Marquesses at the Masquerade(94)
She mounted the steps that led to the covered porch, where the darkness was dense indeed. Tyne followed, and she passed him what could only be her mask.
“Your plundering needs work, sir. Allow me to demonstrate.”
She plucked off his mask and tossed it aside, then braced herself with a grip on Tyne’s shoulder, cupped his cheek with her free hand, and kissed him.
*
So this was adventure, to stroll down a darkened street with a strange gentleman, discussing highly personal subjects and wishing the night could go on forever.
In the company of her tall escort, Lucy felt daring, bold, and oddly safe. With Thor, she wasn’t simply a governess owed the courtesies shown to a member of a marquess’s staff, she was a female to be protected against all perils.
The greatest peril had become her own curiosity.
Not the long-dormant curiosity of the eager girl. Lucy had weathered that risk with a dashing infantry captain named Giles Throckmorton III. She’d hoped for passion of mythic proportions and reaped only rumpled clothing, awkwardness, and some anxious days. Three weeks later she’d received a nigh-illegible letter from Giles releasing her from any obligation arising from “that dear, brief friendship.”
For months, she’d pined and paced and considered writing back to him, protesting that she would wait, she could be patient, and they’d had more than friendship. Except… they hadn’t even had a friendship. They’d had a foolish, awkward moment. She had burned his letter years ago, when she’d learned that Giles had married a Portuguese lady and was growing grapes and raising children with her on the banks of the Douro.
The curiosity that gripped Lucy now was more dangerous for being more mature. Thor raised philosophical questions: How much of Lucy’s yearning for male companionship was simply loneliness? She attributed loneliness to the Marquess of Tyne, but perhaps it belonged to her as well.
Did his lordship even sense that he’d caught her interest, and what if he had? Was he politely ignoring her, for Tyne was unrelentingly polite? Was Lucy willing to embark on that trite convention of bad judgment, an affair with her employer?
This conversation with Thor would stay with her long after she’d bid him good night, and later—under bright sunshine—she’d consider the conundrums he’d raised. Now, she’d send him on his way with a kiss.
He was tall enough that Lucy had to go up on her toes to kiss him. He accommodated her by bending his head and taking her in his arms. The handle of his hammer hit the porch rug with a soft thump, and Lucy got a whiff of bay rum before she learned the true meaning of the verb to plunder.
Thor’s strength was evident in the security of his embrace. He knew how to hold a woman, how to bring her body against his in a manner that offered shelter as well as intimacy. He was no green recruit to the ranks of manhood, but rather, a seasoned campaigner who could conquer by negotiation.
Lucy pressed her lips to his and half missed her target, getting the corner of his mouth, which kicked up in a smile. He corrected her aim by settling his lips over hers—I’m here, you see?—a greeting and then a tease with his tongue.
He tasted of cinnamon, from the stewed apples, and patience which was all him. Lucy gradually understood that she was being invited to explore as he did, his fingers tracing over her features and his tongue acquainting her with his mouth.
She had fallen for the army captain’s clumsy charms, even knowing her soldier was more enthusiastic than skilled.
Thor was skilled enough to hide his enthusiasm, to build Lucy’s interest instead. By the time she rested her forehead against his chest, she was hot and disoriented, and in no doubt that she was desired by a god.
Who is he? His shirt was of the finest linen. His scent up close included the sweet smoke of beeswax candles. He came from means, he was well educated, and unlike Lucy, he had the leisure to regularly mingle with the fancy and the frivolous.
His hand wandered her back, while Lucy tried to gather her wits and mostly failed.
“We must part,” he said, “for the hour grows late, and lingering in London’s night shadows is never well advised. May I see you again?”
He wasn’t asking to pay a call on her, and that was just as well, for his lordship’s housekeeper had been quite clear that Lucy was not to encourage the notice of any followers.
“That might not be wise.” Though it would be adventurous and—with him—passionate.
Thor turned loose of her and picked up his hammer. “Wasn’t it you who said I must make my sentiments known, madam? You who encouraged me to speak of my feelings lest opportunity be lost forever? I’m honestly a dull fellow. I’ll not be snatching you away to my mountain hall or plying you with mead until you’re lost to all sense. I’d thought another quiet stroll might appeal, or an ice at Gunter’s.”
Lord Tyne took his daughters to Gunter’s, one of few venues in London where the genders were free to mix socially. If Tyne should get wind that Lucy was meeting with a gentleman, he’d be curious, at least.
“The Lovers’ Walk,” she said. “Vauxhall, a fortnight hence at eleven of the clock. I’ll wear your cape.”
“A fortnight?” Clearly, he’d hoped to see Lucy sooner, and that gratified more than it should.
“If either of us should fail to appear, we’ll know that a single encounter will have to suffice. One of those charming young ladies might return your interest, and I might engage the notice of my busy, distant gentleman.”