Page 10 of Cocky August Rake
“Oh, God.”
The words were barely audible.
Rose drew in a breath. He was already turning away, one hand braced against the stone wall, his shoulders rigid beneath his coat.
“My apologies,” he said.
The shame in his voice stopped her cold.
He reached blindly for his handkerchief, fumbling with it so badly that Rose caught his wrist before he could make matters worse.
He did not look at her.
“I ought not to have—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I did not intend—”
“There now. No one has died.”
His head lifted.
Rose took the handkerchief gently from his fingers. “You wanted me. I can hardly fault you for that.”
Then, without making a fuss of it, without pretending nothing had happened, she cleaned the warm evidence from her skin and adjusted her skirts.
When she looked back at him, his eyes were closed.
“You were not the only one overwhelmed,” she said softly.
“More so, I am afraid.”
“Perhaps.” Her smile was small, though real. “I found pleasure as well.”
His expression tightened. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers.
“I do not think that can be true.”
A quiet laugh touched her throat—not mockery, only surprise.
“I think,” she said, “I am the better authority on the matter.”
He watched her for a long moment, as though he could not decide whether to believe her.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Nor I yours.”
It was better that way. Better not to turn a night like this into something with names and consequences.
“Now,” she said, extending a hand, “help me down.”
He moved at once, lifting her carefully from the ledge as though she were something fragile. Then, with grave concentration, he set her bodice to rights. His fingers were still shaking.
“I’ll see you back inside,” he said.
“Wait.” Rose glanced toward the shadowed path, where their masks lay discarded in the grass, and he retrieved them without a word.
He brushed off a few hints of dirt, and together they refastened the ribbons, restoring the anonymity they had so thoroughly abandoned only moments before.
Only then did Rose nod.
