Prologue #2
The opera singer was pouring another tune into the magical air and the lanterns flickered, almost in time to the music.
A peel of laughter came from a group of beautifully dressed women who were huddled together and just past them a few couples had begun to dance.
Even farther away she saw tables by the pavilion and perfectly liveried servants brought out a feast to those who observed from the distance.
She knew she should go back now, time was slipping by, but she continued moving instead, farther into the crowd.
A man twirled past her, torch in hand, and then startled Arabella by leaning forward and spitting fire like a dragon across the walkway, just between the groups of people, including herself.
She let out a little screech and turned away, down a narrow trail that was somewhat quieter.
Her heart pounded as she made her way along the paths scented by honeysuckle and jasmine, sweetness mixed with something richer, more sensual.
For a moment she gathered herself. There was a nagging sense that she should return to her father and aunt.
That she was pressing the bounds of explaining her absence as a mere accidental separation.
But the garden was so lovely, and she realized, as she stood there, that she was just on the edge of the area on the maps she’d studied that contained the alcoves in the gardens.
Little places for attendees to have a moment’s peace or a refreshment, or even a romantic assignation.
She crept closer and peeked into the first alcove.
It was empty, though the richly painted fresco on the vine-lined wall was beautiful, indeed.
She moved along, finding quietly talking groups or couples until she reached the last alcove, farthest down the line and barely touched by the light. As she neared it, she heard the most curious sound.
Moaning. Her heart leapt, for she wondered if someone was ill or hurt.
But as she peeked into the protected area, she stopped, blood rushing away from her face.
There was a couple in the alcove and they were not sharing what she’d have pictured as a romantic interlude.
No, it was far too animal to be considered that.
The woman was perched on the edge of the wall, skirt tugged up around her waist, one leg wrapped around the thickly muscled thigh of a man.
He was arched up against her, rotating his hips, his partially uncovered and shockingly toned backside moving as he thrust into her.
Arabella covered her mouth with one hand. Everything that had been trained into her over her entire life about propriety and sin rushed up and told her to run away from such a lewd display.
But the parts of her that felt the tingle of desire in the night, the parts that had stolen her father’s naughty books and sometimes peered over them as she touched herself beneath the covers…
Well, those parts kept her firmly in place, watching the couple, her body becoming hot and wet as she stared.
The woman against the wall was shaking now, her hands digging against the jacketed shoulders of the man as she whimpered, “Yes, Silas. Oh fuck, yes.”
He leaned away, watching his partner. The moonlight and lamplight hit his face just so when he did and Arabella couldn’t breathe anymore.
He was beautiful. With thick, finger tousled hair and bright green eyes that held on his lover, with full lips that he licked as she arched beneath him and her cries became louder still as her body jerked out of control.
He chuckled, a low sound almost lost in the cacophony of her pleasure, and then he reared back to thrust again.
As he did so, he glanced over and before Arabella could react, he speared her with those stunning eyes.
They stared at each other, gazes locked, and then his grew hotter.
He thrust harder, never parting his stare from hers, and somehow she couldn’t run away.
Time stood still, no longer had meaning, as she became part of the scene before her.
It was only when he dipped his head back with a grunt that the spell was broken and she pivoted to race back toward the crowd, away from the magic of that moment in the alcove.
Her hands shook as she careened up the walkway.
She should have been shocked, horrified, afraid even.
She was none of those things. She was entranced.
She’d been aware of her own physical needs for years and explored the ways she could touch herself that made her feel good.
But this… this was a culmination of every ill-informed fantasy and breathless reading of forbidden books.
This was passion and pleasure and surrender to everything a person truly was, without apology, without censure.
She came out into the area near the concert hall once more and immediately she found her aunt and father. Caroline was lifting up on her tiptoes, searching the crowd while her purple-faced father looked the other way. When her aunt met her eyes, there was no mistaking the relief on her expression.
“There she is, Albert,” she said as Arabella rushed to them, hoping the truth of what she’d seen wasn’t clear on her face.
Hoping they wouldn’t see that watching that man, that amazing man with his lover had changed her.
Cracked open a part of her she’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist. Now that part was alive. She couldn’t be ignored anymore.
“I’m so sorry,” she managed to croak out. “This horrible juggler pushed into my path, Papa, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t find you.”
“Hmmph,” her father said with a glare. “You were gone long enough. Wait here with your aunt, I see one of the men who wishes to meet you. I’ll have to convince him to join us for the first round of fireworks.”
Arabella should have been troubled by those words, but she was too wrapped up in what she’d just seen to truly register her father’s continuing drive.
When he had left them, Caroline took her arm. “You were gone too long, dearest. I was truly worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Arabella gasped out. “I was lost in the moment, I fear.”
She looked toward the alcoves and saw, to her shock, the very woman she’d watched being taken a moment ago.
Arabella recognized the mauve silk of her beautiful gown.
The lady was lovely, probably somewhere between Arabella’s age and her aunt’s, with dark hair.
Her lover was nowhere to found, much to Arabella’s disappointment.
“Who is that woman?” Arabella asked, motioning.
Her aunt followed her gesture and caught her breath as she turned Arabella away. “That is Simone Stanhope and you should steer clear of her.”
“Why?” Arabella asked, glancing over her shoulder toward the woman again. “What’s wrong with her?”
She had already guessed some of the answer. After all, ladies didn’t go around having passionate encounters in the middle of public gardens, did they? Did they ?
“She’s a courtesan,” her aunt whispered. “An infamous one. Ladies like you shouldn’t involve yourself in such things. Shouldn’t ask about women like that. Your father would be enraged.”
Arabella nodded slowly. She’d heard vaguely of courtesans and lightskirts.
Almost always in negative and desperate terms. Their lives were used as threats.
If she didn’t come to heel she’d end up making her living on her back like a whore.
The very man who threatened her with that end was the same one who would sell her to further himself.
Even now he was coming back across the crowd, false smile bright on his expression, a man at his side.
Arabella didn’t know who her father’s companion was, it didn’t really matter.
They were all the same. Selfish men like her father.
Men who wanted to buy her virginity and her youth and her assumed ability to breed them sons so they could continue their lines.
Men who were three times her age and leered at her outwardly.
Her father stopped before her and introduced her to the man in question. Arabella nodded and smiled and pretended to give a damn, even though she didn’t truly pay attention. How could she when thoughts of that man and woman in the alcove haunted her.
Despite being pinned against a wall, Simone Stanhope hadn’t seemed trapped.
She hadn’t seemed miserable. She hadn’t seemed to be out of control.
She’d been free to throw her head back and moan so passionately that her pleasure couldn’t have been mistaken by a great many people around her, not just Arabella.
And Arabella was chided not to laugh too loudly.
She gave her head a tiny shake and then jumped when fireworks began to pop overhead.
Their group turned to look at them, admire their beauty, Arabella felt their concussive explosions shaking her to her very soul.
It seemed the night for such things, for realizations that once made couldn’t be unmade.
The biggest of those was that she didn’t want the life her father had planned for her.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d known that from the beginning, hadn’t she?
No, what she knew for the first time was what she wanted instead.
Not to find some other gentleman who was more palatable to marry and who would ultimately control her just as the men her father chose would do.
Not to give away her passions to someone who would put all his effort into breaking her so she would be a more proper lady.
She wanted what she’d seen tonight in the alcove. To live her life with freedom, to make her money off her own choices. To be able to laugh and moan too loudly for proper ears and to dance until dawn in the morning with as many men as she wished.
She glanced again at Simone Stanhope, who was watching the fireworks with a small group of her own.
The man who had taken her was not with them.
Simone stared up at the night, her face clear and bright and lined with a power that Arabella had never seen any woman in her life be allowed to possess.
This woman wasn’t a broodmare whose entire existence was meant to make a man happy and comfortable.
She was a goddess.
No, Arabella Comerford was not going to marry some old man to please her father. She would never work to please him again. She would instead forge her own future, release her wild heart and damn the consequences of it all.