How to Live Indecently. Bronwyn Scott

and turned serious, her fingers idly twisting the stem of the flute. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t even know you.”

      “Perhaps that’s the best reason of all,” Jamie offered in low tones, sensing the desperation that welled deep in her no matter how hard she tried to hide it. It was a desperation not unlike the one that had driven him to the veranda. She was close enough now that he could smell the light jasmine scent of her, soft and yet evocative. It suited her. She might look like an angel, but she was not a complacent one. He’d seen the indignant fire in her eyes when he’d called her out.

      “You don’t want to meet the gentleman?” Jamie probed. In his experience women were usually quite eager to meet marriageable men. “Is he ugly? Does he have dissipated habits or a hundred children he wants you to raise?”

      She laughed at his hyperbole and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know his name or what he looks like. Isn’t that terrible? I don’t want to be bartered away even if it means saving my family. Not yet at least. I’d like to live a little, have an adventure all my own without worrying about what to say, what to do, what to wear or who to meet.”

      Jamie’s pulse quickened. It was indeed a desperation like his own, one driven by more than the singular incident of meeting this gentleman or that young lady. It was a hunger for liberty, for the freedom to throw off the shackles of family and responsibility.

      She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m a very bad daughter, I’m afraid. The truth is, I’d rather be anywhere but here, regardless of the cost, I think.”

      His sentiments exactly. Jamie shot a glance over the gardens, a mad scheme taking shape in his mind. London lay beyond the fence, beyond the lanterns. He looked his angel in the eye. “Then let’s be there.” With four words he laid down his temptation, testing the conviction of both their thoughts. He was tired of merely thinking he could leave the veranda. Tonight, he would leave the veranda and she could come with him, if she dared. He wagered she would.

      “What? Where?” Her brow puckered into the tiniest of furrows.

      “Anywhere. Let’s be there.” Now that he’d committed to it, he was anxious to be off; down the veranda, over the garden, out the gate. His family would have a collective apoplexy. What he proposed was nearly unthinkable even to him. But not nearly as unthinkable as staying.

      “You’re mad!” But she was laughing again, and the smile she tossed him lit her face, proving he hadn’t misjudged her. If he was mad, she was a little mad too.

      “Well, why not?” Jamie pressed, sensing she could be persuaded. She only needed to see the logic of his proposal.

      “My mother and your mother,” she sputtered, groping for a legitimate rebuttal to his outlandish suggestion. “It’s simply not done.”

      “Perhaps it should be,” Jamie countered with a negligent shrug of his shoulder. Neither of us wants to be here.”

      “But the consequences!” she protested, perhaps more for form. “Do I have to spell them out for you? If we’re caught—”

      “We won’t be.” Jamie interrupted with supreme confidence, although they both knew he couldn’t really guarantee it. “Even if we’re caught, the benefits outweigh the consequences. Surely one night of freedom is worth the risk.”

      He’d made his case. It was up to her. “It’s now or never, my angel. Once the music ends, people will wander out.” He held out his hand and it seemed in that moment everything hung in the balance, hinging on her acceptance. Prove to me you’re everything I think you are. Prove to me you’re different, Jamie silently willed.

      For a split second he thought he’d lost her then her chin set in defiance, her shoulders squared and she reached for the champagne glass, downing the contents in a final swallow. “To the benefits,” she said resolutely, placing her hand in his. “Let’s go.”

      Jamie closed his fingers around her gloved hand and tucked it through the crook of his arm. “This way, my lady, our adventure awaits.”

      He’d meant to sedately walk across the garden and remain inconspicuous while they sauntered toward the gate, but the music stopped inside, signaling the end of the first dance. They exchanged a glance of mutual horror. They’d waited too long.

      She might be ready to admit defeat, but he wasn’t, not by a long shot. He wasn’t giving up one last night of freedom because a quadrille had ended. Jamie leaned close to her ear and whispered one word. “Run.”

      He led them through the garden toward the back gate hidden cleverly by ivy. With a last glance back to the empty veranda, Jamie flipped the gate latch and they slipped out into the night. In his mind the madness was starting to make sense; a riot of plans, a tumble of destinations was taking shape.

      “What shall we do first?” His angel was breathless with excitement beside him as they spilled into the alley, shutting the gate firmly behind them.

      Jamie gave her a wink. “It’s not what we’re going to do, it’s what we’re not going to do.” Tonight they would not bow to the dictates of society; tonight, he and his angel could go anywhere, do anything. Tonight, they were free.