Pink petals lay tender and exposed in the dirt. Without their stem, without their life source, they might just as well already be dead.
Until he’d obliterated it, the flower had been a rhododendron.
The three girls did not wait around after the altercation began to settle down. Rhoda had been the first to exit, forgetting to retrieve her hat or even give the signal to Sophia that they’d agreed upon earlier. The plan had been for them to leave separately and meet up later at Prescott House.
Rhoda broke into an unnatural sprint the moment White’s door closed behind her. She couldn’t face them yet. Her mind and heart forged an epic battle that she couldn’t control.
And so, she ran toward the park and didn’t stop until a stitch in her side prevented her from running any farther. Feeling faint, strangled almost, she tore at the cloth wound around her neck. Thank heavens no one else had chosen to walk along this section of the park this morning. If she were to be seen like this…
And then she let out a snort of hysterical laughter. Would it even matter? She was already fodder for all of society. Would she? Wouldn’t she? Had she?
She’d long since passed the stage of mortification that came with knowing what others imagined about her.
At least she liked to believe she had.
A lady and her maid came into view. Despite the hopelessness of her scandal-ridden life, she truly did not wish to add to it.
She spied a dirt trail ahead and turned to enter the privacy it afforded.
She should not be in the park alone.
She should not be dressed as she was.
So many “should not’s” that she’d ignored in the past, one would have thought she would have learned.
Glints of sunlight danced on the leaves and flowers that lined the dirt-trodden path. In the past, she would have been grateful for such a beautiful day. She would have made plans to go to Gunter’s, or perhaps shopping on Bond Street. Life had once seemed so very simple.
Having loosened her cravat, she went one step further and unbuttoned the heavy coat she wore.
How did men outfit themselves thus in such warm weather? She’d always imagined that women had the worst of it.
“Rhoda?” An incredulous male voice had her jerking her gaze up from the ground.
“Justin.” The first thing she noticed was the absence of his hat and how his hair nearly looked on fire where the shafts of sunlight struck it.
The second thing she noticed was the empty, bleak look in his eyes.
“Is it really you? I was just thinking…” And then he shook his head in confusion.
He appeared so very lost. And tormented.
Rhoda stepped across the weeds in her path and into his arms.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world. His warmth, his scent, his very essence. She slid her hands up his chest and wound them around his neck.
He’d defended her to Flavion in front of all of White’s. He’d been willing to call the man out for his casual insults.
And now his arms held her tightly against his solid length. She tilted her head back so that his lips could find hers.
She belonged here. She’d belonged here all along.
His tongue tasted, plundered, demanded. One of his hands grasped the back of her head and the other had found its way to her bound breast.
Rhoda arched into him. He’d brought her back to life this spring, reignited a hunger she never imagined she’d feel again.
No more waiting.
No more delaying.
