At the moment, Aurora had to agree. She toasted her newfound understanding with yet another glass of… something. Not champagne this time. A punch of some sort. She didn’t even recall finishing her last glass.
As she sipped, her eyes fell on a profusion of shrubbery to the right of the tent, festooned with ribbon and set some distance away. A hedge maze. A rather decent sized one. Two topiaries stood guard before the entrance. Lions, Aurora thought, tilting her chin. Or possibly rabbits. From this angle it was really impossible to determine. While she detested her wasted afternoon at this garden party, the maze intrigued her.
Why didn’t something happen?
A drunk lord bursting into a bawdy tune. A couple caught taking liberties with each other behind a tree. Anything to relieve the boredom of this party. At the very least, more of this delicious punch should be circulated.
No sign yet of Miss Maplehurst’s trim form and cloud of silver hair. How bloody difficult could it be to find one slight, elderly woman dressed in a shocking shade of puce?
As it turned out, impossible.
Miss Maplehurst, or Aunt Lottie, as she liked to be addressed, wasn’t much of a chaperone. Nor was she Aurora’s aunt. Charlotte Maplehurst was the much older, spinster relation of Jordan’s wife and countess, Odessa. She’d once served as her niece’s chaperone with mixed results, but after Odessa wed Jordan, Aunt Lottie generously offered to help guide Tamsin and Aurora into society.
Guidebeing a charitable term.
Tamsin and Ware had ruined each other in Lady Curchon’s garden under Aunt Lottie’s watch.
But the older woman, because of her neglect, wasperfectfor Aurora. Aunt Lottie did not hover or chastise, at least not much, and she was quite progressive in her views. Despite her age, she never missed an opportunity to discreetly ogle a handsome gentleman, often pointing out a muscled backside or demanding breadth of shoulders to Aurora. She’d unashamedly eyed each of Aurora’s brothers as if they were the last biscuit on a tea tray.
Given her nature, Aunt Lottie did not object to Aurora enjoying a stolen kiss or two when the situation was warranted, reasoning that her charge should have a bit of fun but also reminding Aurora that while her budding sexual curiosity was natural, she must be careful not to go too far. Rules were in place for a reason. A ruined reputation would possibly result in a marriage not necessarily to Aurora’s liking and add yet another scandal to the Sinclair family.
Aunt Lottie came by her knowledge firsthand. A spinster by choice, she’d had her fair share of adventures with gentlemen and still did. Leaving Aurora on her own at a garden party in pursuit of her own pleasures was not an unusual occurrence.Aunt Lottie and Aurora had a silent agreement to not mention such things to the rest of the family. Today, her chaperone had vanished after catching sight of a dapper, silver-haired gentleman leaning heavily on a cane as he made his way across the sweeping lawn. A hand had gone to Aunt Lottie’s throat, eyes wide.
“Excuse me, dear,” she’d murmured, and promptly hurried off. Aurora hadn’t seen her since.
“Good for Aunt Lottie,” she stifled a small burp behind her fan. “But it has been some time. Perhaps I should look for her.”
Sidling toward one of the tent openings, Aurora cautiously made her way through the crowd, trying not to trip into anyone. The ground in the tent was not accommodating for slippers in the least. Quite uneven. She nodded politely to two girls who she’d become acquainted with during her debut. Both had later joined Aurora for a stilted afternoon of tea and gossip presided over by the Dowager Duchess of Ware. She suspected their invitation had more to do with currying the favor of Ware’s mother than it did with Aurora.
Just as well. Neither was the least interesting. She couldn’t even recall their names.
No matter that the dowager duchess had sponsored her, or that Aurora’s come-out ball had been held at Ware’s extravagant London mansion. The smiles and applause had only been for her first Season and practically nonexistent in her second. Oh, she still received plenty of invitations, after all, no one in London wanted to anger Ware’s formidable mother. But Aurora had no real friends in society.
She was still aDeadly Sin.
So, what if her mother had once been an actress and Father’s mistress before becoming Lady Emerson? The only person who still thought that particular scandal relevant, one over two decades old, was the detestable Lady Longwood. Horrid, bitterwoman, hater of all things Sinclair, Lady Longwood circled Aurora at every opportunity, waiting breathlessly for a misstep. Praying for Aurora to be reckless and ruin herself.
She sighed and helped herself to more punch. Nearly as bad as the lemonade. The rum could barely be tasted.
Ruination wasn’t completely out of the question. Aurora had a curious, inquisitive nature which was bound to get her into trouble. At times, she worried she might be wanton. She thought a great deal about physical relations.
Whistles and loud laughter erupted from the game of bowls on the other side of the lawn. Perhaps Aurora would head in that direction. Bowls had to be more exciting than wandering around this tent with no one to talk to.
“Lady Aurora,” the raspy tenor sounded from just behind her.
She stopped abruptly, allowing the sound of the man at her back to ripple deliciously across her arms and chest while bathing in the enticing aroma that always hovered about his shoulders. Something light with a touch of citrus mixed with leather. Heat bloomed from the center of her chest to cup her breasts.
Goodness.The punch had made her overly warm.
Aurora turned, cheeky, brazen smile pasted on her lips, one she’d practiced before a mirror for just such an occasion.
“Worth.”
The beautiful man before her bowed, giving Aurora a lovely view of his gilded locks, tousled about his head.
There was absolutely no denying the charm of Charles Worthington. It came as naturally to him as breathing. Her brother Drew’s best friend and business partner was an entirely decadent temptation, like one of the elegant, three-tiered cakes she’d seen in the window at Gunter’s. All sculpted to perfection, with only enough adornment to draw the eye but not detractfrom his looks. She’d once heard the Dowager Duchess of Ware equate Worth to an angel, but one who possessed the reputation of a devil.
Aurora looked up at him, taking in the fit of a perfectly tailored coat, cut in an exacting manner to the lean, graceful build. Even having been in his presence dozens of times, Mr. Charles Worthington still had the sort of masculine magnificence that shocked a woman near senseless.
