"Morgana," he murmured against her ear, his voice rough.
"Not here. Not like this."
She blinked, confusion flickering for an instant. "What—"
He rose, steadying her as she swayed. "If we are to sin, my lady, I want you sober enough to regret it properly."
The words came out half a jest, but the weight beneath them was true.
Her lips parted, then curved—barely—but the faintest ghost of a smile touched them. "You are impossible."
"Only inconveniently honorable," he replied with a wink.
"Honorable?" She almost laughed.
"You hide it well."
"Don't tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation."
She said nothing as he led her away from the heat and noise, through the perfumed dark of the garden, the air cooler now. The sounds of pleasure faded behind them, leaving only the quiet rustle of leaves.
