But now she saw she had no idea whatsoever what a kiss was. This was a kiss.

It was slow and soft, almost gentle, as he brushed his mouth back and forth over hers, pressing little kisses to her lower lip. Those slow caresses, though, ignited something deep inside of her, some burning, frantic need. She curled her hands in the folds of his cloak and dragged him closer, her lips parting instinctively.

He groaned deep in his throat, and the kiss changed, became more frantic and needful. Shockingly, she felt his tongue trace the line of her lower lip. When she gasped, he slid inside.

It was so very intimate. She could taste him, wine and mint and night air, feel him as his tongue twined with hers and she tentatively responded. Her palms flattened and slid around his back. Through the layers of cloth she felt the taut shift of his muscles, the tension of his body as he held himself above her.

But she did not want him to be away from her! She wanted him closer. She arched up against him, holding on tightly as that kiss deepened. Through the sparkling haze that had fallen over her mind and senses, she vaguely felt his hand slide along her side to her hip. He traced its curve before curling into her upper thigh and urging her closer to him. His palm smoothed over her backside through her heavy skirts.

Emily was sure there was something-everything- she should not be doing. Her everyday, practical, shy self was screaming at her to cease at once! She should certainly not be rolling around on the ground with the Duke of Manning, kissing and letting him touch her there. But that scream seemed the merest of faint squeals through that fog of heady need. She wasn't Emily, not now, and he was not the duke.

His lips slid from hers, along her cheek below her mask, tracing the line of her jaw. He nipped at a spot just below her ear that was shockingly sensitive. Emily gasped at the pleasure, like a burst of ripe summer fruit, sparkling and tart on her tongue. She sought his lips with hers again, eager for another kiss.

Barely had their mouths touched when something did break through that haze-an explosion high over her head. A real explosion, not one in her fevered mind.

Emily's eyes flew open to see fireworks in the sky above her, red and blue and bright-white against the black night. It was as if they illuminated the truth of what she was doing.

She pushed him away. His blue eyes, lit by those incandescent fireworks, were wide with a shock that echoed her own. Their spell was broken.

"I am so very sorry..." he began brokenly.

Emily frantically shook her head. She didn't want to hear his apologies; this was all her fault. She had forgotten herself in the most appalling way. She had forgotten the lesson so hard-won with the incident of Mr Lofton.

She was never drinking again, that was for certain.

She searched for her lost shoe by the sporadic light of the fireworks. "I have to find my friends. I'm sure they will be missing me by now."

Nicholas found the shoe by the side of the path and held it out to her. She was glad he didn't try to replace it on her foot-she didn't know what she would do if he touched her again. Obviously she was a complete wanton who could not be trusted.

"Let me see you back to the colonnades," he said quietly.

"No!" Emily cried. She thrust her foot into the shoe and leaped to her feet. She swayed uneasily at the sudden movement, completely unsteady. The punch, which had made her feel so sparkly and giggly earlier, now made her feel rather sick.

He was beside her in an instant, steadying her with a gentle touch on her arm.

"I am fine, thank you," she managed to say in a semi-ordinary voice. "I can find my way back."

"I know why you would not want to be seen with me," he said. "But at least let me follow at a distance and make sure you find your friends safely."

Safely? Emily nearly laughed aloud. What more danger could she possibly find? The danger obviously lay inside of her. She was a hoyden.

The thing that truly made her sad and regretful, though, was that one moment when she imagined he really, truly saw her. He didn't even know the woman he had kissed was her, Emily. She was just a stranger to him, and tomorrow he would surely forget her and this moment in the dark woods.

But she feared she would never forget.

"Please?" he said. "You won't even know I'm there."

Emily nodded, and set off towards the colonnade. "You're going the wrong way," he called.

She spun around and headed in the opposite direction. The lights and noise grew as she came closer, the glow of the real world surrounding her again. She glanced back to see if Nicholas still followed her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Six.

He was the biggest d.a.m.nable fool that ever lived.

Nicholas strode down the street. The walkway was crowded with shoppers and servants laden with packages, yet he hardly saw them or heard the greetings of his acquaintances. He wasn't there, in the fine, sunny day on Bond Street, but back in the darkness of Vauxhall, holding Emily Carroll in his arms.

Emily Carroll! Of all women, how could it come to be her? She had made it clear she disliked him, and she was not the sort of lady he usually liked. She was quiet, watchful, where he liked blithe gregariousness, daring and humour. Yet last night had been beyond daring-it had been sheer lunacy. How did it happen?

Nicholas rubbed his hand over his face, trying to erase the vivid memory of her mouth under his, soft, sweet, eager. The feel of her body against his touch. He knew all too well how it happened. Lady Emily was tipsy on Vauxhall's potent punch, and he was a little foxed himself. Alcohol and masks were never a wise combination. They always gave the illusion of freedom and anonymity, of lack of consequences.

Well, there was no such thing as lack of consequences. He knew that all too well. His own father had lived his life grabbing whatever he wanted, heedless of its effects on his family name or the people around him. For him, there were no consequences; Nicholas and his poor mother and his siblings were the ones who lived with them. When he himself married Valentina, he didn't care what happened next, he only cared about his love for her in that moment. And Valentina died because of it.

Since he lost her, he had been so careful. So determined not to be like his father. Until last night.

He had only followed Emily when he saw her stumble away from the colonnades because he was worried about her safety. He didn't want to think too closely about why he watched her all evening in the first place. Ever since they ran into each other on her arrival, he had been acutely aware of where she was, her laughter with her friends, her tears at the sad song-the gla.s.ses of punch she consumed.

He could scarcely believe it when her friends let her wander off alone, and when she went off down the dark pathway. Had she no clue of the danger that awaited a beautiful woman in such places?

Of course she did not. Most young ladies did not grow up as his sisters had, knowing the ways of the world and sophisticated about its dangers. So he had followed, to make sure she was left alone, and when he saw her fall...

He caught her. And it was as if something deep inside of him, something cold and dormant since Valentina, sprang to life. And not just the thing in his breeches, either.

Emily, or rather the tipsy, black-haired lady with Emily's green eyes, had put her arms around him and made him feel strong and protective and-and needed again. The power of the l.u.s.t that seized him when he merely touched her foot, felt the warm, rose-scented, feminine life of her, shocked him. It was powerful and primitive, completely instinctive-and not something he would ever have a.s.sociated with Lady Emily Carroll.

Nicholas kicked at a c.h.i.n.k in the pavement, making pa.s.sers-by veer away from him with startled glances. When he first kissed her, he hadn't been thinking at all-that burning l.u.s.t completely took over, and he had to taste her. At first she seemed quite surprised, not sure what to do, but then-oh, h.e.l.l, but then she responded to him with a gasp, reached out to him, learned the patterns of their kiss.

She learned quickly, ardently. And he forgot they were in a public garden, on the ground amid the trees. He forgot he was the Duke of Manning and she was Lady Emily Carroll, daughter of an earl who was his father's old friend. They were only a man and woman who wanted each other, needed each other.

He had, blast it all, touched her backside. And a lovely, shapely backside it was. If the fireworks hadn't gone off, who knew what would have happened. Lady Emily fled and rightfully so, though he watched to make sure she rejoined her friends and seemed unharmed, though shaken.

He had first followed to make sure no one attacked her on the dark walks, and it turned out he was the attacker. He was just like his father after all. No, he was worse. His father's amours, culminating in his elopement with Lady Linwall, had all been worldly women at his own level.

He himself seemed to l.u.s.t for young, innocent ladies tipsy on arrack punch, who did not even know who he really was. He was a fool and a cad.

He paused before a jeweller's window display to compose himself. People were beginning to look at him like he was a wild animal as he strode past them muttering to himself. After the gossip over his "heroics" in the park, he did not need any more attention at all.

But there in that window, nestled on a cushion of white satin, was a square-cut emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds. The stone was the exact colour of Lady Emily's eyes, brilliant, summery gra.s.s-green. If she was any other woman he was trying to apologise to, he would buy that and send it to her with a poetic letter. Probably one written by someone else, since he had no poetry in him at all, but the sentiments would be heartfelt.

Lady Emily, though, was definitely not just any woman. She didn't even know it was him last night, and was probably ill with mortification today. The last thing she needed was an emerald the size of an egg landing on her doorstep.

No. If he did not want to be like his father, there was only one thing to do. Go to Lady Emily, confess his ident.i.ty and propose to her. Her parents would surely be ecstatic.

But Emily would not be. She did not like him, and if she found out it was him at Vauxhall she would like him even less. Yet she would feel obliged to marry him-and they would end up as mismatched and unhappy as his own parents had been.

He thought of his mother, alone and miserable at Fincote Park. He would never wish that on Emily, would never want that bright flame he glimpsed so brightly last night to go out.

What was the right thing to do? He was d.a.m.ned if he knew, and the pounding headache from all that punch now throbbing behind his eyes was not helping him at all. There was only one thing he could do at the moment. Go in the shop and buy that pendant. Just in case.

By the time he emerged after purchasing the emerald, as well as gifts for his sisters and his little niece, Katherine, the crowds had grown thinner. It was late in the day, nearly time for Society to converge on Hyde Park again.

Would Emily be there? he wondered. And would she be with George Rayburn? He remembered when he first encountered her at the park, before the runaway carriage. She had been walking with Rayburn, and the man had a d.a.m.nably l.u.s.tful, possessive glint in his eyes when he looked at her. He hadn't seemed at all happy when Emily walked away with him, Nicholas, though Emily herself had given no indication of how she felt towards Rayburn, or indeed towards anything at all. Was the man a serious suitor?

How would she have reacted if it was Rayburn at Vauxhall last night? That thought sent an unexpected, blinding jolt of raw jealousy through him.

"Why, your Grace! What a pleasant surprise to see you here this afternoon," a woman called from behind him.

Nicholas spun around to see Emily's mother, Lady Moreby, along with her pretty but gossipy daughter-inlaw, Viscountess Granton. Blast it all-it seemed he had no luck the last few days.

The ladies fluttered towards him, all ruffled parasols, feathered bonnets and excited smiles. He would have to make polite conversation with them, all the while knowing what he had done at Vauxhall.

The emerald seemed to burn right through his coat.

"Lady Moreby, Lady Granton," he said with a bow. "How very nice to see you again."

"And you," said Lady Moreby. "Doing a bit of shopping, your Grace?"

She glanced up at the jeweller's sign, then she and her daughter-in-law exchanged one of those speaking, cryptic glances. He was almost certain he did not want to know what it meant.

"I will be seeing my sisters soon, and wanted to bring them a gift from town," he said.

"Ah, yes, your dear family!" cried Lady Moreby. "I so enjoyed seeing them again last summer, and was very sorry not to encounter them this Season."

"I fear family matters have kept them in the country," Nicholas said.

"Of course. And the Season is almost over, and we shall be going to the country ourselves soon." She exchanged another look with Lady Granton. "We will miss everyone so very much that we are giving a little farewell dinner party next week, a few days after Lady Arnold's ball. Just to say goodbye."

"It will be a very intimate affair, your Grace," Lady Granton added. "Only the closest of friends and family. It is shockingly last minute, I know, but perhaps you could attend? We should enjoy it so very much- especially my sister-in-law, I think."

Nicholas was certain Lady Emily would not enjoy it very much-especially once she learned the truth about Vauxhall. But he could hardly refuse, not with the two ladies looking at him so expectantly, and not with the old friendship between his father and the Carrolls. Perhaps it would be a chance to make some amends to Emily, as well.

"I should like that very much, Lady Moreby," he said. "Thank you for including me."

Lady Moreby laughed, her heart-shaped face glowing. For an instant, he glimpsed Emily in her. She must have looked just like her daughter in her youth, and even now had that cla.s.sical, fair prettiness. Perhaps that was what Emily would look like in comfortable middle age, with her family around her.

"I will send a card round to Manning House, your Grace," she said, and the glimpse of a future Emily vanished. "How fortuitous to encounter you here today!"

"And we are so happy to see you have recovered, your Grace," added Lady Granton.

Recovered? For an instant, he feared she knew about last night. "I beg your pardon, Lady Granton?"

"From the incident at Hyde Park, of course. Your heroic rescue of that poor child. And my sister-in-law there to witness it all! I am sure I would have fainted quite away if I was there," said Lady Granton. "We are all so full of admiration, your Grace."

"Anyone would have done the same, Lady Granton," he said yet again.

"Well, you must tell us all about it at our dinner," said Lady Moreby. 'We shall just let you finish your shopping now, your Grace. I am sure you must be terribly busy."

They all made their farewells, and Nicholas started to walk away. But a breeze caught Lady Granton's whisper as she leaned towards her mother-in-law under their parasols.

"Was he buying a ring there, do you think, Mama?" she said.

Lady Moreby glanced back at him, her pretty, rosy-round face suddenly tense. "Oh, my dear Amy. We can only hope."

A ring. Nicholas hurried on, pulling his hat low over his brow. Blast it, he should have got one of those as well. Who knew if he might need one?

Chapter Seven.

"Je suis, il est, elle est, nous sommes, vous etes. Oh! Is that quite right, Miss Carroll? I'm just not sure."

Emily pulled herself back to the present moment, listening to her pupil Sally recite her French verbs in the school room at Mrs G.o.ddard's, only to find she was biting her thumbnail again and heard scarcely two words out of ten. She still seemed to be back on the dark pathway at Vauxhall.

She quickly curled her thumb into her fist and gave Sally a rea.s.suring smile. "Yes, that is exactly right. You've made amazing progress, Sally."

But Sally wasn't fooled. She peered closely at Emily with those brown eyes so much older and harder than her twenty years. When she first came to Mrs G.o.ddard's, her hair was tinted a bright red-orange and her accent was harsh and thick. Now, with the curls back to a light brown and her voice carefully modulated to a soft pitch, clad in plain, pale muslin gowns, she seemed much like any respectable young lady. She worked tremendously hard to better herself, had a kind way with the younger girls, and was Emily's best and brightest student.

But still Emily often had the sense that Sally knew so much more than she herself ever would.

"You aren't ill today, are you, Miss Carroll?"

"No, no. A bit tired, that is all."

"And no wonder, miss! I'm sure there are parties every night," Sally said with a laugh. "Dancing and card playing and such."

"I wish there were not," Emily muttered. "They are quite dull."

"Dull, miss? Surely not." Sally twirled her pencil thoughtfully between her fingers. "Aren't those toff parties meant to help you find a suitor?"

Emily had to laugh, too. "So my mother says. Yet I have not found them especially helpful."

"Miss Carroll! Surely you have a suitor. Lots of them, I would wager, with your looks. Why, if you were at my old place at Mother Logan's you would have made a fortune!" Sally suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. Emily would have thought Sally could never blush. "Oh, I never meant to say that! Forgive me, miss."

Emily laughed harder. "Nothing to forgive, Sally. I just fear a 'toff' ballroom requires more than a pretty face. A dowry and some conversation help, too."