Once committed, Addy toiled all day to see the thing done right. She chose her location carefully, putting her team of carpenters to work at Hyde Park Corner, where she could be guaranteed not only a crowd of aristocrats, but also a large party of spectators spilling in from the junction of busy streets.
The musicians arrived mid-afternoon. She gave them their direction then headed home to make her own preparations.
By the fashionable hour she was back, arrayed in her most exquisite blue ball gown, standing atop her newly constructed, raised dance floor, listening to the lovely strains of music competing with the noise of the traffic—and waiting.
Onlookers gathered. Word spread. The crowd grew.
Still, she waited.
They called questions, advice, bawdy offers and taunts.
She adjusted her newly, scandalously lowered bodice and waited.
At last a disturbance broke out on the edges of the crowd.
“Look, there!”
“On the Knightsbridge side,” someone shouted.
It was he. He came pelting in from the intersection, staring wildly at the assembled throng. People shouted, slapped him on the back, then parted, forming a path—and he caught sight of her.
He rushed through the open space and thrilled them all with a magnificent leap atop her dais.
“Hell and damnation, Addy. What are you doing?”
She swept into a curtsy, graceful and magnificently low. “I’m asking you to dance.”
He reached for her, looking chagrinned. “No, no. You don’t have to—”
She stayed where she was. “But I do.”
“Stand up!”
“Not until you agree to dance with me, Mr. Vickers.”
Shouts of encouragement nearly drowned out the music.
“Come on, Vickers, give the lady a dance!”
“No, keep her bent over, just like that!”
“Oh, very well, I’ll dance with you. Just please get up!”
She did, keeping hold of both of his hands as he helped her to her feet. “I’m not The Celestial any longer, James. I’ve taken a wrong step, in spectacular and memorable fashion. I’m not perfect—and now everyone knows it.”
Exquisite awareness beat through her every vein as he lifted a finger and smoothed her brow. “Oh, but you are. All your imperfections fit seamlessly with mine. Together we are perfect.”
“My name will be on every gossip’s lips tonight. My image in every scandal sheet tomorrow.” She grinned. “Now I’m exactly the sort of girl your father would not wish you to consort with—which I very much hope means that you will.”
His laugh touched her in secret places. “Scandalous or not, you are the only girl I mean to consort with.” He took her in his arms. “The only one I mean to marry.”
He bent over her and this kiss, so soft and warm, tasted of purpose and joy instead of indecision and doubt.
“Will you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, and the crowd sighed.
He lifted his head. “Let’s do it quickly. I’ll get a special license tomorrow.”
“We’d best, or Great-Aunt Delia will have your head on a platter.”
The musicians struck up a waltz.
“Dance with me,” she whispered.
The mob fell silent as he took her hand in his and set his other at her waist. The music drifted on the breeze and the sun shone down a benediction as he led her out.
Never had there been a dance like this. Alone on the platform, they moved together as if they’d practiced every day of their lives. He held her scandalously close and she pressed closer still, reveling in his scent and warmth and the incredibly safe, stimulating feel of him surrounding her. Their feet might have been on air, so lightly they moved, so perfectly in time with each other and the swell of the music. The traffic, the park, the crowd all faded and she was just a woman, sublimely suited to a man.
Applause broke out as the song faded.
“I promise, James, now that I am wicked too, that I’ll do anything to help you in your cause. I’ll don a disguise or flirt with your father’s disreputable friends or bribe my way in to see your mother. Anything that will help or ease your mind.”
He gripped her shoulders. “Thank you for the offer, my sweet, but we may not have to worry any longer. In fact . . .” He gazed speculatively out over the crowd, then pulled her to the edge of the dais.
They all fell silent, waiting.
“It would seem that my father, the viscount, has been implicated in crimes against the government. If, by chance, he owes any of you money, I’d see about collecting now. I predict he’ll be running for the nearest port any minute now.”
She covered her mouth, questioning him with a look as several men detached themselves from the group to head for the street. “What’s happened?”
“It turns out that I can tell a story, too.” He explained.
“James! That was brilliant!”
He shrugged. “You inspired me. I admit I’m disheartened, though, that you won’t need to resort to disgraceful behavior. If I ask nicely, will you flirt, bribe and wear a disguise, just for me?”
“Any time you ask,” she promised. “I’m aiming to gain a new nickname, now that the old must be tossed aside.” She nodded toward the crowd. “I mean to give them plenty of stories to tell about me and they’ll need to call me something.” She tilted her head. “Do you have any ideas?”
“I quite like the sound of Mrs. Vickers.”
“Hmm . . .” She bit her lip. “I think I prefer . . . the Wicked Mrs. Vickers.”
He held her tight. “So do I.”