“What about gentlewomen who are engaged to be married? Surely they are beyond censure?”
“Only if they are in love.”
Max slid his arm about her waist and gazed down into her eyes. “And are you in love?”
“Oh yes.” Marietta stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips, a brief butterfly kiss. “Very much.”
Max groaned at the brevity of the kiss. The vocalist hit another high note and he began to lead her out of the crush, toward one of the tree-lined avenues. “If this is our last rendezvous I want it to be one we’ll both remember,” he said. “And I want to go somewhere quiet so that I can see if what you’re wearing under that cloak is as heart-stopping as I think it is.”
She pretended his words hadn’t affected her. “I don’t know if I should allow you to touch me, Max.”
He stopped by a hedge that shielded them from passersby and took her in his arms. And he kissed her, deeply and thoroughly. “You were saying,” he said at last.
Marietta took a moment to answer and when she did she had abandoned her play-acting. “Will we be happy in Cornwall?” she whispered, with her head resting against his chest.
He bent and kissed her hair, his hands smoothing her back and shoulders. “Do you doubt it, my darling?”
“No, not really, only sometimes. I’m not used to being happy like this, Max. I’m not used to thinking about a future with you in it.”
Perhaps some of her lingering doubts did sound in her voice, because Max removed his mask so that she could see his face properly. His dark hair had been slicked back from his forehead, and he looked different, handsome certainly, but also more like an aristocratic stranger. This was Max Valland, Lord Roseby, the Duke of Barwon’s son, and Marietta did not doubt it for a moment.
Her heart gave a little skip of trepidation.
Max took her hands in his, his fingers strong and warm and comforting. She looked down and they were Max’s fingers, Max’s hands; they had held her and stroked her and made love to her. These were the hands she would hold as she made her vows on her wedding day, and that their children would grasp as they took their first steps.
“Darling Marietta, I want you to know that I will never leave you. We will go to Cornwall and I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are happy. With you at my side, Marietta, I feel as if I can be anything, do anything. I feel complete.”
It was a wonderful speech, the sort of speech she used to dream about as a girl. And yet, as Marietta gazed in to his eyes, she found herself wondering what he would think when she explained to him about Aphrodite’s Club. She knew she must be a coward, but she was afraid to tell him that one day his future wife would be the proud owner of a bordello.
Vauxhall Gardens was so like a fairytale tonight, Marietta could not bear for reality to creep in.
“Come with me.” His breath was warm in her ear as he drew her along the gravel paths, further and further away from the crowds. The shadows were thick here, despite the lanterns, and the trees and shrubs loomed about them. It was isolated, and that was its charm, but after what had happened to him Marietta pondered whether it was entirely safe for Max to be here.
“Should we go back?”
He leered like a stage villain. “Why, are you frightened I’ll ravish you?”
Marietta gave a husky laugh. “Not frightened, Max. I’m looking forward to being ravished tonight.”
Max brushed his fingers down the opening of her cloak, parting it and holding it aside so that he could see the dress beneath. Her bosom, pushed up and prominently displayed, threatened to spill over the gold braided neckline. The waist was pinched in, displaying her hourglass shape to perfection, while the skirts were snug to her hips and fell in smooth folds to the ground. The dress was fashioned to appear medieval, and Marietta wore no petticoats so that Max could see the shape of her legs. Without the cloak it would be considered indecent.
“Oh yes,” he murmured approvingly.
His slid his fingers over her white skin so lightly she might not have felt them, except that her body had become so completely sensitized to his. She trembled, her lips parting and her eyes fluttering closed. His mouth made warm, wet circles on her breasts, and then he had found the hooks that held everything together and began to undo them. The neckline sagged and her bosom spilled out into his hands.
“Max,” she gasped, “I need you.
I need you now, Max.”
He covered her with his palms, preserving her modesty, his thighs brushing hers through their clothing. “I love the way you always tell me what you feel for me,” he murmured, kissing her throat, his mouth warm and seductive.
“I’m not straitlaced or conventional,” she said, trying to concentrate on what he was saying while his hands were stroking her breasts, making her flesh quiver and ache.
“And I thank God for it,” he said. He was drawing her along a winding path that left the main walk, into the trees, the scent of earth and foliage all about them. There was an arbor, overgrown and secret, and Max led her inside.
Marietta wound her arms about his neck, her breasts pressed to his chest in a manner designed to tease. “Do you?” she whispered. There was a devil inside her, urging her on, and she heard herself saying, “What if I did something outrageous, Max? What if I became the proprietor of a club like Aphrodite’s? Would you thank God then?”
He laughed. He thought she was joking. He didn’t take her seriously at all.