Page 40 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

She watched them leave, her shoulders stiff, and as soon as they were gone, Anne began looking around frantically.

Her head swung around like a spinning top, her body turning in the opposite direction, as if she were trying to go two directions at once.

She went back around the hedge corner, reappeared, and hurried down the walking path.

There was a small copse of trees with ornamental grass and rose bushes.

Victor had to suppress a snort when she lifted her feathery, white skirt to step into the garden to investigate the area, swearing loudly when she got caught on the roses.

Her swan hat began to slide down as she worked to untangle herself.

“Bother that,” she said to herself once safely returned to the path, and she pushed the hat back on straight with a huff.

As she did this, she looked over the expanse of garden around her.

This was his moment. Taking a deep breath, Victor stepped through the willow branches out into the open, into the moonlight. When she saw him, she stilled.

Come to me , he thought to himself.

His heart pounded hard as she began moving.

Determined in her footsteps, she walked straight up to him, stopped, and angled her head back to look up at him. “It’s you,” she said. “The one who watched me at the ball.”

He nearly replied but stopped himself. She would recognize his voice. Instead, he stared down at her, unblinking, concealed by his mask and costume and the night.

“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be then, is it?” Anne stepped past him and began walking toward the pond.

And he followed. Of course he followed. He would follow her for as long as she let him.

She went to the edge of the pond, the willow tree now behind them, and Victor stopped beside her. The pond was still, but the half-moon above twinkled upon the water.

“You’re the one also sending me drawings.” She paused, as if uncertain about this. “Aren’t you?”

Victor bowed his head to her.

“Why?”

But he couldn’t respond to this question. It wasn’t time, just yet.

“And it was me you drew.” Her eyes turned up to him again. A warmth engulfed his heart, causing an ache in his chest. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her.

Instead, he nodded again.

“I should be more bothered by it than I am.” She turned back out to the water. “A man who melts into the shadows. A phantom following me, sending me drawings? And yet…”

He waited. Oh, how desperately he wanted to hear the rest of that sentence.

But she didn’t finish it.

She sighed. “I want to know why you follow me. My friends call you my secret admirer. Would you say that is an apt description?”

He bowed his head.

Her eyebrows lifted high. “Do you know I’m a widow?”

Again, he nodded.

“And do you also know I have children?”

He hesitated. How much of what he knew should he give away? Tonight, he didn’t want her to figure out who he was.

Anne turned to face him fully and crossed her arms. “Does it bother you that I have children? That I am a mother?”

He would have to respond to this verbally.

He knew this question was important, and he wanted her to know he meant his answer.

Mary and Freddy were her entire world and if she even suspected the tiniest bit that her having children gave him second thoughts—they didn’t—she would leave right now and never look back.

Whispering in a raspy voice to conceal it, he replied, “No. I know you have two. A daughter. A son.”

Her shoulders softened. “Yes.” She stared off, as if lost in thought. “So, you admire me.”

“Greatly.”

She blinked and looked back up to him. “Do we know each other outside of you following me anonymously?”

Not wanting to lie to her, he didn’t respond.

“Hmm.” She frowned and went silent.

But he couldn’t stop watching her as she looked out over the pond again.

Around them, crickets sang and frogs chirped, the nostalgic sounds of summer nights.

Being this close to her, without the wall of friendship coming between them, without having to pretend he didn’t want her, that he didn’t love her, nothing existed outside of them.

Love . The thought shocked him to his core. Did he love her?

He took in a sharp inhale. Anne tore a look up to him. “What is it?”

Of course, he didn’t tell her. He was still reeling from the shocking realization.

She turned to face him again and looked him over.

“I’ve been quite amiable about you following me, Phantom.

In theory, it’s concerning. A man following a woman, watching her from a distance?

It should be disconcerting. And yet I find myself drawn to you instead.

Am I mad?” She chuckled a bit at the end. “Or am I a hopeless romantic?”

His heart began to race faster.

“How long have you been admiring me? Weeks? Months? I only noticed you recently. And you’ve only tried making contact recently as well. Maybe, you saw me at the Duke of Chalworth’s Christmas dinner party.”

“Years,” he whispered.

Her widened eyes and mouth gave away the true shock she felt. “ Years ?”

He nodded.

“But I never noticed you before.”

He hesitated. “You weren’t ready before.” He wasn’t sure she was even ready now. But he had to give it a chance at some point.

Anne’s eyes bored into him, but she quickly looked away. “What do you want from me, Phantom? It’s rather unfair of you to hide your face from me. Will you remove your mask? I want to see who you are.”

He shook his head.

“I must say it’s rather bold of you to make yourself known to me at Lord and Lady Bell’s masquerade. Surely, you are aware of its reputation?” She looked him over slowly before her eyes met his again.

He didn’t respond.

Anne gave him a coy smile and lifted one eyebrow. “Perhaps that is precisely why you did it. Do you wish to take me, Phantom?” she asked this question in a lowered voice. A bedroom voice. A voice she would never have used if she’d known who he was.

Women had never had much of an effect on Victor, and with no desire to tempt fate, he had never paid them any more mind than he did men.

But in this moment with Anne, his identity unknown to her, amongst a warm, summer night, the smokiness in her voice, her nearness, all without anyone around?

Maybe he didn’t care for men or women. Maybe all he would ever want was Anne.

And here with the privacy of the pond and willow tree, no one would know if he gave in to temptation.

Victor was becoming unwound.

“Well?” She wasn’t willing to let the question go unanswered. She took a step closer and traced her finger around the embroidered cross on his costume. The touch, no matter how light it was, branded him beneath.

Swallowing deeply, he leaned down close enough that his mask brushed against her temple, his enormous hat hiding them further from the world.

He stayed that way for a moment, listening to her breath quicken.

Finally, he whispered in a deep voice. “There is no woman more desirable, no woman more tempting—nothing else in this world that equals the need, the want, I have of you in this moment. Yes, I wish to take you, Lady Litchfield. But I cannot.”