“I do want us to belong to each other,” she said slowly. “But I would also want to pursue my own interests.”
He thought of Arabella’s interests, the intrigues and peccadilloes. The nights she’d come home smelling of other men. The nights she hadn’t come home at all. While Livy was loyal, she was also headstrong, indulged by her parents and used to getting her way. And, Christ, she was young and curious, last night’s adventures at the tavern being a case in point. What if he couldn’t protect her from her wilder instincts? What if he failed as a husband…again?
Jaw clenching, he said, “I would expect to have the final say on whether such interests are acceptable.”
Livy’s eyes widened just as Lady Fayne’s voice sounded in the distance.
“Take time to think upon this,” he said firmly. “To consider whether you truly want me to court you. If we halt things now, we can still turn back. Be the friends we’ve always been.”
He didn’t know if that was true. If he could ever look at Livy and not think of how sweet she tasted, how right she felt in his arms. Yet it was better to cut their losses now, before they reached the point of no return.
Livy swallowed. “I don’t need time. I love you, Hadleigh, and want to be with you.”
“Take a day to contemplate,” he insisted. “Can you get away tomorrow night? We can discuss the matter then.”
She hesitated. “I, um, unfortunately have plans.”
“What event are you attending? I will meet you there.”
“It is not an event per se. I…I am having a quiet evening at home with Charlie.”
He frowned. “Afterward, then. I will pick you up, no matter the hour.”
“Charlie will want to drink wine and chat, stay up late. I’m afraid I will be too tired.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re making excuses.”
“I do want to see you.” As Lady Fayne’s voice came from just outside the room, Livy whispered, “How about the night after next, around ten o’clock?”
“Done.” He wanted to kiss her but satisfied himself with giving her hand a brief squeeze. “Until then, my little queen.”
18
“Cremorne Gardens seems different tonight,” Glory said. “Like a whole different world.”
“I know,” Livy replied. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”
While she and her friends had been here before with their parents to watch one of the famous hot air balloon ascents, the ambiance tonight felt different. The fog from the nearby Thames hung thick and heavy in the air, diffusing the light of the colored lanterns overhead. Tall, shadowy trees surrounded the sumptuous buildings and stages. All strata of society were represented in the boisterous crowd. Some folk were in fine evening wear, some in masked costumes, and some wearing very little at all.
“Perhaps being sans chaperones and dressed like circus performers might have something to do with it?” Fiona suggested.
“You have a point,” Livy said.
The three girls were dressed like the many acrobats giving performances throughout the gardens. Their short dresses, wigs, and face paint concealed their identities. Blending in with the crowd, they sought out their target. They passed an ornate pagoda where a full orchestra played a polka to the delight of the dancers stomping across the stage that circled it.
“I don’t see Longmere or his cronies,” Glory murmured.
“Me neither. I wonder if Charlie and Mrs. Peabody are having better luck,” Fi replied.
Disguised as gentlemen, the other ladies were somewhere in the crowd. They had split up from the Angels to surveil the gardens’ main area. The two groups were to reconvene by the banqueting hall in an hour.
“Do you smell that? Roasted chestnuts.” Glory sighed. “My favorite.”
“You ate supper just before we came. How you manage to maintain your figure while—oof.” Fi’s reply was cut off when a gangling adolescent bumped into her.
“Pardon, miss. Weren’t watching where I was going on account o’ being distracted by your beauty.” He winked, tipped his cap, and continued along.
Livy caught him by the arm. Remembering to disguise her accent, she demanded, “Give my friend back ’er coin purse.”
“My coin bag?” Fiona searched her reticule, her gaze thinning at the pickpocket. “Why, you thievin’ rotter. Give it back!”
Livy twisted her captive’s wrist.
“Ouch!” he protested. “Bleedin’ ’ell, no need to break a man’s arm o’er a few coins.”
“I’ll break more than your arm if you don’t return my friend’s blunt now,” Livy stated.
Grumbling, the thief gave the purse back to Fiona.
Livy released him with a shove. “Get on wif you.”
“Feisty filly, ain’t ye?” He grinned cheekily at her. “’Ow would ye like to kick yer ’eels wif me on the dance floor?”
She scowled, and he scampered off.
“Jolly well done,” Glory said admiringly. “Your Cockney accent is improving.”
“Thank you.” Dusting her hands, Livy said, “Shall we?”
They continued on. Livy tried not to be distracted by the spectacle around them, but it was difficult when there were fire-eaters swallowing flames, monkeys dancing jigs, and acrobats performing tricks on horseback. Passing by a throng of drunken masked men, the girls had to dodge groping hands.
Fi swatted the men away like flies. “Now, fellows, I be workin’—”
“I’ll pay your wages, dove.” A cad leered at her. “Why don’t you and I get acquainted in one of the alcoves off the walk?”
“Not tonight, dearie,” Fiona said firmly.
Not ever, Livy thought with a shudder.
The proposition made her think of Hadleigh: he would have an apoplectic fit if he knew what she was up to. Since he had laid out his expectations for marriage yesterday, she’d been torn between yearning and confusion. She knew she wanted him, yet his rules went against the grain of who she was. While she understood his possessiveness—she felt the same way about him—his desire for obedience was an obstacle. She could not give up
