Page 36 of Her Notorious Rake
She seated herself beside her aunt, across from Lord Neville. Another awkward pause drawled onward until at last Aunt Philippa spoke. “You are rather flushed. I expect it is most crowded down on the walk.”
“Quite. I needed some fresh air. Thank you for waiting for me.”
“But of course, Miss Hayesworth,” Lord Neville said cheerily, raising his glass.
Gemma nearly sighed aloud when Aunt Philippa began to chat with Lord Neville about the performances held this season in Vauxhall Garden. Lord Neville said something to her but she didn’t hear until he repeated her name. “Miss Hayesworth?” He exchanged glances with Aunt Philippa, and Gemma began to twist the fabric of her skirt around her fingers beneath the table. She knew it was unladylike to fidget, but she couldn’t help it. She glanced over at Rose, whose bowed head and worried glance told her that she’d just made a grave misstep, at least as far as her aunt was concerned.
“The fireworks shall begin soon,” Aunt Philippa announced, peering up at the sky. “It is now well-past sunset. Any minute now, I believe.”
And sure enough, a few minutes later they heard the shrill cry of the rockets as they launched into the dark sky, lighting it with red and gold sparks.
Gemma caught her breath, rising slightly and crossing to the balustrade that bordered the dinner box. Staring up at the sky, she watched, mesmerized as the sparks showered down upon the park. It was breathtaking to watch.
She could hear people gasping and exclaiming in the neighboring boxes, the whistle of the rockets as they flew towards the stars. The sparks looked like falling stars, and she gripped the balustrade, heart thundering in her chest.
It was over too soon, but just as the final rockets flared, she turned her head, glancing across the park and as the fireworks lit the sky, she locked eyes with Lord Blakemore.
He didn’t smile, just gazed back, his expression unreadable. Gemma’s heart lurched and she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Instead, she cast him a slight smile, trying to catch her breath. As the last firework lit the sky and the park, she found he’d vanished once again.
“You are fond of fireworks?” Lord Neville joined her at the railing of the box, leaning out like she was, to see the full breadth of the sky.
“Very,” Gemma told him in her politest voice. But the last thing she wanted right now was to make small talk with him. This evening couldn’t end soon enough.
***
Dalton berated himself inwardly as he turned away from Gemma, where she stood peering out the window of her dinner box and strode back towards his own family’s box. He didn’t want to watch that musty fellow, Neville, attempt to wrest her into inane chatter. Still, it hardly excused his own travesty not half an hour before.
What possessed you, Blakemore?
He’d been overcome—that was the only reason he could give to explain how close he’d been to kissing her, on the darkened wilderness walk. Likely, he’d already done damage enough to her repute, if anyone took notice that they’d slipped away to that notorious side of the park.
Wincing, he paused under a tree, running a trembling hand over his face. He was certainly not immune to her her sweet guileless allure that somehow counterbalanced sharp intellect.
It was an irresistible combination.
Chapter 18
“Where have you been off to?” Uncle Ernest demanded of him when Dalton at last reached their box. Celeste sat beside him, her eyes red, her pout unmistakable, and Dalton’s heart sank.
“A smoke,” he told his uncle flatly, reaching up to tug at his cravat. It had begun to feel too tight.
Uncle Ernest grunted, almost as if huffing out a laugh of disbelief. “You missed the fireworks. Celeste was rather grieved by your absence during those. You know how much she adores fireworks.”
“My sincerest apologies, dear cousin. Uncle.” Dalton leaned against the dinner box wall that overlooked the rest of their section of the gardens. He exhaled heavily, still fidgeting with his cravat.
In his mind’s eye, the memory of Gemma across the walk, in her box, lingered in his mind’s eye. Wonder had filled her expression, her lips parted in awe of the glorious display over their heads.
“Dalton!”
He jerked, shaken from his reverie. “Yes, uncle?” he drawled in his most bored tone.
“We are leaving. Celeste has a dreadful headache.”
At Dalton’s glance, Celeste tilted her head, letting out a nervous, tearful titter. “My head is pounding wretchedly.”
Dalton refrained from rolling his eyes to the ceiling and nodded. Well, it was for the best. He would rather not suffer another hour under his uncle’s watchful eye. It was easier to come and go as he pleased at home, where he could slip away unnoticed, where he could retreat to his bedroom should hedesire relief from his relatives. Besides, he wanted to check on Mother, check in on her when he returned home. He had sent a runner for the physician, and Dalton would like to hear what he had to say about Mother’s slip back into low spirits.
He accompanied Uncle Ernest and Celeste back to the boats on the Thames, where he searched for a glimpse of Gemma and her party. But it appeared that they had either taken a different boat or would linger at the gardens longer still. He resumed his place on the railing of the boat, watching the stars far above, twinkling away, though not as visible as he’d like here in the city.
