Free Forbidden by Nicola Cornick Page B

She knew that in all the drab repetition of her daily life this one
evening would always sparkle as bright and exciting as a jewel. She did not
expect it to happen again, but she wanted it to end well, not on the sourness of
Jem’s intervention, spoiling the magic.
    “Yes,” she said. Her voice was husky. “Yes, please.”
    Henry smiled but said nothing and took her hand in his. They
walked back through the quiet streets, the brim of her bonnet brushing his
shoulder. Neither of them spoke. It did not feel necessary. When they reached
the gate at the corner of the gardens, Margery opened her reticule. Her fingers
shook a little as she took out the key and turned it in the lock. The gate swung
open on well-oiled hinges and they stepped inside.
    “Lady Grant gave me a key when she realized that I like to take
the air here of an evening,” Margery said. “The gardens are private to the
residents.”
    On this evening it was like a secret garden, belonging to them
alone. The gravel of the paths crunched softly under their feet as they made
their way beneath the spreading boughs of poplar and oak. Margery ran down the
path to the place where a pool was sheltered by the overhanging branches of a
willow. She trailed her fingers in the cool water and watched the ripples
shatter the reflection of the stars. Somewhere, distantly, in one of the grand
town houses that bordered the square, an orchestra was playing a slow, dreamy
waltz. It reminded Margery of the previous night, when she had danced with Henry
on the terrace.
    With a sigh, she straightened and turned back to look for
Henry. He was standing still and straight in the shadows of a plane tree. His
silhouette was dark, his shoulders broad and strong. The moonlight glinted on
his glossy black hair. Margery went up to him and put her hands against his
chest.
    “Thank you,” she said simply.
    He smiled. “My pleasure, Miss Mallon.”
    Spontaneously, Margery stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the
cheek, as she would have kissed one of her brothers if they had given her a
present. Henry’s cheek was smooth beneath her lips—evidently he had shaved
before coming to meet her—and warm. Margery was suddenly vividly aware of the
scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of crisp linen and sweet scented
grass. The combination went straight to her head and she felt a soaring
dizziness that was far more dangerous than the light-headedness induced by the
ale.
    She drew back, made clumsy by shock and awareness, and in the
same moment Henry turned his head and her lips brushed the corner of his mouth.
Margery felt him go very still. The moment turned from something sweet to
something profoundly awkward. Heat suffused her. She felt inept and mortified.
She was ready to curl up with embarrassment.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean… It was a mistake—”
    “Does this feel like a mistake?” Henry said. His arms went
around her, pulling her against him, and then he was kissing her properly.
Margery’s head spun, and the ground shifted beneath her sensible half boots and
she realized that the kiss in the brothel had been nothing at all compared to
this.
    Henry’s lips moved over hers, his tongue touching hers, tasting
her, searching, exploring. It was astonishing. It was bewitching. Little ripples
of pleasure shimmered through her, down to her toes. She was shocked and
intrigued all at once. It lit her blood with fire, making her shiver with heat
and cold simultaneously as though she suffered a fever.
    She had wanted this. She realized now how very much she had
wanted Henry to kiss her. She had wanted it all evening and now it was
happening. Her whole body tingled with surprised delight and a sudden fierce
triumph.
    With one hand Henry pulled the ribbons on her bonnet and cast
it aside on the grass, and then his arm was across her back and his fingers were
tangled in her hair, sending the neat pins flying, tilting her face up so that
he could kiss her more deeply and