Page 33

Aston took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me.”

“Where to?” Chasity peered past his shoulder and paled slightly. “People are staring at us. I don’t wish to draw attention.”

Too late for that.

Chasity’s beauty outshone even the most fashionable ladies. More than one gentleman eyed her with something other than polite interest. Aston wanted to plow his fist into their faces.

Mine. She’s mine.

Except, Chasity wasn’t now nor ever could be his.

Instead, Aston leveled each brazen bounder a glare meant to singe their eyelashes and shrivel their manhood. Only his friends and co-investors, the Earl of Clarendon and the Marquis of Sterling, were spared his murderous scowl.

Their stares were prompted by curiosity, naught else. Kingsley had the gall to wink before slipping an arm around his wife’s waist and brushing a kiss above her ear.

Aston’s regard caught on the ornate manicured garden. Several guests milled about outdoors. “The gardens. We should be able to find a spot to speak privately. I shall claim to be overheated or that you are joining your friends in admiring the roses.”

In point of fact, it was likely hotter out of doors than in the drawing room.

“Slip your hand into the crook of my elbow and smile,” he said beneath his breath.

Chasity complied, but the smile she fashioned was the practiced and professional upward sweep that held no genuine warmth or amusement.

Aston guided her toward the open French doors on the other side of the drawing room. Nodding and smiling at acquaintances, he wended them through the crowd at a brisk pace that discouraged others from engaging him in conversation.

A dark-haired middling-age woman glared daggers at Chasity. Another young woman who must’ve been her daughter, given their strong resemblance, peered at Aston as if he had sprouted another head.

There was no accounting for the oddities of le beau monde.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Chasity said in an urgent, hushed tone. “People will talk.”

They would. They already were. It was what the ton did best.

Gossip. Speculate. Spread rumors.

Sliding her a sideways look, Aston gave her a crooked grin. “Don’t you trust me?”

Her eyes grew round before she was forced to side-step an elderly dame wielding her cane like a saber as she bellowed to the two women in her company.

Aston and Chasity reached the threshold and stepped into the warm but refreshing air. The fragrance of roses and honeysuckle wafted past. Somewhere nearby, a fountain burbled happily.

“I do. Trust you that is, Aston.”

Emotion blossomed behind Aston’s chest, and he patted her hand resting in the crook of his elbow. “Excellent. I am honored, and I vow I’ll never betray your confidence.”

Shaking her head, she chuckled, a low husky rasp that took him by surprise.

“What’s so entertaining?” God, how he loved her laugh. To see that joy twinkling in her eyes was an unexpected gift.

“You sound so earnest. So serious.” She grinned in sincere amusement. “Like you were reciting a solemn oath.”

It was on the tip of Aston’s tongue to tell her that was precisely what he’d done, but a warning sounded somewhere in his brain.

Tread carefully. Don’t make promises you cannot keep. Don’t encourage trust or a reliance you cannot promise to fulfill.

Instead, he cast a judicious glance around the terrace and gardens. Chasity’s friends milled about on the other side, admiring the admittedly stunning roses. A few people sent a distracted glance in his direction but just as swiftly turned their attention elsewhere.

Aston spotted the top of a small arbor hidden by a hedgerow and past a well-tended path. And blessedly shaded beneath trees. Perfect.