Mary frowned.
He was moving away from the French delegation and heading to the doors to the garden. Alone. Had he arranged to meet with one of them in a quieter, more private space than the ballroom provided? Perhaps he had arranged an assignation… or perhaps there was a more nefarious purpose.
Rather than waiting to see who moved after him, Mary decided to hurry downstairs. She could dog his footsteps and see who came to meet him, which would be easier than trying to ascertain who—if anyone—followed him. Scurrying down the hall, she felt a little spurt of excitement flare in her chest.
Rex
The din of the ballroom and cloying perfume of the French ladies had begun to give him a headache. While the ladies were beautiful and flirtatious, happily hinting at their availability for a divertissement, an affair with a married lady was not his current aim. Lucas slipped away as well during the conversation, likely headed to the card tables.
Rex needed a moment to collect himself before he dragged his friend away from punting himself up the River Tick.
Moving steadily away from the house, seeking refuge in the high hedges of the garden pathways, Rex sighed with relief as the noise slowly quieted. The night air was cool against his skin, slowly clearing his lungs of the chaotic mix of scents that had clashed in the ballroom. The sensation that his cravat had created a noose around his neck slowly subsided, as did the headache that had been growing.
Ton balls were certainly not his preferred form of entertainment and his reason for attending only added to his discontent. Twitting Hood had been fun but hardly helpful.
Slowing his stride, taking the time to look at some of the flowers under the moonlight—and admitting to himself he was only doing so to delay his return to the ball—he became aware he was being followed. At first, he thought it might be one of the French ladies, looking for an assignation, but when he paused to examine a rose bush, so did his pursuer.
A lady hoping for a tryst would hardly be so shy, but he did detect a sweep of pale skirts when he turned his head back as if looking over his shoulder—very pale skirts. A debutante? Following a rake into a darkened garden? It was implausible, but very few ladies wore that pale of a hue during the Season.
Intrigued, Rex wandered on, turning a corner with a suitably thick rhododendron for him to hide behind, waiting for the lady so he could see who she was. Any debutante with the audacity to follow him into the garden piqued his interest. As long as she was not a title or fortune hunter… hell, perhaps even if she was. There was no rule saying a young lady searching for a title or fortune would not make an entertaining and enjoyable wife.
His eyebrows rose at the figure that appeared next to the rhododendron, hugging its branches as she looked about, trying to see where he had gone.
It was Miss Wilson—apparently, not as much a cipher as she had appeared next to her cousin. Perhaps he had been hasty in his judgment.
“Hello, there.” His voice was a low purr as he emerged from the shadows of the bush, looming over her from a mere foot away. Her eyes widening, she stepped back, but she did not run, her head tipping back to stare up at him. “Looking for someone?”
“I… ah…” She blinked. Rallied. Her chin came up with a stubborn feminine air. “Lord Hartford. I seem to have lost my way. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”
Rex took a step closer, tilting his head down. In the moonlight, it was hard to see whether she paled or blushed, but he saw the rising panic in her eyes. Despite that, she held her ground rather than retreating again, which only intrigued him more.
“Have you?” he asked, standing close enough the pale blue skirts of her dress brushed his shins.
“Have I...?” she repeated. She didn’t seem to be able to look away.
Rex leaned down, his lips moving closer and closer to hers, giving her ample time to run. Would she run, or would she let him kiss her?
“Lost your way?”
Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, then his lips were on hers.
It started as a gentle kiss, a firm press of his lips against hers, but when she did not immediately jump back, Rex’s own desires pushed him onward. His hands found her hips, holding her in place and pulling her lower body against his as his cock stirred. Perhaps Miss Wilson had been hampered by her stuffy cousin’s expectations and overshadowed by Arabella’s exuberant confidence in the ballroom, but out here in the darkness of the garden, she was revealing an adventurous and far more interesting side than he would have ever guessed.
Running his tongue along the seam of her lips, he was gratified when she opened on a gasp. He ruthlessly deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to her back to cradle her against him. She met his tongue with her own, uncertainly at first, then with growing confidence, stirring his passions. Satisfaction and interest welled.
Well, now. Perhaps tonight was not a total loss.
Mary
Her body was on fire.
The conflagration had started in her lips and traveled down between her legs, the tingling sensation amplifying to a burning need deep in her core. The man’s tongue was in her mouth, his arms around her, holding her more tightly than any man had—and she liked it.
He had looked at her as though he truly saw her as if she was the only woman in the world.
He was kissing her as though he wanted her.
He… he was an impossible rake, possibly connected to a traitor.
Mary pulled back from the kiss with a gasp, her hands pressing against his hard chest. He let her go, and she stumbled before he caught her again. Her breasts felt heavy and tingly, the area between her legs ached, and her lips were swollen from his kiss.
“I… I…” She could not think of what to say.
Tilting his head in the moonlight, clearly not as affected as she was, he reached out and tugged one of her curls.
“I could have sworn your hair was red last Season,” he murmured.
Her hair? He had just kissed her to distraction, and he wanted to comment on her blasted hair? Under other circumstances, she would have ripped him up one side and down the other, but she could not think with her body still humming from his touch. She had to get away from him.
“I… excuse me.” She pulled away from his grip and ran, feet flying back to the house, so overset, it was not until she heard laughter coming from an adjacent path she slowed her pace. It felt as if the whole world had shifted beneath her feet, but she could not reveal that. She could not draw notice to herself, especially not coming out of the dark garden path alone and clearly agitated. People would take note of her then, and assumptions would be made—especially if Hartford followed her out.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand over her heart, willing it to calm. The tingling, itching sensation crawling along her skin diminished, as did the ache in her lower body, but there was nothing she could do about the way her lips still prickled.
Glancing over her shoulder, not seeing him behind her, she sighed with relief. He must still be back on the pathways, maybe even waiting for her to leave first. The man might be a rake, but he was a very considerate rogue from everything she had observed.
He knew my hair color. He remembered me.
That might be the most disquieting revelation of all. No one really remembered Mary from last Season, not even gentlemen she had been introduced to. Other than her friends and family, no one had given her hair a second glance.