Wycliff was right. Seeing happiness swimming in a woman’s eyes was as addictive as any drug, as potent as any elixir.
He covered Verity’s eyes with his hand and led her out through the terrace doors and down the stone steps. Excitement and anticipation whirled in his chest. The pavilion tent with its pinnacle roof looked like something one might find in a medieval encampment.
Verity gigged. “Can I look now?”
“In a moment.” He assisted her across the grass to stand before the propped canopy leading to the tent’s entrance. Only then did he permit her to look. “You did say you enjoyed exploring nature. I stole Mrs Crandall’s idea of a themed party, but this will be more a steamy medieval night in Manchester Square.”
Verity rubbed her eyes and blinked numerous times. When she finally absorbed the size of the structure, she turned to him with a beaming smile. “I see a bed. Are we sleeping in there?”
He shrugged. “If you want to. If it makes you happy.”
She grabbed his arm for balance, came up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You make me happy.” She captured his hand. “Come, let’s investigate.”
She pulled him inside. Even he was astounded by the effort taken to transform the tent into a bedchamber fit for seduction. A red velvet counterpane covered the low makeshift bed. Gold cushions provided a sumptuous contrast. There were furs draped over the two chairs, more furs covering the floor.
“Where on earth did you find such a thing?” she said, her vibrant blue eyes glowing.
“I know a man at Vauxhall. They keep them for special events, though it is only on loan.” He watched in awe as she wandered about, testing the bed for comfort. “Do you like it, Verity? Might you sleep out here with me tonight?”
Verity closed the gap between them. “It’s wonderful, but I would sleep in an alley next to a brazier if it meant we could be together.”
“That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”
She cupped his cheek. “And I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you.” She glanced at the entrance, and a coy smile touched her lips. “I presume this tent has a door.”
“Would you like me to close it?”
“Indeed.”
Lawrence untied the fastenings and rolled down the canvas door. He prowled towards her, hot blood pulsing in his veins. “How would you like to play this game, Mrs Trent?”
Verity arched a brow and placed her hands on his chest. “We must pretend to be lovers, Mr Trent, though I am far more skilled at giving pleasure than that night at the masquerade.”
He pulled her close, let her feel the evidence of his growing arousal. “Then this promises to be another thrilling adventure.”