Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

Amy Greentree felt

as if she had been asleep for a very long time, and now she was about to wake up.

“David?”

Startled, he stood up, knocking his pen and papers to the floor. Amy had returned, and she had called him by his first name, something she never normally did. As she came toward him he noted that her face was pale but determined, and this time her gaze was fixed on his.

“Amy?”

She placed her hand carefully upon his shoulder, and looked deep into his eyes. Mr. Jardine didn’t move—he couldn’t. He wondered what she would see there in his eyes—love for her, certainly, and all the years of devotion and loyalty he had given to her. But would she see the promises he longed to make to her, and the life he wished to have with her?

Amy smiled, and she was so beautiful he blinked. And then she leaned forward and touched her lips to his, the lightest of kisses.

“This is for being you, David,” she whispered.

The door closed gently behind her.

David Jardine collapsed back into his chair like a man who has looked through the gates of paradise.

Chapter 18

Marietta reached up to make sure that her gold mask was secure. The smiling disguise covered the upper half of her face and it was surprising how difficult it was to tell her identity once she had it on. Her red cloak with the fur hem swirled every time she moved, while underneath the cloak was a dress of the same vibrant red. The color made her skin seem almost translucent, while her hair gleamed like gold and her eyes blazed like sapphires. Aphrodite had fondly told her she looked like a princess—Marietta had dressed at the club—but she did not think she resembled anything so insipid as a princess. She was more like a pagan goddess; an idol to be worshipped.

She smiled. Already the tingle in her blood was growing warmer, anticipation made her body alert and her heart beat faster. Her senses responded to the clothing she was wearing—the softness of the velvet and fur, the silken luxury of her stockings, the tight push of her stays beneath her bosom. The neckline of her red gown was low, almost indecently so. Marietta had never worn anything so daring in public and she wondered what Max would think.

She glanced over her shoulder. Aphrodite had sent Dobson with her to Vauxhall Gardens, and she saw him now, waiting a few paces behind her until she found Max safely. Her mother was being very cautious tonight, but Marietta was glad of it. Dobson looked dangerous and tough, standing amidst the crowd with his arms folded.

Was Dobson the Jemmy her mother spoke of in her diary? The man she had loved and lost? Marietta did not know how the two of them had been reunited—the latter part of her mother’s story was yet to be told. At first she had not thought Dobson particularly remarkable, but as she came to know him and witness her mother’s affection for him, Marietta had revised her opinion. Behind his gray eyes lurked humor and a sharp intelligence, and, whenever he looked at Aphrodite, a flood of warm affection. Hmm, and desire. He loved her, and she loved him.

As if he had read her thoughts, Dobson winked at her, and spoiled the tough image he had been conveying. Marietta smiled beneath her mask as she turned to scan the crowd for her own lover.

There were colored lanterns everywhere; they hung from the trees and swung from poles. A man on stilts blew fire into the air, and a woman shrieked with more excitement than fear. The private boxes were for those who preferred to sit and eat their thin slices of cold ham, enjoying the ambience while they studied the endless stream of humanity that wandered past them down the tree-lined avenues. Marietta smiled at one particularly loud group, the women shrieking with laughter as a gentleman drank champagne from a slipper. She knew that those who came to Vauxhall Gardens were a mixture of genteel and far-from-genteel, rich and poor, good and bad. The proprietors had attempted to ensure the safety of their patrons by increasing the number of lanterns in the walks, and employing men to patrol the area in search of pickpockets and to break up affrays, but no one could change Vauxhall.

It was rowdy and exciting and a little bit dangerous, and Marietta loved it.

The band in the rotunda finished their piece and were duly applauded, and as the sound died away, a voice spoke behind her.

“My lady.”

Marietta turned. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a black cloak and a silver mask was standing there. Her gaze dropped to the small scar on his chin, and then rose to his mouth. Oh yes, she knew that mouth very well.

“Sir,” her voice was throaty, “you are late.”

“I have been watching you ever since you arrived, enjoying the scenery.”

His head dipped and he stepped closer, until their bodies were almost touching. A lock of his hair brushed hers, and his fingers closed around her arm. “You are so beautiful, Marietta,” he murmured.

She smiled. Tonight she felt beautiful, because Max loved her and all was right with the world.

The band in the rotunda struck up again, and now a woman was singing, her voice wobbling a little on the high notes. Max grimaced as if his senses had been assaulted and Marietta laughed.

“Perhaps we should stroll in Dark Walk?” he suggested, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. “It will be quieter there and you might find it instructional.”

“Instructional?” Marietta breathed, her imagination taking flight.

“In an educational sense. I know a great deal about the Dark Walk, my lady. I can show you the secret arbors and the bowers where ladies have been ravished by gentlemen throughout the centuries.”

His voice had dropped a notch and Marietta felt it brush over her, exciting her. But she had a part to play, and she assumed a cautious pose as she replied, “I have heard that gentlewomen should not venture into the Dark Walk. That it might be injurious to their reputations.”