chair, still holding his hand. ‘Hurry.’
They pushed their way through to where the orchestra played. Rose, without her mask, stood in front of the musicians, as if she had been their featured songstress. Her voice carried in the air distinct, sweet and sultry at turns.
Could I find a blooming youth,
Full of love and full of truth,
Of honest mind and noble mien.
‘Is she not lovely!’ Morgana felt a surge of pride, as if she had created this beautiful creature whose wonderful voice cast its spell over the now quiet crowd.
‘You did not know she would do this?’ Sloane did not sound as pleased as she.
‘No, indeed.’ She smiled.
Take me, take me, some of you,
While I yet am young and true.
Rose finished the last refrain, and the audience burst into applause and cheers.
Morgana clapped as enthusiastically as the rest. ‘Well done!’
Sloane muttered, ‘She selected the right song.’
Morgana’s smile faded at his grim expression. ‘Can you not enjoy it, Sloane? What a lovely moment for her!’
‘She places you in jeopardy, Morgana. If you are associated with her, questions will be asked.’
The orchestra started playing a waltz, and several couples in the crowd started to dance.
Morgana glanced around her, savouring the gaiety. ‘Oh, do not be cross any more, Sloane.’ She gazed up at him and her voice turned low. ‘Dance with me.’
His eyes held hers for a moment, then he suddenly gathered her to him and swung her into the dance. The lamps above them blurred as they whirled round and round, and Morgana felt as if she were indeed soaring in the stars, with Sloane’s arms around her. His chiselled features softened as he gazed down at her. He held her as close as he had when they’d danced in her parlour. Morgana thought she knew how heaven might feel.
The orchestra segued from the waltz into a more rousing, lively piece, and the dancing became more boisterous. Sloane guided Morgana away from the carousing. They were about to enter the path when they saw Katy walking with two gentlemen, one on each arm.
‘What is she up to?’ Morgana said with irritation.
Katy came closer, and Sloane pulled Morgana halfway into the bushes, hiding them both by putting his arms around her.
‘You see her companions?’ he whispered.
Katy was flanked by none other than Morgana’s uncle and Lord Poltrop. Like Rose, she had shed her mask. Even worse, she was gaily allowing the gentlemen to place their hands upon her, one of them squeezing her derrière.
Sloane held Morgana out of view as they passed…
‘She promised.’ she began, but, when she lifted her head, he was so close, she forgot what she was about to say.
He did not release her, and her arms had nowhere to go but around his neck. His eyes darkened, and he pressed her against him so firmly she could feel his arousal from beneath his clothing. From Madame Bisou’s lessons, she knew what it was—and what it meant. Sparks of pleasure glittered through her like the lamps strung through the trees. She laughed and pulled his head down to her eager lips.
His hand slid down to her hips and ground her against him. His tongue played in her mouth. She met his kiss eagerly, daring to let her tongue frolic with his, feeling her whole body come alive with need. His lips slid to her neck and she heard herself whimper at the ache of pleasure created as he tasted her tender skin. His hand moved to her breast and Morgana covered it with her own, urging him to not move it away, but to fondle her more.
‘Sloane,’ she moaned, her voice husky. It started to make sense to her, all of Madame Bisou’s lessons. She wanted more of him, could imagine the sensation of feeling his bare skin against hers, of feeling his hands upon her. This was desire, she realised, and it frightened as much as it thrilled her. How easy it would be to become carried away, to allow him to lead her down the Dark Walk with him.
Still, she did not wish him to stop. She found his lips and tasted him again. She pressed herself against him, unable to stop herself, unable to allow this moment to end.
He broke away. ‘This is madness.’ He held her at arm’s length, panting, every fibre of his being on fire for her. By damn, he wanted to make love to her, wanted to discover how that depth of emotion that swung her from weeping for Lucy to cheering for Rose, that passion would play out in bed. The same recklessness he chided her for, he’d been willing to exploit. And her enthusiastic response showed him she wanted him to be the rake, not the reputable gentleman.
‘That was not well done, Morgana,’ he said.
She looked at him with a puzzled and wounded expression.
He had to impress upon her, convince her that this path she was bent upon would only bring her pain and eventual loneliness. If she did not exercise some restraint, how could he? ‘Were you practising Bisou’s lessons, Morgana? Practising at being the harlot?’
Even in the dim light, he saw the shock in her eyes. She swung her hand back to strike him, but he caught her wrist before her palm connected to his face. ‘You are making a spectacle. Someone will see.’
Under her mask, her eyes blazed. ‘What will they see? They will see the very reputable Mr Sloane cavorting with a harlot. Take care, Sloane. Your hard-won respectability may be ruined by me.’
‘Indeed it may.’ He still gripped her wrist and held her so close he could feel the angry rise of her breast against his chest. ‘You are not acting the lady, Morgana.’
Her arm flexed again, but the movement only rammed her full against him. ‘You are not acting the gentleman.’
Her words struck the blow her hand had missed.
She hissed, ‘Perhaps you ought to return to your very silly, respectable Lady Hannah. A gentleman would not keep her waiting.’
Hannah? He had forgotten about her while he held Morgana in his arms. Even now, while they exchanged angry words, his body came alive with the feel of her. He wished more than anything to be the rake he once had been.
He pushed her away before he could kiss her again and act on that nearly irresistible impulse.
‘I will return to her.’ He spoke more to himself than to Morgana, trying to convince himself that he wished to return to the task of acting the host.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was so low he could almost not hear her. ‘Of course you will return to her.’
Before he could speak another word, she spun around and ran to her supper box, skirts flying. She did not look back.
Sloane followed, sickened by his own behaviour, but more by his words. He’d blamed her for that kiss, for his own arousal, for his own desire to risk her ruin in the gardens at Vauxhall.
He
