Into The Hall Of Vice. Anabelle Bryant

unable to keep still.

      ‘Oh.’ The single syllable was the best she could manage until her wits returned. ‘Mr Hewitt.’ She should slap him. Wasn’t that what years of propriety and etiquette lessons had drilled into her female mind? She needed to object and respond with outrage. But oh, how heavenly the intimacy of his kiss. It was as though she belonged, in that exact space and time, for that reason only.

      He stared at her with a slightly bemused expression and his hair caught a slant of moonlight, the soft waves of yellow glinting gold from the sides of his cap, the lock across his forehead, even the soft fleece of his hard forearms. She reached forward, tempted to touch, and then remembered herself, only to rush her hands to her sides with haste. That wouldn’t do. Without a skirt full of folds, she had nowhere to hide her nervousness. She clasped one hand within the other and held her fingers for safekeeping.

      His features softened when she’d said his name, some unfamiliar emotion visible in his eyes. Or perhaps it was a trick of shadow. This was no time for a flight of romantic fancy. They stood in near darkness without a candle or lantern to light their encounter. Still, she knew she was safe. Without fear to cloud her intuition, overwhelming and exalting emotions of pleasure and excitement overrode better judgement. A minute passed, maybe two, of breathless silence.

      Good heavens, what was she doing? Telling mistruths and fabricating stories, sneaking out of house in disguise to gain entry into a scandalous establishment. A thrilling acknowledgement of daring chased the sudden conclusions and she broke into a smile. Her brother would be furious were he to discover what she’d done. A second bolt of awareness echoed the first to punctuate the realisation. She was all at once empowered and a tad naughty, to disobey the duke with no consequence.

      And she’d kissed a stranger, a very handsome stranger, actually. His bold kiss stole her breath and caused her insides to dance.

      The approaching pattern of carriage wheels on cobbles pulled her attention to the street. How could sixty minutes spend so quickly? If only she’d been discovered sooner, the ridiculous conclusion freed another smile. She matched eyes with Mr Hewitt whose penetrating gaze assessed her every motion with what could only be labelled an expression of forced patience.

      ‘I must go.’ She darted a quick peek towards the roadway.

      ‘Just like that, I’m to allow you to leave?’ Bemusement curled around each syllable and her heart began a new sprint. Would he kiss her again? How delightfully wicked. Sophie would die from envy when she returned with this story to tell.

      ‘Yes.’ Her answer, nothing more than a breathy feminine sigh, caused his brows to rise, and then he grinned and she forgot to breathe altogether.

      ‘Off with you then, minx. No more window peeping. Perhaps our paths will cross in the future.’ He gave a sharp nod towards the curb, and when at last she forced her eyes away, she slid from his shadow and never looked back.

      ‘What happened? Did you gain entry? You must tell me everything.’

      Sophie’s insistent badgering threatened to obliterate the echo of Mr Hewitt’s voice, deep and rumbly in her ears, though Gemma struggled to retain the memory of his rich tenor. Too soon the slap of the steps and crack of the whip dashed away hope of accomplishing the feat. Sophie continued her inquisition and all was lost.

      Gemma settled on the seat, easily accomplished without layers of ruffles and skirts, while Sophie turned the key in the lamp and illuminated the interior further.

      ‘What happened to you?’ A bewildered tone tainted Sophie’s voice and Gemma brought a hand to her cheek with the question before her friend leaned across the bench, face pinched as if examining an oddity at the Bartholomew Fair.

      ‘Why do you ask?’ Gemma strove for nonchalance though her pulse still hammered a frantic beat.

      ‘You’ve lost your cap and your skin is flushed pink. Did you run a long distance? I daresay even your breathing sounds odd.’ She hesitated for one last look before reclining against the bolster. ‘No one would ever mistake you for a boy.’

      Gemma touched a fingertip to her lips, relieved her friend hadn’t noticed anything different there and secretly yearning to forestall the fast evaporation of the tingling deliciousness evoked by Mr Hewitt’s kiss. He was a wickedly handsome man, destined to turn female heads without an iota of effort. She grinned. ‘I never got in and found a bit of trouble.’ Indeed. ‘I exerted all my energies to escape.’

      ‘You look horribly mussed. The ordeal sounds wretched.’ Sophie frowned with empathy. ‘I’ve tried every way imaginable to enter that hell. Now you too, dressed as a lad, failed just as I. Good heavens, you’d think Prinny lived there the way they protect entry into the Underworld.’

      The friends matched eyes and burst into a bout of giggles before Sophie continued with a sobering enquiry.

      ‘What do we do now? Neither of us is further along with our objective and each passing day brings stronger feelings of desperation for my brother’s welfare. He is quite alone, separated from everyone and everything he’s know his entire life. I daresay, whenever I think of his situation, my heart breaks further. It’s no matter he chose to leave. Something horrible must have driven him to the result.’

      Gemma thought of Rosalind and her decision to stop speaking almost two years prior. How broken must one be inside to find comfort in absolute silence? Crispin and Rosalind were not so different in that way. The two had pulled away from the people who loved them most.

      ‘Yes.’ Gemma reached across and threaded her fingers with Sophie’s. ‘But we have each other now and we won’t stop until we discover the truth.’