Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(27)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Behind them the cheers of the spectators rose.

Hero tried to speak and found she had to swallow before her mouth could form the words. “We need to get back.”

He didn’t reply, merely caught her hand and turned, striding back up the path. She stumbled behind him, her limbs uncoordinated, her thoughts dazed. Another starburst exploded overhead, green, purple, and red flakes floating to earth. The path was widening; they were nearly to the clearing where the spectators stood.

Reading pulled her suddenly into a dark nook off the side of the path. He turned to face her and yanked her into his arms. Her entire being thrilled as he breathed a foul curse and then captured her mouth again. He devoured her as if she were a sweetmeat and he a man who had gone without bread for far too long. He licked across her lips, biting at the corner of her mouth, groaning somewhere deep in his chest. She opened her mouth eagerly this time, having learned what he—what she—wanted.

Another cheer went up.

He tore his head away from hers, muttering, “You taste like ambrosia, and I am a madman.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, and she had the strange feeling he was as confused as she.

He blinked, cursed, and, taking her hand again, led her into the clearing.

The gathered crowd all had their faces tilted upward, watching the display overhead. Hero followed Reading without thought, feeling quite shattered as they wound in and out of the bodies until they found their own party.

“There you are,” Phoebe exclaimed as Hero made her side. She clapped and squealed as spinning wheels appeared over their heads. She leaned closer to Hero and shouted, “But what has happened to Lord Mandeville?”

Hero shook her head, her brain stuttering to life. She shouted back, “He went for refreshments and I lost him.”

She heard Reading grunt. His lips were grim and she hastily looked away.

“Oh, look!” Phoebe cried.

Bombs burst and turned, sparkling, into a green-and-gold-winged serpent. The fiery creature twisted and then melted into a glowing white shower of sparks.

“It’s fantastic,” Lady Margaret breathed.

It was. It was the most fantastic fireworks display she’d ever seen—and yet she felt curiously unaffected. Hero was conscious only of Reading’s bulk, on the far side of Phoebe. There seemed to be an invisible line between them now, an awareness drawn taut by sensuality and basic sin.

Dear Lord, what had she done?

She touched her mouth with shaking fingers. She’d committed an act of horrible betrayal. She knew that. She was aware of the ramifications and of regret. The possibility of far greater sin and guilt. Of the fact that her very soul was in peril.

And she did not care.

She was in a fever, wanting only to taste his mouth again, to feel his hard body against hers. To find out if his bare skin was as hot without any clothes. To discover his naked chest. To lie with him entirely nude.

She gasped, winded, unable to catch her breath. She’d never thought herself a creature of physical want. Had never experienced this longing before with any other man. It was as if she were the dormant black powder and he a flame that set her alight. Suddenly everything was vivid, clear, and burning. The very night sky rejoiced as if to celebrate her awakening.

Her facade had cracked. She realized with shock that she was as mortal as anyone else, as fallible as the most fallen woman.

And it did not matter. If he but crooked a finger, she would turn and follow him back into those dim paths. Would twine herself about him and lift her face for his kiss again.

Hero shivered and wrapped her arms about herself.

“Are you cold?” His voice was deep and much too near.

She shook her head, a bit too violently, and backed a step away from him, putting prudent space between them. He frowned and opened his mouth.

“Ah, here you are,” came Mandeville’s voice from her other side.

She turned and smiled up at him, in near-panicked relief. Mandeville was normalcy. Mandeville was sanity.

Some of what she was feeling must have shone in her eyes.

Mandeville bent closer so she could hear over the cracks and pops. “I’m sorry to have lost you. I hope it caused you no worry?”

She shook her head, still smiling like a fool, unable to speak.

“What were you thinking?” Reading growled close, and at first she thought he accused her. Then she looked up and saw the murderous expression he shot at Mandeville. “It’s not safe for a lady alone here.”

Mandeville’s head reared back. “How dare you?”

Reading made a grimace of disgust, turned on his heel, and strode to the edge of the clearing.

Mandeville looked uncertainly at Hero. “I’m sorry…”

Dear God, she could not take an apology from him now. Hero laid a hand on his sleeve. “Please, don’t worry yourself.”

“But I should,” Mandeville said slowly. “My brother is right: I should never have lost you in the maze of paths. It was not well done of me. Please forgive me, Hero.”

He hardly ever used her given name without her title. Hero felt sudden tears spring to her eyes. This man was so good, so right, and she was a fool to let bright, sparkling physical lust endanger her happiness with him.

She squeezed the arm under her hand. “It’s done now and no true harm came of it. Please. Let’s talk of it no more.”

He seemed to search her face for a moment, even as purple and red lights showered above.

“Very well,” he said at last. “It seems I am to marry a very wise lady indeed.”

Her lips trembled as she gazed up at him, knowing she did not deserve his praise. This was the man she’d chosen to marry. The decision was made, the contracts drawn up and signed. This would be a good marriage, one of respect and common goals attained between the two of them.

And yet she could not help but turn her head slightly and glance at Reading. He stood apart, his face upturned to the sky as sparkling flames reflected in his eyes.

“GET UP, M’LORD, she’s doin’ a runner.”

Griffin groaned, rolling from his stomach to his back and flinging a shielding arm over his eyes. “Go ’way.”

“Can’t do that, m’lord,” the cheerful voice of Deedle, his valet-cum-secretary-cum-jack-of-all-trades, replied. “You told me to wake you if she went out, an’ keep at it no matter ’ow you might complain until you stood up by yerself, and ’ere I am awaking you.”

Griffin sighed and cracked an eyelid. The sight that met his gaze was not a pretty one. Deedle was only a bit past five and twenty by his own reckoning, but he’d lost both upper front teeth in that time. It didn’t seem to bother him, though, judging by the wide smile that split his face. He wore a wig—one that Griffin had cast off—badly in need of curling and powdering. His muddy brown eyes were tiny and spaced too near, peering down a great angular nose that took up so much of his face that his small mouth and smaller chin seemed to have given up completely and retreated down his neck in defeat.