He didn’t hesitate. Dressed only in shirt, breeches and boots—what did it matter? It was a warm night and there was nobody to offend with his state of undress—he marched downstairs and let himself into the garden.
He made his way through the shadowy labyrinth of the garden, heading toward the light of the last few Chinese lanterns, drawn by the sound of humming.
Humming?
He paused in the shadows and watched, entranced, as she twirled and hummed, dancing alone in the darkness. At each hanging lantern she stopped, unhooked it with a longpole, lifted it down, and twirled a few more times with the lantern in her arms, like a partner. The light from each lantern cast her in gold, her delicate features limned in soft radiance. Then she snuffed out the candle inside, put it down and danced on to deal with the next lantern, all the time humming to herself, low and melodic.
Leo swallowed. His anger slowly drained away. She was utterly... bewitching.
She extinguished another lantern and danced on to the next, still humming. He must have made some kind of sound—his boots crunching on the gravel pathway perhaps—because she turned and said, “Oh, it’s you. I thought you left the party early.”
“I did.” He moved closer.
“Wasn’t it a lovvvvely party?” she said dreamily. “The garden looked sooo pretty and everyone said they had a simply wonnnderful time.”
He didn’t respond.
“Everyone we invited came, you know. Clarissa was worried a lot of people wouldn’t—a twilight garden party—but they did. And of course the weather was perrrfect.” She gestured to the sky. “Even the darling old moon came to our party, see? Not quite full, but still so beautiful.” She blew it a kiss. “Even the stars were twinkling, though they’re harder to see in London. Did you know in the country the sky has a lot more stars? Isn’t that amazing?”
He did know, but he said nothing. He just stood there like a stump, as she burbled happily on, dancing to unheard music.
She must have noticed his expression, for she laughed. “Don’t mind me, I’m still in alt. It was our first ever party—Clarissa’s and mine—and it was glorrrrious!” She twirled happily, and then laughed. “I drank champagne, too—several glasses. I didn’t much like it at first but then... all those little fizzy bubbles. Just delightful.”
“I can tell you’ve been drinking.” He sounded like a bear.
She laughed again. “But I’m not drunk, just happy. Are you happy, Lord Salcott?” She peered at him and pulled a face. “No, you’re not happy are you? You’re never happy. Why not?”
He didn’t answer.
She took down the last of the Chinese paper lanterns. “Weren’t these an inspiration? Clarissa’s idea. She’s very creative, you know. We could only find six, but then your wonderful Matteo found the rest for us. Do you know”—she faced him earnestly, the lantern still alight and glowing in her arms—“that man is an absolute treasure. I hope you appreciate him.”
“I am aware of Matteo’s qualities,” he said. Even to his own ears he sounded stuffy.
A cleft appeared between her brows. “You mustn’t blame him. He had no idea we were disobeying your horrid instructions. He thought he was helping us and pleasing you. And he’s so clever. It was his idea to bring Lady Scattergood out to the summerhouse in a closed sedan chair—it kept her feeling safe, you see. How brilliant was that?”
“Very clever.” He knew Matteo was enormously capable; he didn’t need her to tell him so.
“So you mustn’t blame him for anything.”
“I don’t blame Matteo.”
“You promise? I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble. None of it was his fault,” she said earnestly.
“I know. I promise.”
She gave him a doubtful look, then her face cleared. “Good,” she said, and gave him a brilliant smile. It took his breath away.
He clamped down on the feeling. He was here to reprimand her for her blatant disobedience, not to let himself be enticed. She was charming, he had to admit it. But he refused to be charmed.
He would not be so susceptible to a woman again.
She headed toward the summerhouse, in which dozensof candles were still burning. He followed. She picked up a candle and blew it out.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Dealing with the lights like this.”
“It’s dangerous to leave candles burning unattended.” The glass windows of the summerhouse reflected a dozen images of her, glowing by candlelight against the darkness of the night. She was perfect from every angle.
“I meant why aren’t the servants doing it?”
