LITMIR.BIZ

      The glitter of Vauxhall at night was lost on Tony, as he paid his admission to enter. Acres of land, much of it secluded walkways. How was he to find her in the throng of revellers present? He must trust that Barton meant to keep her where she could be seen, since there was little point in stepping out with her if he did not intend for them to be noticed.

      Tony scanned the crowds in the avenues, and the people gathered around the tightrope walker, and worked his way around the dance floor near the orchestra until a flash of crimson caught his eye. She was there, on Barton’s arm.

      She was stunning, as only she could be. He had grown quite used to seeing her about town in mourning, or half-mourning, but even after her recent return to fashion, he had not seen her looking so splendid as this. The deep red of her gown made her skin glow luminous in the lantern light, her dark hair was dressed with tiny red roses, and her throat and ears were adorned with pigeon’s-blood rubies that would have left the thief in him quivering with excitement, had the man in him not been more interested in seeing the bare skin beneath.

      The image of her as she had been when she came to his rooms was still burning in his mind: the true outline of the body hidden just under the satin. There was the swell of her breast and the place where the nipple would raise the fabric of the gown, and there was the curve of her stomach, and the place where the gown would pool where her legs met. Her cruelty knew no bounds if she had revealed herself to him in that way only to give herself to another.

      But now Barton was escorting her along the dim pathways, deeper and deeper into the dark walks of Vauxhall Gardens.

      Tony knew the reason that a gentleman might escort a lady into the grounds, for he had done it himself. But the ladies were rarely ladies, nor did the gentlemen have any intention of keeping to manners.

      Her dark eyes were unreadable and her face revealed neither joy nor sadness. She was as cool and aloof as any of the statues adorning the garden walkways. After all the fine talk of marriage and reputation earlier in the day, she showed no sign of caring how her behaviour must look to any who saw it tonight.

      The couple disappeared around a bend on the darkened path, and Tony hopped the nearest hedge and cut across the grass, staying out of the glow of the lanterns to keep pace with them as they proceeded. Around him, on other paths in the darkness, he could hear the sounds of other couples: giggles, sighs and the occasional moan.

      And a few yards away from him, Barton had stopped, and pulled Constance close to speak into her ear.

      She was leaning into him and looking up into his face, and when he whispered to her, she did not pull away. She glanced around, to see if there was anyone following.

      Tony stepped further into the darkness to be sure that he was hidden.

      When she was sure they were alone, she kissed Barton quickly on the lips.

      The bastard tilted his head and spoke again.

      And again she kissed, more slowly this time, with her sweet mouth open to his. It was nothing like the kisses Tony had seen between them, in Barton’s own garden. That night, she had been awkward and it had appeared that she could barely tolerate the man she was with.

      Tonight, she was kissing him with her whole spirit, her body tight against his, her arms clutching his shoulders.

      Tony’s heart sank. Had anyone noticed the pair together, other than him? Most probably not. It was Vauxhall, after all, and the other couples walking these paths had secrets of their own to keep and no time to pry.

      But Constance must have known what would happen if she came here. Why would she let Barton take such a liberty, after the way she had acted in her rooms, and his?

      She had said that Barton had the deed to her house. And she had offered her body in trade to Tony if he could get it back.

      But had she truly said that Barton’s attentions were unwelcome? Tony swallowed. Perhaps he had misunderstood. It was only the theft of the deed that was unwelcome. If she owned the house, she could invite who she chose to share her bed: him, or Barton or anyone else.

      So perhaps what Stanton had first claimed was the truth. She was a faithless traitor, with no more loyalty to Barton than to anyone else.

      The thought made him ache.

      And yet, he could not stop wanting her. He had wanted her all the time she was married, he had wanted her before that, he had wanted her when they were children, before he even knew what he wanted her for. And because he was a fool, he would continue to want her, if she belonged to Barton or married another. It was lucky that he had not told her when he’d had the chance, or she’d have known the strength of her hold over him and left him with even less dignity than he already possessed.

      But if he could not have her, the least he could do was get her clear of Barton before the man’s inevitable destruction.