The garden was dark, lit only by a gibbous moon. The denizens of Little Thurston did not run to elaborate hospitality involving Chinese lanterns strung around the gardens. The assembly went on inside, and no one ventured out here into the dark. The garden was informal and would be a riot of color in the daytime. Now the night leached its exuberance. Moonlight pooled like spilled milk on the paths and the flats of leaves. He sought a place they might conceal themselves from anyone who might look out a window at an inopportune time. His intentions toward the lady calling herself Miss Allbright were anything but honorable. Ah, but that was not true, was it? The corner of his mouth curled up. They were married. He could smooth his hands over that sinuous, slim body with impunity—if not without some protest from the lady herself. Despite her lack of curves, there was a softness, a natural gentleness about her that he found immensely appealing. She didn’t want for spirit, however, as she’d shown him that afternoon in Lady Chard’s drawing room.
