Rogue in Red Velvet. Lynne Connolly

      Considerate of him. “I can’t imagine where you heard that. John was a big man but good to me, in his way.” She had brazened everyone down during her marriage. She wouldn’t change that now. Pride demanded she retain the secrets that were no one’s business but her own. Crossly, she untied and retied the bow on her hat, pretending it needed adjusting. “It’s true that my first marriage wasn’t everything I expected but we managed pretty well.”

      “What was it, then?” He put his hands on her waist.

      She allowed it, tried to relax into the embrace. They stood in the shelter of a high hedge, not in sight of the house. “We had a love match. Unfortunately, it turned out more infatuation than love but we came to an understanding. We managed.” The words came out by rote. She’d told herself so often she almost believed it.

      “We’ll do more than manage,” he said. “I promise you that.”

      When he pulled her closer, she didn’t resist. His arms about her didn’t feel right, although he held her close. Too close. His heat branded her stomach through the thin silk of her gown and she swallowed the urge to shove him away.

      His mouth opened over hers in flagrant invitation and hers opened underneath. As she’d been taught and not by Alex. She could do this. She could.

      Although Jasper was gentle with her, she didn’t enjoy his kiss. Too wet, too invasive, his tongue forging a path into her mouth. He took instead of persuading her to give.

      When he cinched her closer, she pushed away with a small laugh, feigning embarrassment. “We can’t, Jasper. Not here.”

      He didn’t let her go. “Where, then?” His eyes were still cold but his mouth slightly open.

      She fought an urge to wipe her mouth. She’d persuade him to kiss her a little less like a wet fish and more like—no, just not as wet, was all. “When we’re married, Jasper. And not in the garden.”

      “Oh come on, Constance, you’ve just admitted you’re not a shy virgin.” He squeezed her and grinned. “You could probably teach me a thing or two. So should we anticipate the ceremony? Just a little bit?” He planted another kiss on her lips. “The morality clause doesn’t apply to us, you know.”

      She covered his lips with her fingers, stopping him kissing her again. “Perhaps when we’re in London.” She didn’t want to appear prudish but he was rushing her. She wanted time to herself, the space to forget one man and anticipate another. The breeze rustled through the leaves of the rose bushes and the hedge behind them. It was getting up. Likely it would rain soon.

      He smiled against her fingers. “Very well, but tonight. If I promise to take care, will you receive me?”

      One night? Yes, perhaps she should start now. It would give her a path to follow, something to look forward to, because she couldn’t deny she’d missed the physical side of marriage sometimes.

      Lord Downholland would attend the assizes, go to London and she’d join them there. The banns would go up and they’d wed three weeks later. Very neat.

      “Very well.” Commit herself now, put space between her and the events in the library.

      She was the recipient of his most fervent thanks, which almost made her change her mind. But he didn’t kiss her again, for which she was truly thankful.

      * * * *

      Before dinner, she received a note scribbled by her betrothed.

      

       My dearest Constance,

       I have received information that means I must leave for London instantly. Some small confusion about the estate that necessitates my presence in London. I apologize for my hasty departure, particularly since we had such delightful plans. But I hope to expedite this matter that prevents our union and be with you much faster. Have patience. Return to your home and I will contact you as soon as the matter is concluded.

      A pang of guilt shot through her because her first, instinctive reaction was relief. The next time they met, she’d be closer to her wedding day, caught up in the plans. And further away from this house and the memories it held.

      All she had to do was forget Alex’s kisses that had opened her up to possibilities she’d never considered before. Passion, consideration, someone who valued her for what she was, not what she had. Even love.

       Chapter 5

      By the time the season proper started, just after Easter, Alex’s social life was in full swing. He attended balls, flirted with every eligible lady present and worked hard to put the rumors of Miss Stobart and himself behind him. After the balls, he went to the gaming hells, gentlemen’s clubs and other interesting establishments and enjoyed those, too. However, the matchmaking mamas were closing in and after one such evening Alex felt like a fox pursued by particularly rabid hounds.

      He went to bed alone and when he lay there, he felt alone.

      He woke in the morning and tucked his hands behind his head, staring at the folds in the blue canopy above his bed, his mind in a forbidden place.

      He’d been out of sorts since he’d kissed Connie Rattigan. The rawness of his emotions would wear off, the sensation of waking up every morning and missing something, specifically the sight of silken hair the color of rich honey on his pillow, her blue eyes gazing into his with sleepy welcome. Stupid to imagine such things, even if that vision had chased his sleep away. It would go. It must.

      He just couldn’t get Connie out of his head, where she had no place. She was marrying a Dankworth, for Christ’s sake. It was hardly likely their paths would cross a great deal in the future.

      He’d visit White’s today. The matchmaking mamas couldn’t follow him there.

      When his valet came in with the can of hot water for his wash and shave, Alex rolled out of bed and with minimal help dressed in record time. He went for the louche and casual, tucked his neckcloth half inside his shirt in a style he was making popular. It saved time, too. He wasn’t so much in a hurry that he didn’t choose his new Brussels lace frills for his shirt and his new short sword, cut steel and lethal but very pretty. City wear and a display to make. An Emperor had to make his mark.

      He picked up the letter on the tray and broke the seal. An invitation from his cousin Julius for that night. Yes, he’d go. He liked Vauxhall Gardens and with the greater prize of the Earl of Winterton, heir to a dukedom, no less, the mamas might leave him alone.

      That evening, Alex attended Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, at the invitation of his cousin Julius. Julius the Magnificent. A pretty place, if a trifle tawdry, but it amused Alex, normally. Tonight he couldn’t crack a smile.

      “Isn’t that your Downholland’s heir, Alex?” Julius perched on the low parapet separating their box from the dance floor but rose hurriedly, his rich blue velvet coat swirling around his legs when the flimsy barrier creaked under him. The candles in the sconces against the wall quivered as Julius stepped inside the box. One day this place would go up like a bonfire, but hopefully, not while they were here.

      Julius was as fair as Alex was dark, and society had invented several fanciful names for them on the angel and devil line that amused neither. He’d described Julius to Connie as glorious, and he was surely that, his clothes of the finest, glittering with brilliants, his maquillage in place, and his fair hair covered by a fashionable wig.

      Julius took the seat next to Alex and grimaced when he saw the sight opposite them. The dance floor was well illuminated, so when the promenading couples moved away the view was as clear as day.

      Dankworth sat in a booth opposite them, in the company of some decidedly raffish individuals.

      Alex had seen condemned men celebrate their execution day with the same kind of feverish exuberance. Was it because he was marrying Connie soon? Alex would have been anticipating the day with eagerness,