbelief as Lady Mulholland obediently scrambled away. Phoebe’s outrage grew as the full weight of what she had witnessed sank in.
The nerve of the man to treat Lady Mulholland as he had. And for the lady to appear to enjoy his outrageous behavior. It was vulgar, sinful, and distasteful. Beyond the pale to be sure.
Phoebe drew in a breath. And poor Lord Mulholland. Phoebe would wager he knew nothing of his wife’s outrageous behavior. He should be aware, not that Phoebe could, or even would, speak of it. But she felt bad for him all the same.
The rogue stepped closer to the tree’s thick trunk, his boots crunching on dry leaves as he looked up.
