Chapter Twenty-One

C hapter T wenty - O ne

L ucy had seen an opera before, but never like this. Tilda's seats were perfectly arranged for them, leaving them free from the obligation of having to talk with anyone else or mingle, as others were usually expected to. And the intermission left them free to talk without fear of being overheard. They were not disrupted by the curtains at all, and in fact never saw a single person who was not on the stage in front of them.

And the opera itself was positively ethereal. Lucy was transfixed by every aria and duet, probably staring like an idiot and looking as though she'd been clunked on the head with a baton, but only Hunter would see that. And if she did appear that way, he either was not noticing or simply was not mocking her for it.

He certainly was smiling a great deal, though it was difficult to say if that was because of the loveliness of the opera, the amusement of her antics, or some private thoughts that pleased him.

She would never forget the way he looked at her when she'd appeared with Tilda. Not if she lived to be a hundred and three and forgot her own name. She had never felt so beautiful in all her life, even with the imaginations of the red gown. There had been no mistaking his interest and admiration there, and there was a dangerous headiness in witnessing it. All of his previous compliments mingled with insults were erased with that single look, and her toes curled in her slippers at the mere memory of it.

They were well into the second act of the opera now, and Hunter was leaning forward in his seat just enough to make her curious. She tried to get a better look at his face and saw that his smile had vanished and was replaced with a hard look, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Hunter?" she pressed gently, touching his arm.

"I think we need to go," he said in a low, tight voice.

Her throat clenched. "Why?"

He gestured faintly towards the other side of the stage. Two people were leaning through that portion of the draw curtain, hidden from the view of the audience, as they were, and were pointing towards them and talking.

"Oh dear," she murmured, feeling a little relieved, considering what the danger had been for her the night before.

"Indeed." He cleared his throat and glanced towards her. "Feel like running a little? I think we may have to."

For whatever reason, Lucy snorted a laugh, and clamped down hard on her lips to keep from furthering her laughter. With a swallow, she nodded. "Suppose we'd better. Let's go."

He nodded curtly and rose, moving for the door and opening it, looking quickly before ushering her out. Instead of going out the way they had come, Hunter led her farther down the corridor, their steps quick and somehow echoing in spite of the sounds of the opera wafting in from the theatre itself. He turned down an alcove to the left sooner than she anticipated, and to a door tucked in there. A narrow set of stairs led downwards, and he released her hand to allow her to go first. Gathering her skirts in one hand, Lucy did her best to make haste down them.

They were reaching the bottom when the alcove door opened above them, making Lucy gasp.

"Oy!" a harsh voice bellowed. "Come back here!"

"Go!" Hunter urged with a wild grin, pushing her towards the door in front of them.

Lucy wrenched the door open and started out into the street, running wildly. Hunter was soon at her side, laughing and glancing behind them. "Tilda never told me those seats were problematic!"

"Her idea of a prank?" Lucy panted as they ran.

"Who knows? This way!" He took her hand and pulled her to the left, the pair of them barreling down a small side street almost entirely devoid of people. He was in his element here, weaving along streets and blocks like he had been raised in them, finding narrow passageways that Lucy would not have found even if she had looked for something of the sort.

And he laughed the entire time, which gave her the impression that he was either insane or had a peculiar sense of humor, both of which were amusing ideas. But considering the life he lived, being chased by members of a theatre's staff must have been the least threatening prospect of all. The most innocent of diversions. An irony to a moment of polite entertainment.

Whatever it was, Lucy was laughing as well, and couldn't stop. She'd wanted to go to the opera after being practically nomadic in London for a few days, wearing a dress designed by and borrowed from an eccentric costumer—without having to pay for it—and accompanied by a man who had rescued her from abduction and had been forced to look after her ever since. And now they were running away from theatre staff who had discovered them in seats that they had not paid for, which did not exist.

What was this life she had been dropped into that now had her running around London in the middle of the night? And why was she enjoying every second of it?

Hunter took them around another block and slowed his running, a hand going to his chest as he panted and laughed. "Oh, I think we've lost them."

Lucy released her hold on her skirts, her lungs burning with exertion and humor. "They won't pursue us farther?"

"I don't think so. Not for unpaid seats. Besides…" He gestured around them, the buildings dark and decrepit. "We're in St. Giles. Who comes here to try and find someone for theatre fees?"

St. Giles… Lucy had heard of this place, but never by polite society in decent terms, and never in any flattering terms. Lives were destroyed in St. Giles, and reputations obliterated. She had never thought she'd find herself here, and as she glanced around now, she wondered how she'd never been aware of its proximity to the Covent Garden theatres before. How easy it would be to wander to ruination after an innocent evening. How quickly one could be led astray and find their downfall at hand.

But she hadn't been living the traditional version of her life these last few days. No one knew she was here, and there was no downfall to be feared. Not with Hunter here, and not so long as he cared for her.

The apprehension was immediately replaced with anticipation as she returned her attention to him, wondering what his plan would be now, and where they would go from here.

Hunter was smiling at her now, her hand still in his. "Do you trust me, Lucy?"

Oh, did she ever! She trusted him so much she'd have given him her heart, if he'd asked for it. But of course, he wouldn't do so. Surely, he had to know how impossible it would be as much as she did. And no matter how pretty he thought she was at times, surely he wouldn't seek her heart as well.

Even if she secretly wanted him to.

"Yes," Lucy told him, squeezing his hand. "Of course I trust you."

She might have imagined it, but she thought his smile altered somehow in that moment. Became tender and warm, proud and delighted, disbelieving and breathless, all without shifting more than putting a bit of a delightful crinkle in the corners of his eyes. In that moment, she'd have gone with him to the ends of the earth if he'd asked.

He nodded at her slowly, then started to walk, his eyes eventually leaving hers and looking at the road ahead, though his smile never wavered.

Lucy's eyes began to burn as much as her cheeks already were, and she prayed any forming tears would not fall. What would she even be crying for? This was a magical night of unexpected adventures and unexplored possibilities, and she would never have such a night again in her life. She was determined to embrace and enjoy every single moment, store each of them up in her mind, and call upon them whenever her boring, respectable, financially diminishing life tore pleasure and happiness from her.

She would always have this night with Hunter, and no one could rid her of it.

And it was the prospect of being without it—without him—that was making her cry.

They had only gone the space of a few blocks when the sounds of music met her ears. Jaunty, merry, spirited music of a few fiddles and some drum, perhaps a sort of flute as well, and the unmistakable sound of dancing and cheering to accompany it. It bore hints of the sound of intoxicated masses, but not only of men. There were distinctly feminine voices as well, and every sound was jubilant. What in the world was happening in this dank corner of London that was so delightful at this time of night?

Hunter's step slowed slightly, and he grinned like a young boy at Lucy. "Shall we investigate?"

She practically danced in place with eagerness. "Can we?"

"Of course!" He shook the hand he held a little and turned towards the sounds. Lucy hurried alongside it, covering their joined hands with her free one.

Two blocks later, there was a large group of people in what appeared to be a blind alley, or possibly a space that had once been a mews, but now served as an open space perfect for dancing. Three fiddlers and two men playing flat drums sat on crates, while another stood nearby with a large flute. There were at least a dozen dancers and a dozen other people standing around, encouraging them. Tankards of beverages were all around, and a jolly man in a dirty apron brought another tray of them out from a building, setting the lot down on an empty crate.

He caught side of Hunter and Lucy's approach and smiled, wiping his hands on his apron. "Good evening, friends," he called in a thick Irish accent. "Come to join our cèilidh , are ye?"

"We'd love to!" Hunter answered for them both. "What are we celebrating?"

Their host pointed to the tall, dark-haired young man in the midst of the dancing. "My son James secured the hand of his sweetheart Nancy today, and we're celebrating the engagement. Nancy's the fair-haired lass opposite."

"My felicitations to them both," Hunter said as he shook hands with the man.

"Thank ye, sir. There are details to see to, o'course, but first, we intend to celebrate like we're back home in Ireland." He winked at them and nodded towards the dancing with his head. "Join in, why don't ye? If ye don't mind we're not so fine o'dress. We're a welcoming bunch."

Lucy found herself caught up in the energy of the dancing and the merriment of the gathering itself, smiling without any particular intention of doing so. "I can see that," she told him. "Although I don't think I'll know any of the steps."

"Ah, sure, when has that ever stopped us?" he laughed. "We just dance, lass. Ye'll fit in, right enough. And yer man here won't lead ye awry."

Lucy looked at Hunter, beaming at him. "I know he won't."

Hunter quirked his brows and began loosening his cravat, pulling it completely off and undoing his top button before shrugging out of his coat. "We'd better get to it, Lucy. They'll dance all night no matter what."

Nodding, she yanked her long opera gloves off and tossed them on top of his discarded items, brushing at her gown and looking at herself carefully. "Should I get rid of anything else? I don't look too fine, do I?"

"You look perfect, love," Hunter told her, rolling up his sleeves. "You'd fit in anywhere. Come on."

Her hand felt positively flaming in his, and the heat raced through each finger up to her elbow, then seemed to scream into the very center of her chest and down to her legs. Dancing on fiery legs would be interesting, but coursing through her was also the infectious mood of the gathering, so she had no doubt she would manage well enough.

Hunter led her into the dance, seamlessly merging them into the group and joining hands with those around them. There were no steps in particular, as far as Lucy could tell, but patterns did tend to repeat like a country dance blended with a jig. It was easy enough to follow, and after a few minutes of participating, she no longer cared.

It was simply a time to dance.

The song finished and everyone clapped, with a few people whooping. Lucy turned to Hunter, more invigorated than breathless. "What's a cèilidh anyway?"

"It's a celebration, really. Dancing, singing, storytelling, what have you. Mostly dancing, in my experience, and it can go all night and into the dawn sometimes." He whistled in appreciation for the fiddlers and leaned closer. "Nobody celebrates quite like the Irish. Except the Scots, who are fairly matched, but don't tell either I said so. It could start a war." He grimaced dramatically, making her laugh.

Lucy patted her hair, feeling parts of it coming loose. "I don't think my hair is going to hold with all of this dancing. I'm probably scattering pins everywhere. Perhaps I should take part of the ribbon and plait it back."

Hunter surprised her by shaking his head. "No, don't. Let the pins drop, let your hair fall from its hold, and don't worry about any of it." He reached out and began to curl one of her loose tendrils around a finger. "You have magnificent hair. It deserves to flow in all its glory."

Heavens… he could have pulled her into his arms by that simple coiling of her hair. She'd have gone willingly and sunk into him without a second thought. But he only played with that lock of hair, coiling and uncoiling, and she was not pulled in any particular direction.

Not physically, at least.

She felt a rather captivating spiral of a pull somewhere in the center of her, threatening to drown her eventually.

But not yet.

The musicians struck up again, rejuvenated by another round of drinks, and more dancers joined in the ranks, forming lines on either side. Lucy joined the women, looking at the two on either side of her.

"What dance is this?" she asked them with a bright smile.

One of them paused a moment. "It's a bit like the Duke of Kent's waltz with Rural Felicity, but all in a reel." At Lucy's bewildered expression, the girl laughed heartily. "You'll catch on, dear. I love a dance, and this is me favorite. And not a bother, half of us are a wee bit toppled wi' drink, so it won' be as pretty as we'd like." She winked, and Lucy found herself far more at ease.

She could certainly manage a passable Duke of Kent's waltz and Rural Felicity without much trouble, but doing so at the pace of a reel would be complicated. But as the girl said, if the other dancers were a trifle inebriated and thus less coordinated, she might do well enough, indeed.

She looked across the way at Hunter, who was watching her with a fondness and understanding that left her feeling rather exposed. As though he knew she was trying to figure out how to manage the dance without bungling it up too much. As though he knew her thoughts would be rambling about the formations and steps in a way that could paralyze her, if she were not too careful. As though he knew everything about her, and he enjoyed what he knew.

But of course, that was silly. He couldn't know everything about her, and he certainly couldn't enjoy everything he did know. She was quite the mess of a person, and her rambling was ridiculous. But she did want to dance well, particularly when dancing with him. Not for the benefit of onlookers, as so many young ladies did in Society, but because she did not want to ruin this moment with him.

This dance with him.

Who knew if she would ever get another?

They stepped forward in lines, then backwards, then waited for the lead couple to skip jauntily down the rows of them. Then each couple stepped to each other and took hands, turning around and around before all skipping in a movement of fours. They twisted hands so Hunter's arm was across her shoulder and then walked forward, then backward, while side by side—and again, the heat of their joined hands, skin on skin, was positively inflammatory. More than that, she knew exactly how much space was between them purely by feeling.

And she wanted to be closer.

Swallowing hard, she allowed Hunter to turn her under his arm, her eyes falling to the buttons of his weskit as they turned again before separating to the line, then coming together once more for the lead couple, now back at the head, to race down the center of them beneath a tunnel of hands.

Then the formation started again.

Each and every time she touched Hunter, the same thing happened, and each time, her breath grew harder and harder to come by. For a lighthearted dance like this, she was feeling more and more like they were engaged in some intimate waltz. She was well aware of all the other couples, but it was as though each round brought them closer to each other, and yet she was quite certain they were the same distance apart. Her fingers gripped his a trifle differently. His touch felt gentler. Her toes began to grow numb. His eyes became more impossibly blue. Their movements together became so easy… so graceful… so natural…

She was getting lost in this dance and in him. Lost and spiraling, though she could see now that the spiral was not drawing her down into the earth, but into him. Towards him. He was at the center of it all, the eye of her storm, and she was growing weaker against the tide.

Blissfully weak.

Hunter was still smiling as they danced, but it was so small a smile, so gentle, it was like a touch upon her skin. Like the night before when he had traced her tears. When he'd cradled her jaw.

It was a smile that held dozens of answers for questions she didn't dare ask. And that exact curve was seared onto her heart, which beat in time with their dance and their steps.

And if the pulse in his wrist were any indication, with his heart as well.

The music ended with slight fanfare, and everyone cheered, but Lucy didn't move out of Hunter's reach. Kept her hands in his. Kept her eyes on his. Let him see how she struggled to breathe.

His brilliant blue eyes were now a dark shade that made her tingle from head to foot, and as one more breath passed her lips, he took a step closer.

Raw instinct took over, and she arched up, meeting his mouth as it crashed down on hers, one hand cupping her face while his other reached around her waist. She clung to his neck and weskit as her lips molded against his, as he tutored her in a manner of heartbeats, seconds turning to eons with every delicious taste of him. Her entire frame shook and trembled as he drank from her, as she gave herself to this moment, as she gave herself to the imaginations and dreams she had told herself could never be.

This was real, as the stubble of his skin scraped against her face, making her shiver and gasp into his lips, drawing an occasional growl and rumble from him as she reached for more of his kiss, more of his fervor, more of everything and anything, her fingers clinging to him with a need she did not—could not—comprehend.

The whistles and cheers were thunderous now, and it faintly occurred to Lucy that they might not be for the musicians anymore. Hunter seemed to freeze at the same instant, and their lips parted just enough for air, and eventually sense.

Lucy tried to duck her chin in embarrassment, but Hunter caught it, searching her eyes quickly before giving her another gentle, soft kiss.

"Do you know how long I have wanted to do that?" he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek. "How badly I've wished to?"

"I know," Lucy managed, "how much I've wanted it… and I couldn't believe that…"

His thumb moved to her lips to shush her, and he kissed her brow. "Believe it," he breathed against her skin. "Believe all of it." He pulled back a little, his smile returned and bright as dawn. "Now will you dance with me until our feet are in agony?"

She curled into him, smiling up into his glorious face. "I can't even feel my feet, Hunter. I don't think they'll be in agony at all tonight."

His grin grew wider still, and he shook his head. "Then I suppose we'll just be dancing until the dancing ends. And possibly beyond. I've no intention of stopping."

"Nor do I." Thrilled with her boldness, she kissed his jaw and stepped back, loving the startled, heated look he gave her as the next formation of dancers set up.

She hadn't thought the night could become even more magical than before, but here it was. Magical and real and brilliant and perfect. In these slums of London, with this group of merry strangers, she had found perfection.

Did anything else truly matter beyond that?

How much longer they danced was hard to say. Time seemed to lose all meaning, and the dances themselves grew less and less structured with every passing song. It was a celebration like no other, and the energy of the gathering did not even begin to wane until the first hints of pink began to dot the horizon.

One by one, people began to trickle away back to their homes, or stumble, in some cases, and Hunter and Lucy were eventually part of them. But they had no home to return to, and Hunter's flat was nowhere near them. So they silently walked, hand in hand, fingers entwined, until Hunter moved to the side of a building against a green. He sat down on the grass against the building and tugged Lucy into his arms, kissing her softly before covering her with his coat.

With Hunter's arms securely around her, his heart beating a lulling cadence against her back, she nestled against him and felt the drowsiness of sleep descend upon her in a mighty wave of fatigue that hadn't even been hinted at before this. Her breathing slowed and deepened, her body relaxing and growing heavy.

"Are you asleep?" Hunter breathed against her hair.

She had no energy to respond, her mind already half-filled with dreams and fog.

"I love you," he rasped hoarsely into her scalp. "I love you. I love you."

Lucy sighed deeply, wondering if her lips formed a smile as sleep finally took her.