Page 13 of Wynter's Bite

“Follow my lead,” de Wynter whispered with an impish smile.

With that, he wove through the masses with unobtrusive slowness, excusing himself with a quiet mutter that made people let him pass without truly noticing him. Bethany did her best to imitate him, though for her, avoiding attention was much easier, being a wallflower ever since her first ball.

She caught a glimpse of Rebecca and her friends with their beaux. The group had ignored her ever since she’d told them about her dance with Lord de Wynter. At first, Bethany thought they were merely preoccupied, now she was beginning to suspect that they didn’t like her.

But as she followed de Wynter, casting a shamefully pleasing glance at his backside, snugly encased in buff trousers, Bethany decided she didn’t care what they thought of her.

While everyone else made their way to the front lawn, de Wynter strode off into the azalea garden. After a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain no one was watching, Bethany ducked under a leafy bower behind him. Anticipation flooded her being, making even the air feel alive on her skin.

He sat on a stone bench and patted the marble surface beside him. Bethany joined him, legs suddenly turned to custard. It was so dark in here that they were veritably blanketed in shadows, the intimacy palpable and warm. Even in the darkness, his hair glinted like banked coals. Her fingers twisted in her lap in effort to resist touching those fiery tresses.

To break up the heavy silence, Bethany shakily began the conversation. “I am grateful that you arranged for us to discuss the book, my lord. I finished it only yesterday.”

His arched lips curved with a pleased smile that warmed her to her toes. “Please, call me Justus.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Heat flooded her face at the sound of his name. There was something so beautiful, so noble about it. “My mother would have the vapors if she heard me call a man by his Christian name.”

He nodded in understanding. “At least when we are alone then.”

“Very well, Justus.” Her belly tilted at the sound of his name. “Then in such cases, you may call me Bethany.” The words tumbled out, improper as they were.

“Good. Now that we have that settled, Bethany,” he said, “what did you think of the book?”

“At first, I thought I wouldn’t care for it,” she admitted, shivering slightly at that masculine voice uttering her name. “The incessant and undisguised praise for Queen Elizabeth grew tiresome.”

Justus quirked a brow. “Caught that, did you?” Impatient shouts echoed from the lawn outside their bower as Lord Willoughby’s servants prepared the fireworks.

“Who could miss such sycophantic symbolism? Queen Gloriana?” She chuckled. “I understand that her patronage was needed, but at least Shakespeare managed better subtlety.”

Lord de Wynter nodded. “As well as the love of the commons.” He leaned forward, so close that she could almost make out the vivid green of his eyes. Inwardly, she cursed the darkness even as she knew the shadows kept them hidden. “But you said you thought you wouldn’t care for it.”

Bethany nodded, praying he couldn’t see how his proximity was making her blush. “I greatly enjoyed the magic and the fact that there was always something happening. And the romance...” Heat rose to her cheeks and she quickly changed the subject before he thought she sounded like a silly girl. “Although I confess I felt bad for that blind girl and her mother living alone. I understand why they could not afford to shelter Una and her companions. I was even sad that the church robber was killed by the lion. Although stealing is wrong, that was their only source of support. What?” she broke off as Justus’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“That scene, the whole book in fact, was an allegory. In those days, the Catholic church was the biggest thief of all. Of course, I wasn’t around back then, but my— He broke off suddenly with a frown, then recovered his thoughts with a quick shake of his head. “I’ve read much about the time period.”

“Of course!” Bethany breathed, feeling like the biggest hen-wit. “After what Elizabeth’s sister, Mary, put the people through with her persecution of Anglicans, no wonder Catholics would be painted as villains. You must think me a fool.”

“Not at all,” Justus placed his hand over hers, impossibly warm in the cool of the garden. “I confess that it is a joy to speak with someone who can read a story as a story, not picking it apart for every little symbol and entrenched bias.” He leaned forward on the bench and reached up to cup her cheek. “You are a remarkable person, Bethany.”

“So are you,” she whispered, captivated by his fey beauty and husky voice. The first explosion made her jump and gasp as the sky above them erupted with a halo of red light. Justus pulled her closer and she laughed in embarrassment as cheers echoed from the lawn.

Her heart pounded in her throat as his head dipped lower and his lips brushed across hers.

Heat exploded in her belly at the chaste kiss, every nerve ending singing with pleasure. Head swimming with dizziness, Bethany grasped his shoulders to keep from toppling off of the bench. Justus’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his firm chest, his lips caressing hers with intoxicating fervor.

When he drew back, Bethany felt as if something vital had been snatched away from her. Another firework lit up the sky with a boom and Justus’s eyes glowed like green embers as he suddenly leaned towards her once more. Her breath caught in her throat, a shiver of primal alarm crawling up her spine. But instead of kissing her again, his mouth lightly touched her neck.

She gasped at the sparking sensation and Justus drew back as if burned. His long red hair hung unfashionably loose, hiding his face. His broad shoulders moved up and down with his deep breathing as if he were struggling to tame something savage within.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “That was extremely ungentlemanly of me. Can you forgive me?”

When he raised his imploring eyes to hers, she saw that they weren’t glowing at all. They must have been reflecting the fireworks. What a ninny she was for momentarily thinking otherwise.

“Of course I forgive you,” she whispered. “It is not as if I have been behaving in the most ladylike manner. Besides, I have always wondered what it is like to be kissed.” She snapped her mouth closed at such an outrageous confession, but it was too late.

“And?” he whispered back.

She frowned. “And what?”

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