‘Oh...good.’ She almost smiled, but not quite in relief. ‘It was a thoughtful gesture—even if you did decimate my mother’s prize rosebush to get them.’
More silence.
This one so painful it made his teeth ache.
All his fault too. She had given him the perfect excuse to say all the things he had no idea how to say when she had brought up the stupid flowers, and he had ruined the opportunity with meaningless drivel. And if he didn’t step up soon, then this whole evening was doomed to be a litany of meaningless drivel.
Annoyed with himself, he stopped dead. ‘This is ridiculous!’
She had paused too, and was now watching him warily. Behind her, the other three were still too close for comfort. Whatever he said, and whatever her reaction, it was too personal and private to do it in front of an audience. But as he couldn’t put it off any longer, Luke grabbed her hand and tugged her from the dimly lit path into the dark privacy of the trees. It was time to take a leaf out of his mother’s book and grab life by the horns.
‘Hope, I...’ He had no earthly idea what to say, knowing only that something needed to be said so that they both knew exactly where they stood. ‘The thing is...’
I missed you.
I need you.
I want you.
I think... I think I might be in love with you.
‘The thing is...’ God she was beautiful stood gazing up at him. And she wasn’t wearing her usual mask, he realised. There was no bravado. No affected disdain. No bold stare. Her eyes were serious. Her focus intent, as if searching for the truth in his, while anxiously waiting for him to find it. They were both wary and expectant. Hopeful and scared.
Well, at least he was hopeful and perhaps she looked scared. He was past the point of feeling rational.
In the end, he didn’t wait for the right words to miraculously materialise, because there were no right words to describe what he felt. So he did what his body was telling him to do, what his whole being needed to do at that precise moment, and just kissed her instead. Dragging her into his arms and pouring his heart and soul into it so that she would be in no doubt how hopelessly undone he was.
How much she had undone him.
His foolish heart soared when she sighed against his mouth and her body instantly melted against his. Luke needed no further encouragement to deepen the kiss, losing himself completely in the moment. She tasted of the strawberries she had eaten for dessert. Of sweetness and passion. Of comfort and rightness. Of everything he had spent two months dreaming of.
In case he was going too fast or misinterpreting her signals, he tore his lips away and tried to give them both the chance to come up for air and re-evaluate, but Hope was having none of it. Unceremoniously, she dragged him back, looping her arms tight around his neck to anchor him firmly in place in case he had any foolish ideas about being gentlemanly again.
Not that being gentlemanly was possible when his body was on fire.
He had no idea if it had been he who had staggered forward or if she had dragged him further into the trees with her, but somehow her back rested against the wide trunk of an ancient oak and his desire was flush against her belly. She ran impatient fingers through his hair, her questing tongue tangling with his, her full breasts flattened against his chest, rising and falling in time with her erratic breathing.
Somewhere, disjointed in the distance, were the sounds and smells of fireworks but neither of them could have cared less. He filled his hands with her bottom, traced the shape of her lush curves with his palms, overwhelmed by her perfume. Her beauty. Her passion.
Just her.
When his greedy hands finally cupped her breasts over the fabric of her dress, she moaned and arched against them, her own fingers boldly exploring his bare skin beneath his shirt, and he was lost.
And likely would have blissfully remained so if the impatient sounds of Griffith Philpot searching for them hadn’t dragged them both, with the utmost and belligerent reluctance, crashing back to earth.
Chapter Fourteen
As usual, the fireworks at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens proved to be very illuminating. For during the lengthy display last night Miss C. from Bloomsbury was seen staring longingly at the heir to the Duke of L., and Mr P., when he thought nobody was looking, stared longingly at Miss C....
Whispers from Behind the Fan
July 1814
To say it felt odd to be having a perfectly normal conversation over their balconies less than two hours after her hands had shamelessly caressed his buttocks was an understatement. It felt odd because it felt normal, and it felt odd that she still thrummed from the after-effects of their thwarted passion. And it most certainly felt odd that she wasn’t the least bit sorry for being so shamelessly wanton, though Hope did wish her stupid, much too cumbersome bosoms would desist feeling quite so...needy. That they did, when she would much rather never think about the wretched things at all, was most distracting.
‘It is an amazing book, Hope. Gripping, insightful, filled with suspense and double bluff. You certainly had me fooled to the very end at the true identity of the phantom. I knew Mr Crocker would bite your hand off for it!’ Luke was delighted with her news. ‘Did he give any indication how long it would take for him to get back to you with an answer?’
‘MrCooperhas asked for a meeting at his offices a week Tuesday.’
