She was moving so quickly she didn't stop to consider that he was making no effort to slow her rapid pace. His long legs kept up with her, and within moments they were out of earshot as well as out of sight, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he led her farther along the darkened path, slowing her headlong pace.
Author: Anne Stuart
"Was there someone you wished to avoid? I mean, aside from your assailant," he said lazily. "Of course not. Why would you say so?" "Because you practically sprinted away from the maze when you heard people coming. Or is it simply that you don't wish to be seen with me?'" There was that damnable undercurrent of amusement in his voice, the one she remembered. Did he find all women amusing?
"Why should I worry about being seen with you?"
"Because you clearly know who I am. You called me 'my lord,' and that was no accident. And if you know who I am then you doubtless know my reputation, which is far from stellar. Merely to be seen alone with me is enough to get you compromised. "
She considered denying it. He was leading her farther away from the light, and she knew a sudden nervous anticipation. Was he going to make an advance under cover of darkness? She already knew he would never force her. Was there a chance she could enjoy one last, anonymous kiss before he placed her into a coach?
If he tried, she would let him, she decided. Her ankle was throbbing—she'd twisted it in the maze, reaggravating the injury, and she tried not to favor it more than necessary, not to lean on his strong arm.
"Viscount Rohan is fairly notorious, even for those of us who don't travel in his circles. " She may as well be bold—pretended ignorance wasn't getting her anywhere. "We shared the same dance set earlier, and someone pointed you out to me. ”
"Did we?" he said, and her irritation increased. Were all women invisible to him, or only she?
She looked around her. It was quite dark, though she could see the occasional light up ahead. "Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
"Where do you think?" he countered.
She wasn't going to be forced into voicing her secret fears that were just as much desires. "I would hope you were taking me to the hackney stand on the west entrance of the park. Anything else would be unacceptable. "
"And I would never think of doing anything unacceptable, fair lady," he said with exaggerated courtesy.
She wanted to kick him. He was flirting with a stranger, his charm given to anyone who took his fancy. This was a good thing, she told herself as the lights grew brighter. It was a salutary lesson as to how interchangeable she was. She'd meant nothing to him, the jaded son of a bitch. And if she hadn't been entirely over him before, she was now, she assured herself. The swiving, self-centered peacock, vain, selfish, offal-munching. . .
"Is something distressing you, oh mysterious one?" he murmured.
“Why would you say so?"
“Because you suddenly dug your fingers into my arm as if you wanted to rip my skin," he observed affably.
She pulled her hand away. "I beg your pardon," she said in her muffled voice. "I was thinking of someone. ”
"Were you indeed? Perhaps a former lover?"
"Why would you say that?"
"I've found most liaisons don't end well. At least one side is left feeling abandoned and hurting. "
He'd pegged her well. She straightened her shoulders, continuing her forward stride. "If that is the case, sir, then why indulge in them? Wouldn't it be easier not to bother in the first place?"
He laughed softly. "The bother, as you sadly put it, is so delightful while it lasts," he murmured too close to her ear. "And I would never resist the call of delight. "
She jumped away from him, unnerved, only to realize they'd somehow managed to reach the west end of the park, despite his circuitous route. And she didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
There were hackneys lined up, as well as sedan chairs, a couple of open phaetons and a closed town coach. She breathed a sigh of relief. She was safer in the bright light— by sight she was totally unrecognizable. Granted, she was a tall woman, but she wore flat slippers when most women wore jeweled heels on their shoes, and she was trying to keep her head down. In the dark she was probably just as interchangeable as any of his other light o' loves, but she'd spent most of her time in the shadows with him. There might be other ways to tell him who she was, assuming he even remembered her existence.
She took her hand from his arm and gave him a small curtsy. "You've been very kind. Lord Rohan," she said. "I will bid you good-night. . . "
"Allow me to hand you into the carriage," he said politely, taking her arm and leading her toward one of them. In days to come she would berate herself for being so unobservant, but at the time she was so relieved to have made it through the evening without being recognized that she probably would have climbed into the royal coach without looking.
The door was opened, the steps came down, and he put his wide hands around her slim waist and lifted her into a closed carriage that was far too elegant to be a hired hackney, and then the coach dipped beneath his weight as he followed her in, closing the door behind them, shutting them into the darkness.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he simply stopped her with his mouth, kissing her, holding her still as the carriage moved forward with an almost imperceptible jerk.
She fought him, furious. She had thought he was above such shoddy tricks, absconding with unprotected females. She tried to use her knee, but he simply put one of his long, heavy ones over hers, trapping her in place. She tried her elbows, but his arm snaked around her, imprisoning her against him.