He shrugged out of the garment. “Good.” Just as quickly, he shed his silver satin waistcoat, tossed it indiscriminately to the grass without a care. “Now, how do you feel about a little scandal?” His cuffs, collar, and cravat soon followed.
Good heavens, I want this man! “It’s only a scandal if we’re found out, Laughton.”
“Perhaps I’ve corrupted you.” His fine lawn shirt gaped open, and her throat went dry.
The only thing that would make him more attractive and too devastating to ignore would be if he rolled those sleeves up to his elbow. And then she was lost when Percival caught her up into his arms. He kissed her as if his life depended upon it, bent her nearly backward over his arm while gliding his lips along the column of her throat, followed the low bodice of her gown.
“Remember that night shortly after you first came under my protection?” His hands were at her hips, fisting her skirting and drawing it up.
“In Hyde Park when we came together frantically and without thought in the shrubbery?”
“Oh, yes.” The glance of his fingers on her skin sent shivers down her spine. “We’re about to do the same here at Vauxhall, and let anyone who wants to gawk do so, for I have no shame in my choice of bride.”
The sensation of falling assailed her. She surrendered to his mastery knowing he would catch her if she hurtled to earth too quickly. Beyond that, she fell the rest of the way into love with him. Perhaps navigating society wouldn’t be so horrid after all.