"Either way, you want to kick up your heels for him, correct?"
"I do not want to... to do that, you vulgar swine!"
"You don't wish to bed your gentleman, then?" Hunt said in innocent tones. "There must be something wrong with him. He's balding, perhaps... or fat as our newly crowned King?"
"He is none of those things! Lord Portland is perfect—" Too late, she realized her error.
"You wouldn't meanViscountPortland?" Hunt let out a low whistle. "For a merchant's daughter, you set your sights high."
Do not let him goad you. Remain calm.
"Can't say I blame you for not wanting to make the two-backed beast with that stick-in-the-mud. Though if I were you, I'd at least give it a try," he said. "You wouldn't want to discover on your wedding night that said stick is not in working order."
She kept her lips pressed together.
"Have you kissed him at least? He isn't as repulsive as all that?"
That did it. "He is not repulsive at all, curse you! And the reason we have not kissed is because he is a gentleman and would never dream of taking such liberties—"
"Good thing I'm not a gentleman, then." The smug tone and the flare in Hunt's eyes made her stomach leap. "I've dreamed of our sweet kiss, Persephone."
She felt words slipping away from her.
"Aye, I've dreamed of that… and more." A dark, wicked look came into his eyes. "Have you?"
She meant to deny it. But he was staring at her mouth with a greedy intensity that drove all thought from her mind. Her lips tingled with remembered heat. The spicy taste of him flooded her senses, and she felt the firm, velvety thrust of his tongue...
"So much for our game." His husky voice broke her reverie. "It seems we've arrived."
She realized the carriage had stopped. Flustered, she reached to the curtain to look outside. A dark river flowed into her vision... the Thames. She saw floating barges filled with people dressed in masks and colorful evening garb, and despite the circumstances, a tide of excitement rushed through her.
"We're taking a boat to Vauxhall?" she exclaimed.
"Indeed." His lips curved. "Been before?"
"Once, on my birthday," she said. "But there was a melee that night, and Mama has not allowed me back since."
"Don't worry," he said, "I will keep you safe."
Who will keep me safe from you?
As if reading her thoughts, a muscle twitched at the side of his mouth, his scar flickering. He lifted the cushion of the seat next him, revealing a hidden compartment. Reaching inside, he withdrew a large, bulging bag and handed it to her.
Curious, she looked inside. "A wig?"
"It's hardly an unfamiliar accessory, is it?"
"I suppose not," she said ruefully.
"There are plenty of feminine whatnots in there—everything you need to disguise your identity and protect your reputation... as promised." He paused, tapped his chin. "The only other thing you'll need is to a pick a name for the night."
"You mean... an assumed identity?"
This was getting better and better.
"We can't go around calling you Miss Fines all night if you wish to safeguard your reputation," he said reasonably. "Shall I choose the name or will you?"
"What names do you have in mind?" she couldn't help but ask.
