33. Mayfair by Moonlight

MAYFAIR BY MOONLIGHT

T he cool grass pressed against Malum’s back as he lay in the grass, his chest rising and falling in tandem with hers. Her breaths, though, were softer, quieter, as she seemed to consider his answer to her question.

While part of him wanted to close his eyes and draw out the serenity of the moment, another part—the stronger part—was already cataloging the mistakes he’d made.

What the devil had happened to his control?

He turned to look at her. The moonlight caressed her face, catching the curve of her lips—plump, lush, and so inviting it was maddening. Just looking at them had him already imagining ways to show her more, to draw even sweeter sounds from her.

But no. Damn it. He wouldn’t compound his mistake by indulging again.

Not here. Not now. And certainly not like this. On damp grass, in her brother’s courtyard, where anyone—her brother, her mother, anyone—could walk out and ruin them both.

He should regret it.

She’d undone him, completely and utterly. Reduced him to a man driven by instinct and desire, and for a fleeting, shattering moment, he hadn’t cared about rules or consequences or the very precarious balance of his life. He’d only cared about her—about claiming her, about hearing the hitching, breathless sounds she made when they had both surrendered to… this.

He had to face the reality he’d ignored in the heat of the moment.

Marriage.

It was inevitable now. He’d told himself before that it was already the best solution to their predicament, a way to protect her from scandal and secure her family’s standing. And although he’d agreed to her scheme to make it temporary, even then, he’d sensed… things mightn’t end that way. And now this?

This changed everything.

Or… did it? Should it?

He knew one thing for certain: brothels and wives did not go hand in hand.

When he’d come outside, Malum had intended to speak with her about serious matters, the things Northwoods had implied, about her and about Crossings’ plans. Would they have noticed her at all if Malum hadn’t taken her for his fiancée? And now that they had, would she be safer at his side or away from him?

Her reputation, her family’s reputation, the rumors surrounding Standish—and then this cloak and dagger business with Crossings and the tea-for-opium trade. A single misstep could lead to severe—possibly dire—consequences.

He should never have been caught alone with her in that damned library at that damned ball. But what was done was done. And he… could not make the two align, what he wanted and what he should want.

When he’d buried himself deep inside her—that had had nothing to do with duty. It hadn’t been about protection or propriety. It had been raw, unbridled need. In that moment, it had felt…

Meaningful—fated, even.

His jaw tightened as he stared up at the stars, their pale light doing nothing to soothe the storm brewing inside him. He’d complicated everything terribly.

And yet, all of that aside…

Did he deserve someone like her?

No.

But he wanted her—had fantasized about it, in fact. But not like this.

She deserved better than a tumble in the grass and the risk of discovery. She deserved silk sheets and candlelight and every ounce of reverence he could muster.

Melanie, with her adorably crooked smile and curious eyes…

Damnit, she deserved to be safe from scheming old dukes and earls.

Malum shifted, propping himself up so his gaze could simply drink her in.

Dark locks of hair spilled across the ground in luxurious waves, and her skin seemed to glow. She looked content, and that, more than anything else, unsettled him.

“Melanie,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Her lashes fluttered, and she turned to stare back at him, her expression thoughtful, but also open. Just as she went to speak, however, the sound of a creaking door drifted across the lawn.

Malum's head snapped toward it, the instinct to shield her overriding every other thought. He moved swiftly, tugging his coat closed and buttoning his trousers with methodical efficiency.

Melanie, on the other hand, was flustered in a way that tugged at something deep inside him. Her fingers trembled as she readjusted her bodice, her cheeks flushed pink, and as she searched the ground for the pins he’d removed, her hair draped around her face in a way that made her look... ethereal. And yet, there was an undeniable vulnerability in her wide eyes, and he knew he’d protect her at all costs.

“Mel, are you out here?” One of her sisters, no doubt, called across the courtyard, voice tinged with curiosity but thankfully free of suspicion.

Malum felt Melanie tense, her breath catching audibly before she called back, her voice high but steady. “I’ll be right there!”

“Go on,” he murmured, offering her a hand to help her up. “I’ll slip out unseen.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, searching her expression. She was ruffled but resolute, and the look in her eyes mirrored his own now.

“Harry…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll sort this out,” he said, his tone firm but low, an edge of promise woven through the words. There was too much to untangle tonight, too many thoughts crashing into each other. He needed to get his head straight before saying anything he couldn’t take back. He owed her that much. “Go.”

She hesitated, her lips parting and then closing again as though there was more she wanted to say, but then nodded and darted through the hedges to greet her sister. Malum waited in the shadows, watching as Lady Josephine met her at the doorway, her silhouette briefly illuminated before the door closed behind them.

The courtyard fell silent once more, save for the faint trickle of the fountain. Malum exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he straightened his coat. The night air was cool against his skin, but it did little to temper the heat still coursing through him.

What the hell had he done?

He crossed the lawn swiftly, slipping out through a side gate into the stillness of the night. Finding his driver waiting, he dismissed the man with a curt nod—walking would clear his head better than a carriage ride.

The hour was late, the streets quieter than usual, but his thoughts churned relentlessly as he made his way toward Regent Street. His body still hummed from his release, but his mind cut through the haze with ruthless precision.

This charade of theirs was over, that much was clear. Whether he should end their engagement or make it real, once and for all… that was the question that remained.

Crossings. Northwoods. The fire at the hunting lodge and now another one at the Domus Emporium . There were too many threads tangled together, and the last thing he wanted was for Melanie to be caught in them.

When he reached his townhouse, he acknowledged Tipton with a curt nod and headed straight upstairs. He ought to turn in for the night, or at least get some work done, but he instead found himself drawn to the nursery once again.

The nursemaid wasn’t anywhere to be seen when he stepped inside, and he didn’t hear her moving about nearby either. She must have already retired for the night in the adjoining room.

As for Ernest, the baby was fast asleep in his cradle, his tiny belly rising and falling with each breath. Malum paused. There was a special sort of stillness that came from watching a sleeping child.

He crossed the room to the window, unlatched it, and pushed it open, letting the air cool his face. His gaze drifted outward, skimming over the quiet image of the city, one that was deceptively peaceful. In a place like London, danger was ever present, in the shadows cast by the moonlight, in the gutters and alleyways—but also beneath the chandeliers of glittering ballrooms.

Across the street, Rutherford Place appeared dark and empty. The faint scent of flowers caught his attention, and his eyes shifted to the trellises climbing the exterior of her home.

He exhaled a long, even sigh.

Crossings may not have personally set that fire at the Domus , but Malum had no doubt the duke was somehow behind it. As Malum and the rotten rakes tightened the noose, the man’s paranoia would only grow… and that made him unpredictable… dangerous. Malum had suspected all along that this would be the case, he simply hadn’t considered…

Melanie.

The memory of her tonight—the feel of her, the taste of her—flickered through his mind. Lying with her had been reckless. Foolish. And yet, there was no use regretting it. All he could do now was decide how he should proceed.

He wanted nothing more than to keep her close, but he dreaded what might happen if, when Crossings looked upon her, he saw a weakness to be exploited, a pathway to victory.

He would be right to see her as such.

Where Ernest was concerned, Malum had gone out of his way to make the Harcroft brothers believe he didn’t care. Showing affection—or worse, attachment—would have painted a target squarely on the child’s back. It would have made Malum vulnerable, and he couldn’t afford that.

So why, in the devil’s name, hadn’t he applied the same reasoning to Melanie? Agreeing to a public, albeit temporary, engagement, taking that damn ride through the park… He hadn’t been thinking.

And now, the consequences were coming due.

Was it already too late? Would the danger remain, regardless of what he did now, or could it still be averted by keeping her out of sight?

Malum… didn’t know the answer. His thoughts were going in circles, but the one thing he kept coming back to, over and over again…

He wanted her.

He leaned against the window frame.

And he waited.