A cricket chirped in the distance. It was hidden in the dark. The landscape had become like ghosts, with a trace outline and shadows confusing what was there and what was not.
His hands clasped my shoulders. His thumbs traced circles on my neck. “What happens if I stay?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”
Ashbrook’s breath on my neck tingled. He hadn’t decided to embrace me. Perhaps he needed poetry for that.
“My lord, I should let you enjoy the moon, sir, while I find the Duchess of Repington.”
“She’s chatting with my aunt, and your moon disappeared behind the clouds. That means you will leave me for no reason.”
He went forward, a little deeper into the garden. “Jemina, I wish you wouldn’t go.”
His tone was low. If I hadn’t heard it in that instance, I probably would never have. My slippers moved me to his side. “I’m listening.”
“I love your letters, they bring me great joy.”
“Lord Ashbrook, I know you tossed them in the rubbish bin.”
“No, Jemina. I’ve kept them all. They show an attachment between us.”
“There’s always been an attachment since you rescued me. But you, my lord, you’ve ignored that.”
“Not true. There’s no ignoring you.” He lifted his arm to me. “Come to dinner with me. I don’t want you left alone out here. This isn’t the place to say all I wish. We must meet tomorrow.”
“I’m not ready to go back. The density of the hypocrites and the hypocritical is too high.”
“Ignore the elite’s whispers.”
“How? They hound Patience, who is perfect. They come for me because I’m comfortable in dark gray. You can go laugh again with Lady Lavinia.”
“Mrs. St. Maur, I admonished Lavinia in joke for a nasty little trick she tried. Never would I find any humor in a woman’s choice of dress. You’re a vision in a sea of white.”
“You have gold threads, fine embroidery on your waistcoat. You’re very fashionable.”
“I am, but I still get whispers. We need to head back in. We can talk tomorrow.” He started to retrieve his dinner gloves, but I stopped him and clasped his fingers, my bare palm to his.
“I won’t do you the disservice of saying I understand how you feel. I just know those whispers are wrong.”
He glanced at me over his spectacles, then kissed my hurt wrist. “Thank you for that. I do recall you being handy with a needle and thread with a costume for the duchess, but you have the money to hire a modiste. If you slowed your Widow’s Grace pursuits, you have the talent to create fashion.”
“You think a new dress will stop all the talk about me, the girl with no memories, the girl released from Bedlam with a fortune?”
“Technically no one says the latter. That’s our secret. See, we do have one.”
For a moment, I saw all the conflicts of his spirit dancing in his eyes—part desire, part a wish to remain distant, part the danger of what this attraction meant.
When his hand slipped to my waist, I assumed he went with desire.
“Mrs. St. Maur, what if we make the rumors of our romance true?”
His lips pressed to mine and my arms skated about his neck. In the dark, with the fire of torches reflecting on his spectacles, I let my flame for this man unleash. I burned in his arms as his kisses descended, smoldering like lava.
My breath came faster as the pressure of his hands changed.
I was in danger, falling into that scary place of wanting him, wanting him terribly.
It took everything to step away from fire. I wasn’t quite sure if I could survive being burned. I smoothed my wrinkling lace. “Gossip is wrong. Why reward them, making their lies true?”
