on her mind—that faint whiff of cologne and soap and summer—adding it to the dark corners, another layer in the memory she would keep forever of this night.
“You know my face,” he whispered. “I see yours. In my mind, I see you.” His finger stroked down the bridge of her nose. “Those freckles you have. The fine arch of your eyebrows, a shade darker than your brilliant hair.”
He kissed her again, lighter, savoring before he lifted up. She chased after his mouth with a small whimper.
“We should go,” he murmured.
Of course.
They couldn’t remain buried in a hedge on a dark walk forever. Their little bubble would not keep. It had to be burst. And it had to be past midnight by now. She was afraid to ask for verification of that. “Very well.”
They crawled out of the hedge. Leaving was more difficult than entering. They’d been all haste then, fear driving them. Now the leaves and branches seemed to grab at them, snatching and pulling at her as though unwilling to relinquish her back to the world.
She emerged with an exerted breath. He helped her to her feet. They dusted at their garments. She touched her hair, wincing at the mess of it.
“Here. I went back for it.” He held out her domino to her.
“That was thoughtful. Thank you. I suppose I must.” She tied it back on, feeling a little deflated in the process. For however little protection it provided, she was once again returning to masks. To hiding. Soon that would be her whole life—hiding from her true hopes and desires.
He held out his hand for her to take. No arm. They were past that formality, and her heart flipped over inside her chest.
She slid her hand into his, her heart now squeezing at the sensation of his warm fingers wrapping around hers. It felt good. “Now, let’s go find your friend.”
Her earlier moment of deflation took an even deeper plunge, sinking into unaccountable disappointment.
Find her friend, of course. That thing she should have been doing all along.
They would find Olympia, and then they would put this night behind them. She would say farewell to him.
She might have become hopelessly turned around within the network of shadowed paths, but he seemed to know directly how to proceed.
“You’re quite adept at maneuvering the dark walks,” she remarked.
He looked down at her and his dark eyes glinted with light. “I’ve always had a wonderful sense of direction.”
She snorted. “I’m sure of that.”
He’d likely been here before. A face like his would attract any number of pretty young ladies ready to cast aside propriety.
He escorted her with purpose toward the nearest exit.
“What happened to those men?” she asked as she contemplated that they would soon step back out onto the well-lighted row. Surely Redding had moved on by now. “The group of men that was approaching us when I ran away?”
“Oh. One of them knew me from my club. Or rather he believed he knew me. We once sat at the same card table.” He shrugged. “I didn’t recall him.”
“I imagine that happens often. People approaching you on some pretext or another.”
He angled his head. “I suppose—”
She laughed. “Goodness. You don’t even know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“How very sought after you are.”
“Sought after?”
“Indeed. At Gunter’s, and here . . . people gawk at you. They approach you like excitable puppies.” He could not be so oblivious. Or perhaps that was the blessing and curse of such privilege? A complete unawareness of your own good fortune. That was the nature of it, she supposed. “How many invitations do you receive? Daily?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. My secretary leaves them on my desk. Sometimes I browse them.”
She shook her head. “Sometimes. You’re a marvel. I’m going to assume the majority of those invitations come from mothers with marriageable daughters longing for you to attend their parties.”
“Yes. And you know why they want me, don’t you?” He shuddered. “I can’t even contemplate marriage. Not for some years yet.”
She laughed. “Years? That’s rich. If only all those mamas knew that was your plan.”
She sobered. Some years from now would see her married to someone vetted by her parents. She’d likely be a mother. She’d be fully enmeshed in a life her husband fashioned and controlled whilst Jacob was still a wealthy bachelor living solely for himself.
The dichotomy shouldn’t have angered her.
But it did.
Her sisters never questioned their roles. Aster might not have liked it, and did little to hide her aversion, but she did not protest