Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(32)

He felt something very close to desperation. “I thought you cared for me.”

Overhead the fireworks began exploding.

“I did. I do.” She sighed and let her head fall back, watching the fiery trails. “But my feelings for you really have nothing to do with this discussion. Anne broke your trust long before I came along. I’m not sure you’d trust any woman again, let alone one with a past like mine. You’ve made that abundantly plain. Really, it’s a wonder you were able to propose to even a virgin like Lady Hero.”

An awful, oily blackness invaded his chest at her words, because she was right, damn her. He’d never bring himself to truly trust her.

“As you’ve already stated, the thing is impossible.” She glanced over her shoulder. “They’ll be waiting for me—we’d decided on ices while the fireworks played.”

He looked at her mutely, unable to find the words that would make this right. The words that would make her stay.

She smiled rather wearily. “Good-bye, Thomas. I hope you have a happy marriage.”

And he could do nothing but watch her walk away from him.

*      *      *

HERO HAD WANTED to know how Reading tasted and now she knew: He was wine and man and need.

Pure, hot need, coursing through her blood like quicksilver, lighting her bones on fire, making her muscles quake until she literally trembled in his arms. He didn’t kiss her like she was the daughter of a duke, reverent and slow. No, he kissed her like a woman. His lips were hard, demanding things from her, not waiting to see if she had the experience to keep up. His tongue pushed against her lips, insisting on entrance. She opened her mouth eagerly. He swarmed in without hesitation, taking as if she was his by right.

“Griffin,” she murmured, her hands clutching at his black domino, unsure of what to do. He pulled her close—so close she felt the muscles of his legs through her skirts. His fingers were in her hair, skimming over her throat, brushing lightly at the tops of her breasts.

She should push him away. What she wanted instead was to take his hand and press those long fingers into her bodice. To guide him until he stroked the puckered tips of her naked breasts. She thought she might very well expire from sheer ecstasy if he touched her there.

A loud bang! made her start and break the kiss. The night sky lit for a moment, as bright as day, illuminating his masked face and his mouth, wet and tempting. He pulled back from her, still holding her shoulders and stared at her as if transfixed. Lord knew what her own expression looked like.

Behind them the cheers of the spectators rose.

Hero tried to speak and found she had to swallow before her mouth could form the words. “We need to get back.”

He didn’t reply, merely caught her hand and turned, striding back up the path. She stumbled behind him, her limbs uncoordinated, her thoughts dazed. Another starburst exploded overhead, green, purple, and red flakes floating to earth. The path was widening; they were nearly to the clearing where the spectators stood.

Reading pulled her suddenly into a dark nook off the side of the path. He turned to face her and yanked her into his arms. Her entire being thrilled as he breathed a foul curse and then captured her mouth again. He devoured her as if she were a sweetmeat and he a man who had gone without bread for far too long. He licked across her lips, biting at the corner of her mouth, groaning somewhere deep in his chest. She opened her mouth eagerly this time, having learned what he—what she—wanted.

Another cheer went up.

He tore his head away from hers, muttering, “You taste like ambrosia, and I am a madman.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, and she had the strange feeling he was as confused as she.

He blinked, cursed, and, taking her hand again, led her into the clearing.

The gathered crowd all had their faces tilted upward, watching the display overhead. Hero followed Reading without thought, feeling quite shattered as they wound in and out of the bodies until they found their own party.

“There you are,” Phoebe exclaimed as Hero made her side. She clapped and squealed as spinning wheels appeared over their heads. She leaned closer to Hero and shouted, “But what has happened to Lord Mandeville?”

Hero shook her head, her brain stuttering to life. She shouted back, “He went for refreshments and I lost him.”

She heard Reading grunt. His lips were grim and she hastily looked away.

“Oh, look!” Phoebe cried.

Bombs burst and turned, sparkling, into a green-and-gold-winged serpent. The fiery creature twisted and then melted into a glowing white shower of sparks.

“It’s fantastic,” Lady Margaret breathed.

It was. It was the most fantastic fireworks display she’d ever seen—and yet she felt curiously unaffected. Hero was conscious only of Reading’s bulk, on the far side of Phoebe. There seemed to be an invisible line between them now, an awareness drawn taut by sensuality and basic sin.

Dear Lord, what had she done?

She touched her mouth with shaking fingers. She’d committed an act of horrible betrayal. She knew that. She was aware of the ramifications and of regret. The possibility of far greater sin and guilt. Of the fact that her very soul was in peril.

And she did not care.

She was in a fever, wanting only to taste his mouth again, to feel his hard body against hers. To find out if his bare skin was as hot without any clothes. To discover his naked chest. To lie with him entirely nude.