London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  With little effort her mind flittered to Lunden, the comfort and pleasure of their intimacy vibrant within her. How could she survive, married to another, when her heart, soul, and passion lie intertwined in his attention? He meant to leave the city. Tonight was her last chance to change his mind. Then whatever fate delivered she would be forced to accept. When he departed and she was foisted into a marriage devised to serve her brother’s selfishness, she’d draw strength from tonight’s memories to assuage her heart’s wrenched desolation. She still had this chance. One night, to alter the rest of her days.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lunden paid the hackney driver and turned to grasp Amelia’s elbow as he led her down the multitiered slate steps where a small skiff waited to transport them across the Thames. Conversation within the hack proved stilted and sparse. Perhaps it was better that way, although he yearned to decipher the question in her eyes. Was it simply the anticipation of not knowing their destination or did something else puzzle her mind? He detected a note of sadness even though she smiled, her eyes wide as they progressed to the embankment.

  The choice of a hack proved convenient, the foremost reason to obscure his identity, in kind to the hat pulled low on his brow; more an act of deception than intrigue, although the two walked hand and hand. It would serve no one for the Whittingham crest to be on display by use of Matthew’s coach. Tonight was an evening for secrets, not disclosure. Vauxhall served them well, a destination no refined young lady would dare seek and therefore one sure to delight his companion.

  They took their seats and the skiff glossed across the water, cutting through the shroud of low-lying fog. He eyed the clouds with skepticism, an impending storm almost certain, his survey momentarily obscured as they passed beneath Vauxhall Bridge. He hoped the weather would hold long enough for Amelia to view the fireworks. He’d taken a special thrill in the spectacle as a child. On some incomprehensible level, he hoped to give her the same enjoyment. A lasting memory of the evening, a parting gift of sorts.

  Wavering lamplight lit the approaching shoreline and with their target in sight, he turned to view Amelia, breathtaking in the twilight, mist kissing her cheeks, as light and delicate as her jasmine perfume. She smiled and something twisted in his chest with disconcerting softness, but he shifted his eyes and busied himself with contemplation of the approaching gate rather than consider the tumultuous emotion.

  They disembarked at the riverbank and her gloved hand in his felt right, for lack of a better descriptor. He smothered the observation into silence as soon as it formed, resolute he would say farewell this evening, conclude his business, and leave London at last.

  He’d been hard-pressed to view his reflection in the mirror while he’d shaved this evening, having sunken to the lowest level of misconstrued gentleman. Although nothing good could come from overthinking the matter. He would not regret Amelia’s delicious kisses, the soft velvet of her skin beneath his mouth, her molten heat as he brought her to climax. His choices in the study possessed the shape of colossal misjudgment; utter madness, to exploit an innocent woman, the sister of his closest friend, his only friend. He swallowed audibly. Truly, the devil owned his soul.

  He shortened his stride to walk beside her as they progressed in amiable silence toward the narrow gravel path leading to the main row of tall trees, expertly manicured and now ornamented by a throng milling through the gardens. Visitors came into view, some decked in masks or dominoes, all eager to escape the strictures of London if only for one short evening. He dared a look at his companion, her eyes glittering with delight and he released a long breath. At least in this, he’d chosen correctly.

  “Would you like to discuss things?” There would be no ease in the evening until he determined if she harbored ill feelings concerning their intimacy.

  She nodded in the negative. “I wish to live in this moment only.” Her smile, slow to start, spread across her face until it lit her emerald eyes with enchantment. “By week’s end, I will no longer enjoy the freedom offered here. I will be packed and relocated to the countryside, away from everything and everyone familiar to me, my closest friend and childhood home. Tonight, I want to create memories to last a lifetime.” She paused and he noticed the sudden rise of her chin, as if to burgeon her courage. “I only have this one night.”

  He understood, although anger, cruel and sharp, surged through him. She should experience no pain. Harbor no regret. Yet he could give her so little. “Then that’s what you will have, Troublemaker. An evening of nefarious adventure.”

  When they reached the wrought-iron gate at the entrance to the gardens, his fingers fumbled with the latch. Society waited on the other side, no matter the gardens were more shadow than light. With a touch to his brow, he lowered the brim of his hat another inch, and led Amelia amidst the evanescent crowd, at times clustered and then nary a small grouping, strangers lost in provocative silhouettes seeking a distraction to relieve their longing, each possessing a private goal.

  He ran his eye along the decorated booths lining the walkway. Merchants offered syllabub, sweetmeats, and wine. He purchased two glasses of champagne and much to Amelia’s delight, a short velvet mask, mysterious as the night that welcomed them. He gathered the ribbons and tied the mask securely behind her head, although his fingers itched to sink into her lush curls, to push them aside and press kisses to the nape of her neck. With effort, he retreated below a pair of globe lanterns to sip his refreshment. He studied her over the rim of his glass and all tension abated, lost in the fog that shrouded the night.

  “Look.” She indicated a thick rope suspended between two poles, high above the booths and beyond the water cascade. “A tightrope walker. How very brave and extraordinary.”

  He followed her indication to the performer perched precariously over the crowd. The man hesitated, his steps delicate and concise, aware the slightest misstep would plummet him to the net below and reveal his worst nightmare. Still, he continued gingerly to the suspended platform at the opposite pole. “Brave fellow. Daring enough to walk a line between success and failure. The past and the future . . .”

  Dare he step forward in the same fashion? Or would he remain paralyzed in the past? Perhaps that was his destiny, suspended between two worlds, unable to find happiness because of the sadness in his history.

  He swallowed the sudden emotion in his throat.

  Amelia flicked her eyes to his and he looked away, concerned she might detect a hint of vulnerability in his expression. Instead he caught the attention of a passerby, the stranger’s gaze narrowed as she strove to decipher his interest. He leveled a hard-edged stare and the woman dashed her curiosity elsewhere. What the devil had he been thinking to escort Amelia to a pleasure garden? Her reputation would be in tatters were she discovered among those secreting away for amorous assignations. And what of his welfare? He’d nearly concluded his business in London, yet he risked discovery by his attendance. With any hope, a decade had erased his face from recognition, once a young boy, now returned a man. He would depend on it to ensure his anonymity tonight and not spawn a wave of gossip aimed at exploiting his circumstances.

  With a recriminating scoff, he owned his habit of poor judgment. In kind to his past, little had changed. He was selfish, tunnel-visioned, when an idea captured his attention, and not unlike the man the gossipmongers described in their exaggerated tales.

  His shook away the realization and returned his gaze to Amelia, her attention riveted to the entertainment at the far end of the gardens. Longing fissured through him. If only life offered alternatives. He’d not purposely hidden under remorse and regret. They were his destiny, his mourning turned lifestyle to protect his brother’s secret.

  Yet at what point did his suffering become his existence, one of denial not pleasure? He set his glass on a nearby tray and pushed a hand into his pocket. Douglas’s watch remained safe. An ever-present reminder of the exact moment he’d taken his brother’s life.

  * * *

 
Amelia kept her attention glued to the dancers positioned near the end of the cascade although she detected every emotion written in Lunden’s expression. What inner demons did he battle tonight?

  A grand orchestra, at least fifty musicians, readied their instruments inside a magnificent hall lighted with an incredible number of lamps, the faint notes of their preparations discordant with her inner turmoil. She managed to keep her smile intact, determined to enjoy the evening, yet nothing erased her ill ease. During the carriage ride she’d remained silent, stifling the dismay that gnawed at her nerves, taunting this would be the last evening she’d spend with Lunden. The skiff proved no balm as it rocked across the Thames, as unsteady as her plans for the future.

  She forced her attention to the ebb and flow near the Grand Cross Walk and beyond to the Grove. Supper boxes lined the avenue and delectable scents met each inhale. Laughter and conversation overflowed from the dimly lit area dissolving into a background of tinsel and plumes. Tonight was meant for indulgence, not reflection. She’d swallow her dismay as neatly as the arrack punch and lose herself to the night, a path more inviting than analysis of the emotion stabbing her heart. In truth, she had little else to look forward to and with a vow, she reached for Lunden’s escort.

  Her hand rested at his elbow, aware of the tense set of his muscles as they progressed farther into the garden. Most visitors seemed engrossed in their pleasure seeking, although at times she caught a stranger’s intense scrutiny, their restless murmuring rippling through the crowd like a stone thrown into water. No doubt Lunden detected the same. More than once she felt his arm flex beneath her grasp, his jaw set firm.

  “I fear I’m more trouble than I’m worth.” She strove to keep her expression deferential.

  “There’s no value to be placed on your worth, Troublemaker.” He angled his head in answer, his eyes filled with teasing, warmed to a rich shade of brown. “You, my lady, are priceless.”

  His compliment arrowed straight to her heart. He was a man who revealed little, a tight rein wrapped around his emotions at all times, yet he risked his own censure by venturing to Vauxhall, all in an effort to please her.

  “Thank you.” The words failed, inadequate in expressing her heartfelt emotion. “I’ll remember this evening always, no matter how the night unfolds.”

  * * *

  They advanced down the walkway. Mist climbed the lamp poles while darkness filled every corner and alcove, sketching the perfect backdrop for a romantic tryst or stolen affection. They’d nearly reached the end of the Grand Walk when Lunden noticed the occupants of the final dinner box. Matthew was there, as were several other gentlemen, most specifically Lord Collins, accompanied by a female, one free with her favors from his brief survey. The guest of honor appeared to enjoy his send-off with unadulterated zeal. His current activity proved an eyeful, his uncensored celebratory entertainment provided by a woman of questionable morals.

  Lunden flicked his eyes to Amelia, blessedly unaware. Devil take him, he had no experience with tender emotion, but he’d be damned if he’d witness her hurt perpetuated. He slowed, angling his arm to steer in an alternate direction. If Matthew spotted them, there would be hell to pay and a guaranteed scene to ignite speculation and misery. Still, that consideration didn’t motivate him nearly as much as his desire to remove Amelia from the distasteful display only ten steps away.

  She resisted and tugged at his elbow, his feet having decreased to a sluggish pace at the same moment a raucous outburst from the dinner box rose above the noisy throng. A potential nightmare threatened to unfold as she twisted to the right, drawn to the commotion by curiosity. Matthew and Collins, the scantily clad female wrapped tightly around his person, stood in plain view as the small circle of men exited the box and continued their loud cajoling. Another few steps and they’d all merge together in a grouping of outrage and discovery. Amelia persisted as she strained to angle him toward the right.

  With the crowd at his back and few viable options, he gathered her close, spun her in his arms, and thrust left in a swift parry that pinned her against the buffeted resistance of a bloom-covered arbor located behind the spectacle. In the shadows of the trellis he pressed his body flush against hers, his mouth descending, seeking, and finding her delicious pout with expert accuracy. She hesitated no longer than a breath, although he suspected she itched to know what scene unfolded beyond their dusky alcove. Then he stopped reasoning altogether and lost himself in loving Amelia.

  She tasted sweet, at odds with the tart words she often delivered, and his body reacted with sharp longing, as if an opium eater long denied and then all of a sudden drenched in the euphoric rush of addiction. Reprimands flittered through shreds of his consciousness. Wavering agitation reminded he should not encourage what could never be, but he silenced the thought with effective supplication. He kissed her to obstruct her vision and avoid a disastrous scene. The lie took hold and devoured all other considerations.

  Soft sweetness molded against him in the same manner the night disguised their embrace. His heart banged against his chest. She offered no resistance, perhaps as certain as he this would be their last kiss and equally as determined to make it last a lifetime. The notion sparked his passion and he reacted instinctively, capturing her delicious mouth in another long openmouthed assault. Reckless, beautiful Amelia, not a timid bone in her warm curvaceous body, returned his kiss, her tongue as eager to explore as his, to taste and tempt. Her hands climbed his shoulders with bold caresses and persistent touches, until they settled at his collar, her fingers wrapped in a firm hold to anchor her close.

  The weight of her breasts against his coat and stir of skirts against his thighs caused every nerve ending he possessed to ignite with raw hunger. He couldn’t have her—he knew that well—but he could have this: a hot, heated kiss, cloaked by darkness, in the center of a gathering comprised of sin.

  He’d allowed himself so little for so long, he could have this.

  She brought her palms to his face and the tenderness in her gesture kicked his heartbeat harder. Fire flooded his veins. Did she mean to break free? She made a noise deep in her throat, a whimper of infinite pleasure, and it erased all doubt. He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down her arms, farther to her slim waist. The memory of her sprawled across the desk, her silky black curls strewn in passionate disarray and skin flushed, all splendidly shaped calves and delicate ankles, her tight, wet heat, caused his grip to tighten. His fingers itched to tear the gown from her shoulders and bare her body to his touch.

  The peal of a loud gong signaling the start of evening entertainment broke through his haze of passion.

  Damn it all to hell.

  The kiss was meant as a diversion, not a seduction. He broke every rule he’d made only hours earlier. He pulled away, his restraint barely contained.

  “Lunden?” She remained perfectly still, the word a heated breath against his cheek. Then she slid her palm down the front of his waistcoat to rest atop his heart and his eyes found hers in the discrete shadows. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.” He lied. Her touch banished loneliness and regret; he would never be all right again. He pushed the persistent thought to the dark recesses of his soul. “Across the walk, I detected trouble.” He stepped a pace away.

  “So you secreted me into this arbor?” She shook her head in confusion and her curls swayed charmingly.

  “It seemed a good plan at the time.” Hardly. He’d meant to avoid conflict. Instead he’d allowed her to steal his heart and fracture his resolve. Another poor decision to add to the list.

  Worse still, the crowd now filled the Grand Walk to capacity, the visitors aimed at locating the best vantage point for the imminent fireworks display. He’d need to keep his head down and conversation to a minimum until he secured them a private spot. He grasped her hand and locked it into the crook of his elbow before steering toward the slow-moving procession.

  She looked at him from beneath dark lashes, her sultry whisper b
efitting their surroundings. “What were you trying to avoid?”

  Emotions, affection, a reason to stay in London when I know I must leave. “A rowdy bunch in one of the dinner boxes. The last thing I desire is to be seen or have you bothered by a few fools unable to hold their liquor.” Even he heard the desperate note in his reply.

  He pushed farther into the throng and eyed a dimly lit area behind a distant gazebo. It would provide them privacy and yet a fairly adequate view of the skies once the fireworks began. He’d almost reached his goal when he was jostled from the back, his hat nearly toppled from his head due to the unexpected inconvenience. While he reached with his free hand to secure his identity remained hidden, he felt a deliberate press against his person.

  Releasing Amelia, he whipped around with a lightning grasp to capture a child’s hand as it slipped into his pocket aimed to abscond with the goods. Little did the thief realize he’d chosen a man’s history, the only tangible memory of Douglas, with his nonchalant pickpocket attempt, rather than a few shillings.

  The urchin struggled to free himself, forcing the throng of visitors milling toward the firework pavilion to react and avoid the commotion. Lunden released the boy into the crowd, unwilling to draw further attention to the scene, but the action proved too late.

  “Thief !”

  The call of a nearby gentleman echoed over the hum of the crowd, setting everyone on notice. Anxious to rid the area, Lunden locked Amelia to his side and pushed on. She hesitated for some reason he could not name, and with a curse, he pivoted to the right to determine the trouble.

  Nilworth stood in her path, seemingly amused as he reached to lower Amelia’s mask with a flick of his finger. She blanched. How dare he? Lunden struggled to keep his temper contained as he bolted forward, locking his grasp around Nilworth’s extended hand and preventing the man’s intrusive touch. Unconcerned by the pressure he exerted, he crushed Nilworth’s fingers in his grip and thrust his arm away.