Page 24 of A Trickster’s Temptation

Eventually, Mary rose. Her soft grey gown made Adam think of clouds, of goose down and evening light on snow. She moved closer to the railings, gently pushing aside a particularly large fern leaf as she approached.

Adam took a step forward. The urge to touch her was suddenly too potent to ignore; he reached out a gloved hand, the apology already forming on his lips, but Mary was already reaching her hand through the railings to meet his.

Oh, thank God.The relief of feeling her palm against his, even separated by kidskin, was so powerful that Adam’s legs almost buckled. He squeezed her hand tight, biting his lip as Mary stroked the back of his hand with her fingers.

‘My current name is Henrietta Westbrook.’ Mary laughed; the sound had a slight edge of hysteria to it. ‘I apparently enjoy very complicated names when I’m pretending to be other people.’

‘And is Henrietta Westbrook of good family?’

‘Her father is a watchmaker of local if not national repute, while her mother died in childbirth.’

‘What an unnecessarily tragic end for an invented mother.’

'I didn't wish to go to the trouble of inventing a mother. I was under a considerable amount of strain.'

'My darling, I--

'And Henrietta Westbrook is very close to her father. They enjoy reading together and visiting local market towns.'

'Henrietta Westbrook doesn't sound as glamorous as Amelia Hardwick.'

'She isn't. Because Amelia Hardwick is for times of great--great joy, while Henrietta Westbrook was invented for sorrow.' Mary's lip trembled. 'More sorrow than I ever thought I could feel.'

This was impossible to bear. Adam stepped closer to the railings, pressing his body against their wrought-iron surface as he brought his other hand to Mary’s cheek. He stroked her soft skin, oblivious to passers-by, as Mary trembled. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘And you were right. Being Henrietta helped me forget just how wretched it was to be Mary, at least for a moment.’

‘I never wanted you to feel wretched.’

‘I never wantedyouto feel wretched.’ Mary rested her face against Adam’s palm, closing her eyes. ‘But… but we managed it, somehow.’

‘And if I wished to make you happy instead? To spend my life attempting it?’

Mary’s eyes flew open. ‘You—

‘Me. Adam Hart. Criminal—or former criminal, I should say.’ The words couldn’t come out quickly enough. ‘If I, Adam Hart, wanted to take Mary Fine’s hand in marriage and not miss another minute of her company until the two of us were dust… would I be able to do so? Or have I missed my chance?’

He waited for a long, heart-stopping moment, the rhythm of the waves doing nothing to ease his tension. Just as he was sure that he had misread all the signs, that Mary didn’t wish to do anything of the sort with him, Mary reached her other hand through the railings and gripped the front of his coat.

Adam gasped as Mary pulled him towards her with more strength than he had been expecting. A single, swift gasp—and then a half-sigh, half-moan of sheer relief as Mary’s lips met his, her kiss a sudden burst of fire in a world that had been grey for far too long.

It was home. It was a part of himself slotting into place after a lifetime of feeling disordered somewhere deep, deep inside. More than anything else, it was happiness—a kind if disbelieving joy that anything could feel quite this good, this right.

When Mary eventually pulled away, her cheeks were glowing. ‘Forgive me.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’

‘Then we are both forgiven, Adam Hart, and I will marry you.’

‘Will Amelia Hardwick come with you? Leave Henrietta here—you will have no use for sadness.’

‘If you have shorn your other selves, I shouldn’t bring mine.’ Mary paused, a soft smile playing about her lips. ‘Unless, of course, we can continue playing at being other people for pure enjoyment.’

‘I like pure enjoyment. I can experiment with living on pure enjoyment alone.’ Adam gently brushed the tip of his nose against Mary’s. ‘Will you have me poorer but happier?’

‘Don’t pretend that you’re poor, please. You make more than enough legitimate money from land.’

‘It isn’t very much land.’

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