Page 37 of A Game of Scandal

The night was clear and calm, and the sudden dropping away of the noise and the lights gave the same immediate relief as plunging into cool water on a punishingly hot day. I exhaled a long, shaky breath.

A soft giggle came from behind me, and I realized that I wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the privacy provided by the slippery oil spill of darkness out here. I moved further away from the sound, skirting round the side of the house, putting even more distance between myself and the ballroom, between myself and Edward Laing.

I was overlooking a more formal garden area now, though it was hard to see, given the only light was that streaming out from the house. It was a large space for a London home, but the Wellerbys were an old, rich family and they liked people to know about it. I wandered down several long, shallow stone steps and felt the crunch of a gravel footpath under my thin silk slippers. High, perfectly clipped hedges rose up on either side of me, as I walked into a sort of avenue, leading down towards a stone fountain.

It was even darker here, and I picked carefully across to where the fountain stood, white stone glowing quietly under the moonlight. Leaning over, I trailed my fingers through the water, an icy bite like teeth against my skin.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing all the way out here?” A voice came from so close behind me that I started, teetering for a second over the water. Before I could plunge in head first, a strong hand wrapped around my arm and tugged me backwards. My body knew who the voice belonged to even before my brain did, because I softened instinctively into his hold.

“Ash,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Turning to face him, I found Ash already looking down at me, our bodies pressed closely, easily together. What little light there was touched that midnight-dark hair, those gleaming eyes. He looked at home in the shadows, I thought, as if he slipped them on as anyone else would a coat or a pair of gloves.

“Would you believe me if I said I was invited?” he asked, stepping back and dropping to sit on the broad side of the fountain, his legs stretched out. I sat beside him, deciding not to question the rush of happiness I felt that he was here, the way his presence eased the worst of the tension I’d been carrying.

“No, I would not,” I said. “Lady Wellerby is a woman of notoriously discerning taste.”

“A direct hit.” Ash clapped his hand to his chest. “In that case, would you believe I came because I couldn’t stay away from you?”

I treated him to a long look. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I found I could trace the hollows of his face, the firm line of his jaw. I realized then that I’d been staring at him for longer than was polite. The way his mouth kicked up to one side made me certain he didn’t mind.

“No, I don’t think I would believe that, either,” I said finally.

He laughed. “I might have had some club business to discuss with Wellerby that couldn’t wait,” he admitted. “But finding Felicity Vane creeping about in the gardens was an excellent bonus. I’m surprised to see you at a party like this.”

I let out a sound of exasperation. “It certainly wasn’t my choice,” I said. “My mother arrived nearly two weeks early and she’s excited about giving me a season.”

“I see.” Ash leaned back, braced on his arms. “Is that something you’re excited about?”

“It makes me want to throw myself on the floor and indulge in a tantrum. Isn’t it a shame that one has to grow out of tantrums? Feeling those big feelings and then letting everyone know about it sounds a lot better than pushing everything down, being demure, being small and quiet and polite and smiling all the time.” The last words came out almost on a snarl.

“Sounds exhausting,” Ash said. “It’s not such a problem for the men in polite society – they’re encouraged to go on having tantrums as long as they like.”

They, he said, not we. He didn’t consider himself polite society, and he wasn’t wrong. I felt a trickle of unease – if the two of us were found here like this it would create a scandal. I didn’t want to think about that, I only wanted to sit with him a while longer.

“Men are allowed to do a lot of things women aren’t,” I grumbled. “Especially young, unmarried women. It says something, doesn’t it, that the women with the most freedom are the widows?”

“Makes you wonder that there aren’t more murdered husbands lying around,” Ash agreed, his tone mild.

I laughed, the sound surprised out of me, loud in the still night air.

“No, no.” Ash shook his head sorrowfully. “Don’t smile. I know you don’t like it.”

“Smiling in there” – I gestured back towards the house – “that’s china-doll smiling. That’s a performance to keep everyone happy with a version of me that doesn’t exist. A Lady Felicity Vane with smooth edges who fits in perfectly and doesn’t cause trouble.”

“She sounds boring.”

“She is,” I said, enjoying him, how easy I felt with him. “That’s the worst of it, I think, although I know it sounds petty. The boredom. It’s crushing. I can feel my brain slowing down. Like I’m wading through a swamp of treacle.”

“A swamp of treacle sounds like a boyhood fantasy of mine.” Ash nudged me with his elbow. Then he relented. “But it doesn’t sound petty at all. I understand all too well the feeling that you don’t quite belong, that you’ll never be what other people want, however hard you might try. Better to give up on that, and be who you are. Damn the lot of them.”

“That,” I said, “is much, much easier for you to say.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Ash sounded suddenly weary. “Though you might be surprised.”

“Besides,” I said, changing the subject, “boredom wasn’t the only thing I was escaping. Edward Laing is inside.”