latticework caught his eye. He froze, waiting for the shape to emerge from behind the screen.
Interesting.
What was Kate Woodbridge doing prowling the grounds late at night? Looking for another victim? No, he was sure she was innocent of murder. But any other reason seemed just as implausible, unless…
Unless she was meeting a clandestine lover.
A lover, he repeated to himself. Given several of his encounters with the lady—the Naples brothel, the deserted conservatory—he knew that she had no qualms about defying the rules of Polite Society. And, after all, she had been quick to offer her body to him as payment for services.
Yet despite all her hard-edged bravado, Marco sensed that she didn’t really have much experience with men. Not that a loss of virtue required much time or effort, he thought sardonically.
In and out…
The door shut noiselessly behind him. Treading lightly over the soft grass, he ducked into the shadows of the privet hedge and quickened his steps to keep her in sight. It was, of course, none of his business if she was heading to a midnight tryst. Revealing her private life, her secret passions, was not part of their bargain. But against all reason, some elemental force, some hidden magnetic current, seemed to pull him along.
The clench of his hands was merely for balance, not because of some primitive urge to thrash any man who dared touch her. Marco willed his fists to relax as the sloping lawns gave way to a grove of ancient oaks. The way here was wilder—an ideal place for a rendezvous.
Bloody hell. Marco was a little surprised by the vehemence of his reaction. Kate was perfectly free to take a lover. To slide her tongue into the man’s mouth, to lift her skirts and open her shapely thighs to his touch…
A twig snapped under his errant step.
Up ahead, Kate spun into the gnarled shadow of a tree.
Marco took cover behind a thicket of brambles. From his vantage point he could now see that there was another figure on the path ahead of them. It was a lady who was moving none too quietly over the rough ground to a small clearing overlooking the lake. A faint wash of starlight reflected off the smooth waters, giving a fleeting glimpse of her face as she looked around her.
He hesitated for an instant, then made his move.
“Mmmph!”
His hand quickly smothered Kate’s surprise. “Sssshh,” he hissed, trapping her body against the rough trunk.
At her nod, he slowly released her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a whisper.
“I could ask the same of you,” he replied.
Kate squirmed against his grip, trying to shift enough to keep her eyes on her quarry. “I should think that would be obvious. I’m curious as to why Lady Duxbury is sneaking around the grounds at night.”
“Given the lady’s reputation, I should think that would also be obvious,” said Marco. “She’s likely here for a tumble in the hay.”
Lady Duxbury began pacing in a tight circle.
“A bed would be far more comfortable,” muttered Kate under her breath. “And convenient.”
“Some females like to make love outside the bedchamber.” His groin was now pressing up against her bottom. His senses aroused by the unexpected stab of jealousy, he was acutely aware of her softly rounded shape. “They find an exotic setting adds to the excitement.”
“Thank you for such enlightening information. But if I want a primer on prurient behavior, I shall read Casanova’s memoirs.” Sarcasm laced her throaty whisper, yet a clenching shudder betrayed her body’s reaction to the intimate contact.
“The book is very long and very boring.” He slid his hands down her back, drawing a slow, teasing trail along her spine, and set them on the swell of her hips. As a frisson of fire laced through the layers of clothing, Marco realized that she was not quite so cool to his closeness. “I could give you a far more intriguing guide to the art of seduction.”
“S-stop that,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “It’s… distracting.”
A quick look confirmed that Lady Duxbury was still alone.
“I can’t help it, Kate.” Marco nuzzled her neck, breathing in the heady sweetness of her scent. By now, its essence had entwined itself in his consciousness. It felt a part of him. “You are a powerful distraction.”
She gave a little gasp as he pulled her closer. “It’s not me; it’s the silks and satins that cause the effect,” she stammered. “No doubt you would flirt with the scullery sink if it wore skirts.”