The Secret Mistress

in the most romantic of settings London had to offer. He had called upon Eunice and had taken her out walking. And, after listing all the reasons he could think of—it had seemed like an impressive list to him—why it made perfect sense for him to marry her and her to marry him, he had made her a formal proposal.

She had said no.

She had listed reasons of her own, none of which had sounded nearly as convincing as the items on his list. But the depressing fact was that she had refused him, and that she had told him he must not ask her again, that he must forget her and do what he knew very well he ought to do and choose someone more eligible. Someone like Lady Angeline Dudley, whom she found herself liking very well indeed, even if the girl was no intellectual giant.

“She is good-natured, Edward,” she had said, “and certainly not unintelligent. And she has a quality of—Oh, what is the word I am searching for? Of light or joy or something. Whatever it is, it is enchanting. It makes me smile. She makes me smile.”

Eunice was not usually lost for words. And she was not, generally speaking, a person to throw around words such as enchanting and joy.

So he was going to have to turn his mind to the serious business of selecting a bride. Someone who was not Eunice. Or Lady Angeline Dudley either. Of that he was determined. Lord, she found even the waltz romantic. He would kill that sparkle inside her within a fortnight if he married her.

After the first few minutes she was alternately chatting and silent beside him. But it was an eloquent silence on her part and surprisingly companionable on his. He felt no need to rush in to fill it each time. She gazed about them with wide eyes and parted lips, drinking in all the sights and sounds.

And then, looking ahead, he saw three men in the middle distance heading their way, and even from this far away he could tell that they had been drinking rather more than was good for them. And even from this far away it was clear that they were ogling the ladies they passed and making remarks that were annoying a few of the gentlemen with those ladies. They were clearly trouble waiting to happen.

And one of them happened to be Windrow.

Edward contemplated turning abruptly back before Lady Angeline saw them. He considered moving inexorably onward and dealing with trouble if it came. That, though, might involve drawing unwelcome attention their way, since he certainly would not countenance any of those three men looking at her or speaking to her with disrespect. For himself he would not mind a bit of trouble, but he would mind for any lady who was under his escort.

He took neither of the two courses he considered. He took a third and did something he did not consider at all.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to get away from the crowds for a few minutes, Lady Angeline, and stroll along one of the side paths among the trees.”

He had just spotted one of those paths coming up on their left, and he moved them onto it almost before she could turn her head to smile at him. He was unfamiliar with those side paths, of course. He had never been to Vauxhall before.

He knew almost immediately that he had made a mistake. The path was narrow and dark. There were no lamps strung in the tree branches here. The only light came from the main path and, when the canopy of branches overhead was not too thick, from the moon above. The path was also winding and deserted.

“Oh,” Lady Angeline said, her voice warm with delight, “what a very good idea, Lord Heyward. This is heavenly, is it not?”

They could have walked single file in some comfort, but that would have been somehow ridiculous. They walked side by side, her arm through his and clamped to his side—he had no choice. They brushed together a number of times either at the shoulder or at the hip or at the thigh or, once or twice, at all three simultaneously. Again, he had no choice.

Even the music sounded more distant from in here. The voices and laughter of revelers sounded a million miles away.

And what had happened to the cool night air?

“I do beg your pardon,” he said. “The path is far narrower than it looked. And it is very dark. Perhaps I ought to take you back to the main avenue, Lady Angeline.”

Windrow and his companions would surely have gone past by now.

“Ah, but it is lovely here,” she said. “Can you hear the wind in the trees? And the birds?”

He stopped to listen. Her ears were keener than his. All he had heard, with growing unease, were receding voices and distant music. But they were surrounded by nature and the sounds and smells of nature, and she was right—it really was rather lovely. And the moon was almost, if not quite, at the full. There must be a million stars up there. And indeed, if one tipped one’s head right back, one could see a surprising number of them.

They were as lovely as the lanterns. No, lovelier.

He felt the tension seep from his body and drew a deep, fragrant breath.

“Look at the stars,” she said almost in a whisper. Her voice sounded somehow awed.

They were in a small clearing, he realized, and there was an almost clear view upward. Turning his head, he could see that her face was bathed in moonlight. Her eyes shone with the wonder of it. And she turned her face to share the wonder with him. She smiled, but not with her usual bright smile. This was more dreamy, more … intimate.

As if they shared some very precious secret.

“I am looking,” he said. Though it was not at the stars he was gazing any longer, but into her eyes. And why was he whispering?

Her lips parted, and the moonlight gleamed on them. She must have moistened them with her tongue.

He kissed her.

And immediately lifted his head. He felt rather as if lightning had zigzagged its way right through the center of his body.

She did not move.

And the lightning or the moonlight or something had killed his brain.

He kissed her again, turning her as he did so with one arm about her shoulders so that he could twine the other about her waist. And he opened his mouth, parting her lips as he did so, and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. It was all heat and moisture and soft, smooth surfaces.

Someone moaned—he sensed it was not he—and one of her arms twined about his neck while the other circled his waist and she kissed him back with fierce enthusiasm.

If there was any modicum of common sense left to rattle about inside his head, it deserted him at that point, and his one hand slid hard down her back until it spread over that very shapely derriere that had so disturbed him a month ago on the road to London. And the tip of his tongue traced the ridge along the roof of her mouth while his other hand moved downward and forward to cup one of her breasts. It was warm and soft and full.

He felt himself harden into arousal.

Someone had a furnace going full blast and both doors open wide—and there was only one way to put out the fire. His hand tightened over her bottom and pressed her closer.

And then, while the rest of his body was only feeling an intense desire for the woman in his arms, his eyes suddenly saw against the insides of his closed eyelids.

They saw Lady Angeline Dudley.