Page 18 of Portrait of a Lady
They paused to let a drunkard dressed as a priest rush past them, where he promptly fell into the bushes with a noisy retch. Hugh cringed, moving her along a bit faster and away from the unpleasant sight.
“Well...I have just turned five-and-twenty,” she began. “How old are you?”
“Nine-and-twenty,” he replied with a smirk. “Positively ancient.”
She snorted. “Not when you are a man. Try being an unwed female at my age. Apparently, I’m positively decrepit.”
He paused beneath one of the arches, the splash of a pink lantern warming Evelyn’s complexion. This time, he didn’t resist the urge to touch her, trailing his knuckles along her cheek toward the line of her jaw. She went as still as death, but didn’t pull away, her gaze locked with his as he gave her a smile.
“There is nothing decrepit about you,” he murmured, the words falling so easily from his tongue it was laughable.
He was good at this, showering women with praise and turning them into soft, pliable clay in his hands. But tonight he found he hardly had to try. Maybe it was the environment of the gardens, or the novelty of starting at the beginning with someone new. Whatever it was, he found himself acting without thought, speaking without effort, and it was actually enjoyable for a change. Not something to do for the sake of money, but something he simply wanted to do. He was certain it would pass, as the novelty of a new thing often did, but for now he would choose to enjoy it.
He let his knuckles trail lower, over her thrumming pulse and toward her collarbone. Her shawl had fallen to hang around her elbows and she hadn’t seemed to notice until just then. Her shimmering flesh was on display again, beckoning to him, begging to be touched and kissed. She drew in a breath and held it as he let the tip of one finger trace the neckline of her gown, sending goosebumps over her skin in his wake.
She trembled, but remained still, staring up at him as he explored the flesh left bare by her gown, trailing back up to her shoulder and down one arm. A shudder wracked her, translating from her arm to the tips of his fingers.
So responsive. He’d barely even touched her, and already she was coming alive, her body practically vibrating with the promise of what it might be like to bed her.
Hugh revisited his earlier assessment that fucking her wouldn’t be a trial and decided he’d had it all wrong. Bedding this woman would be an absolute pleasure.
“Siblings?” she blurted out.
He froze, one hand on her shoulder. The sleeve of her gown had fallen again, revealing the tempting top of one breast. Forcing himself to meet her gaze, he blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Siblings,” she repeated tugging her sleeve back into place. “Do you have any? I have two elder sisters.”
Right. They were supposed to be talking. Giving her his arm once more, he continued guiding her down the path. His family wasn’t exactly a subject he enjoyed talking about, given the way they’d cast him from amongst their ranks, but she didn’t need to know about the uncomfortable parts of his life. That wasn’t why he was here.
“Three brothers and two sisters,” he replied. “I am the youngest brother, with both my sisters behind me.”
“I’m the youngest, too,” she said. “With a flock of nieces and nephews. Do your siblings have any children?”
His chest ached as he was reminded of how long it had been since he’d seen any of his brothers’ or sister’s children. His sister-in-law, Elinor, was due to give birth any day now, and his younger sister, Priscilla, was expecting—a fact he only knew due to secondhand gossip. No one had even bothered to inform him of the news.
“Six of them,” he said, desperately seeking a distraction.
Anything to keep from having to tell her that his family did everything they could to distance themselves from him.
They’d come to the end of the row of arches, a pathway to their left leading back toward the Dark Walk. He was done talking, and didn’t want anything to spoil the mood, so he moved a bit faster, propelling her away from the crowd and toward more secluded territory.
“Mr. Radcliffe!” she exclaimed, trotting to keep up with his quickened strides. “Where are we going?”
He slowed a bit but remained determined to outrun unpleasant thoughts and seek more pleasurable diversion. He couldn’t end the night without at least kissing her, and he knew she wouldn’t allow it out in the open where anyone could see.
“I’m looking for the perfect spot,” he murmured, turning down the darkened pathway where the lamps gave way, allowing moonlight to take over.
Here and there he noticed the shadows of others moving about, seeking privacy for illicit encounters.
“The perfect spot for what?” she asked, sounding a bit breathless.
He pulled her into a little nook surrounded by crumbling pillars overrun with climbing vines. A circle of pale moonlight gave meager illumination through the trees, bathing the mock ruin. Finding a stone bench nearby, he guided her toward it with purpose. He threw one leg over the bench and sank down, then gave her a little tug. She fell across his thighs with a startled gasp, forced to cling to him for balance.
Once he had her settled, he reached up to remove his hat and set it aside, then, he met her gaze.
“The perfect spot for this,” he said while loosening the mask and allowing it to drop, revealing his face. “I think we are safe enough here.”
