“What?”
“There are three rogues at our heels.”
“Hmm, yes, I know. Ignore them,” Babs said, seemingly unconcerned.
“So I should be pleased to do, but one is very nearly at my elbow.” She looked up at the large brute who was now leering down at her.
“Evening, m’lovely,” said the huge fellow, and though he was a well-dressed man, he had a definite odor of gin about him.
Babs noted at once from the wild gleam in his eyes that the man was certainly in his cups. She took Corry’s trembling hand in hers as the man called out to his friend, “Eh, George … what say we have us a look under their masks?”
Babs smiled as sweetly as she could at the man named George as he began to reach and shook her head. “Not a good idea, George. You see, if you were tempted to put one finger on me or my cousin, I should have not the slightest regret in putting a hole through that silly smile of yours. It would not, of course, ruin my evening, but I rather think it would ruin yours!”
“Ah …” George said, looking just a bit wary. He turned to his friend. “Whot ye want to bother with gentry morts fer? Lookee there, in the red gown …” He was already pulling his friend off.
The third fellow without uttering a word chased after them, and Corry turned to her cousin and declared, “Babs, you are the most complete hand! Never say you brought your little pistol with you?”
“As a matter of fact,” Babs answered a bit sheepishly, “I meant to, but I forgot it.”
As Babs giggled, Corry raised her hazel eyes heavenward and severely requested, “Give me strength enough to keep my hands off her neck.” She looked back at her cousin. “You mean you …”
“Bluffed them. ’Tis done all the time in poker,” Lady Babs supplied happily.
“But,” a masculine and familiar voice at Babs’ back said, “you executed it beautifully.”
The power of his voice sent her spinning around, and she almost landed in his arms. He wore a black domino and a mask, but even so she knew him, saw his glittering blue eyes in the glaring light of the many torches. For a moment the world receded and she was alone with him.
She was vaguely aware of Sir Frederick, who quietly comforted Corry as he led her to a bench a short distance away. It was as though she and Wildfire were sharing a breath. What was he doing? He was taking her gloved hand. She should speak, she had to speak, but nothing came to her mind or lips. Finally, she heard herself say, “Your grace.”
“And so, dark eyes, you do indeed know me. When you didn’t speak, I thought perhaps you were confused for the moment?”
“I would know you anywhere,” she answered as she got control of herself and flirted in her usual fashion. “There is that something in your mien that gives you away.”
He regarded her intently. “And what is that in my mien?”
“Your own unique sense of self,” she said and then giggled at his expression.
“Am I to take that as flattery or—”
“In your case, flattery, yes,” she said, cutting him off.
He pulled her arm through his and led her away as he said, “As it happens, I too, would know you anywhere.”
He had her down a maze of evergreens created for entertainment and moments like these, and he pulled her to him. Babs was alive with anticipation. He was going to kiss her. And she was right, quite right.
He took her into his arms and cursed softly, “Damn me for a cad, I should tell you to run from me … run far away and never look back …” And so saying, his lips brushed gently, lightly against her own as he made a viable effort to stop himself and pull away.
She felt it the moment he got control and thought, Oh no, I have waited for this too long …
The next thing she did was to fling her arms up and around him as best she could while she stood on her toes to make that kiss more than a touch.
She found his lips parting for hers; her tongue was met by his velvet tongue, and it entwined with hers in a way she had never experienced before. Heat rushed through her body as his hand went under her cloak and cupped her breast through the soft silk of her gown. Faith! She was behaving like a tart … and it was with him, with this big handsome man … absolutely thrillingly perfect!
***
He had just been about to pick up the strength to pull away from her. He was a demon to do this to an innocent young woman, but hell and fire, he wanted her, wanted her so damn much that his stomach clenched, his dick danced in his breeches, and he …
What was she doing? She was reaching up, she was on her toes, she was pressing her delicious lips to his, and Nick, Duke of Barrington, lost control. His mouth worked her lips and gently parted them. His tongue dove with almost ferocious need, and she responded.