“I’ve no idea. I suppose I… wish to keep it with me. A secret between strangers.”
“Hm.” She dropped her head, and the air swept cool across her neck where the cloak dipped low, revealing skin. Oh, why not. She’d never meet this man again, and she needed to confess it. Perhaps then, she could free herself from it. “I am scared. And unsure.” About her father, about this London venture, about the duke she’d meet tomorrow and about her sisters’ futures.
“I bet you’d rather die before letting anyone know it.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I feel the same. Perhaps that is why you can tell me without dying. Do not, by the way. I’d rather not have to explain away the corpse in the garden.”
She hid a laugh behind her hand. Yes, perhaps somehow she’d known he was the same. He would not laugh or wave away her fears. Because he knew what it was like to have to hide your weaknesses. “I’ve no plans to expire so soon. You now. Tell me a secret.”
He swallowed hard. “Do not laugh. I’m a man, and I’m not supposed to, but… I want to fall in love.Wantedto. That is now quite impossible.I’ll diebefore I let anyone know that particular desire.”
She laughed again. Though what he’d said did not make her feel like laughing. “Except for me.”
“I’m not convinced you’re real. I conjured you.”
Her heart galloped, leaping out of its lazy rhythm to make its frantic self known against each rib. Fairytale words in a wine-rich voice. She should have left. She should nudge the conversation in an entirely different direction.
Instead, she said, “To fall in love with?”
He stroked his free hand down her cheek, dragging his knuckles across her jaw to the very tip of her chin. Oh… she’d not known… but a man’s touch could feel like safety and risk all at once. It could burn with delight and shiver with dread. It could force a woman to realize she was a fool and tempt her to jump into foolishness with both feet.
“Yes,” he said when she did not pull away from his touch, “perhaps to fall in love with. For one night.”
“Aye.” Her breath caught. She leaned into him, her lips parted and waiting. What was she doing? This… so unlike her. But the night was so much like a dream. She’d stumbled out of reality and into a fairy land, and now the prince wished to kiss her, and she shouldn’t. Sheshouldn’t. But she wanted to, seemed to need it. Needed a moment out of time, a reprieve, a reward. So, she leaned even closer and whispered, “Perhaps.”
He kissed her.
Lips soft and firm against her own.
Breath warm and willing.
Something in her heart clicking open, bright as the moon. Did he feel it too?
They parted at the same time, and the shadowed wonder she saw in his eyes must have mirrored in her own. She might see him during the day tomorrow or some day after that. They’d pass as strangers in the street outside Lady Macintosh’s house. Would he recognize her? Would she recognize him? If she did, she’d look away and pass by, pretending she did not know him.
It had to be that way.
Her hand fluttered to her lips, rested gently against them. Protecting them from another kiss? Or trying to keep the feel of his kiss there despite the cold trying to steal it away?
She stood, stepping back as she did so, skirts swinging against her legs. “I must go.” Another step backward. “I… I wish you luck. With you sisters. Do not disappear. Not entirely. They need you.” Another series of stumbling steps backward until the shadows hugged her tight. “Thank you. For the kiss. I will, I think, treasure it always. No matter how unwise.”
He pushed to his feet but glued them to the ground. No running after her. “Not unwise. Not tonight.”
She shifted in the dark, looked at the moon. “No. Not tonight.” Then she ran, the grass crackling beneath her feet, the gate squeaking beneath her hand, the street hard and the door of her cousin’s house cold. Lips still warm and trembling, Emma shut out the cold street and leaned against the closed door in Lady Macintosh’s entry hall. What had she done?
Proved herself to be what Edinburgh thought her, no doubt. She’d done what she’d come here to escape.
But no… it hadn’t felt like that. Parkington’s attempts at seduction had been clumsy and forceful. She’d escaped only because they’d been caught.
Her gentleman in the garden had not attempted to seduce, and the force that had pulled them inexorably together had been something more powerful than lust, something that felt like a pink handkerchief in a pocket on a much-anticipated day. The moon controlled the tides of the ocean. Perhaps it controlled the tides of the heart as well.
Madness.
Aye. She’d sleep and forget him. She must. Too much to do tomorrow. Too much at stake.
She dropped her face into her hands with a groan. She would never forget him, but she must think of him only at night time when the moon spilled across her bed.
