A Gift for a Princess

by Miranda Neville

  He was contemplating his method of approach when the jackass in the codpiece made his move, giving Simon the perfect excuse to intervene.

  “Go,” he said and had no need to repeat himself, an advantage of his size. The idiot went.

  “Are you well, madam?” he asked.

  “Thank you, sir, for coming to my rescue. The fellow took me by surprise before I could draw my weapon.” She smiled and the curve of her lips lived up to its promise. Then he gave a crack of laughter as she pulled a vicious looking pin from her reticule.

  “Please put that away. It frightens me.”

  “I’m all astonishment, sir,” she said, her velvet voice dropping a tone. “I had thought my rescuer quite fearless.”

  “I shall prove my courage and risk all.”

  Bending slowly, and with no attempt to otherwise touch her, he brushed those full ruby lips with his own. When he drew back her mouth formed a soft oval of surprise. Dark eyes glimmering through the slits of her mask met his for a second, then looked away. The pin fell to the floor. He swooped to retrieve it and proffered it with a theatrical bow.

  “Put it away, madam. You won’t need it with me. A simple ‘no’ will always suffice.”

  “I know,” she murmured.

  He wondered if he was acquainted with her. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn’t think of any lady he knew well who would attend such an event.

  “Will you honor me with a dance?”

  “Thank you, sir.” She placed her hand in his.

  He regretted the intervention of her glove between his skin and hers. Turning the hand palm upward, he set his bare fingers to the buttons. “May I?”

  At her nod he worked the fastenings, revealing a slender wrist. He inserted a forefinger to trace the faint lines of veins. Her skin was pale and delicate. He stripped off both her gloves, made from a sensible cotton material, and tucked them in the pocket of his coat. Then he took her hands in his and kissed them in turn. Her fingers tentatively returned his clasp.

  “Shall we introduce ourselves?” he asked

  He watched in fascination as her full mouth pouted thoughtfully, then widened into a smile. “You may call me …Princess.”

  “So formal. I had in mind something a little more intimate.”

  “Tonight I want to be royalty.”

  “And what shall you call me? Shall I be Your Highness’s fool?”

  “Never a fool but rather my champion, my knight. Like a character from an old tale of romance.”

  Simon nodded, though the habits of those heroes were rather more elevated than what he had in mind for tonight. His princess was quite enchanting. If she was a lady looking for a little adventure, he decided to relinquish his scruples and accommodate her. At least she’d be safe with him. He felt a chill, thinking about some of the men she might have met in this place. One half of his mind wanted to berate her for her foolishness; the other half was ready to drag her into a dark corner.

  She was a good dancer, a little uncertain at first but she soon fell into the steps of the waltz and followed his lead as they swept around the room. No need to keep six inches of space between their bodies. At a masquerade ball direct contact was not only acceptable but de rigueur. Through her light silken domino he detected small, high breasts, a slim waist and rounded hips.

  The crowd grew denser, the music slower, he pulled her closer, his fear of complications long forgotten. “Shall we get out of here?” he whispered, breathing into her ear, venturing to nibble at the lobe.

  “Where?”

  “My rooms are not far away.”

  She stiffened in his arms and he feared he’d misread her. “I cannot. I came here with friends. I must find them again when I leave.”

  “Then let us at least get away from the crush for a while. Upstairs. I know a place we can be quite alone.”

  She hesitated for a moment. He held his breath. “All right,” she said.

  ♦♦♦♦♦

  She wouldn’t think about tomorrow. Or yesterday. Only about this moment and the fact that she was, perhaps, about to make love with Simon Wynford. That was surely what his invitation meant, wasn’t it? At the very least she was going to kiss him, properly this time. The quick touch of his lips earlier had whet her appetite.

  The music and laughter receded as he led her up dimly lit staircases and dark corridors into a small room. Once he closed the door she could see nothing, yet she had a sense of open space at her back.

  “Where are we?” she asked, taking greater care to alter her voice now they’d escaped the noise of the ball.

  “In a box in the upper tier of the theater.”

  “How did you know the way?”

  “I rent it for the season.”

  “So in a way you have brought me to your rooms.”

  His brief laugh reverberated in the auditorium, followed by a noise of flapping wings. “We’ve awoken some bats,” he said.

  “Heavens,” she squawked. “Bats? In a theater?”

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I doubt they’ll come near us, but if they do, don’t forget I’m your champion, ready to fight them off.” She felt his arm encircle her waist.

  “Do you have some influence over the bat population of London? Their appearance seems highly convenient.”

  “It’s quite improper for a lady to suspect her champion of ulterior motives.”

  She couldn’t help it, even if she awakened a thousand bats. She let out a full-throated laugh, one which Mr. Wynford would certainly not recognize because she hadn’t laughed like that in years. “It’s quite improper,” she said once her mirth subsided, “for a lady to be alone in the dark with only flying creatures as chaperones.”

  At that moment she felt perfectly happy and she made up her mind. She was going to do it.

  She’d had her doubts. First, the fact that her cousin and employer wanted to marry him. Since he was not, as expected, dining with Lavinia tonight, their feelings were probably not mutual. And if they were, Lavinia was better off without a man who would swive with a chance met female at a masquerade. Under other circumstances she’d disapprove of such behavior herself, but tonight she seemed to have suspended her better judgment and all common sense. She settled into his arm and pressed her body against the length of his. She was ready to be swept off her feet.

  Several long moments past and her feet remained firmly on the floor. In the dark she was intensely aware of his large presence, the scent of soap and starch. Her open palm found his chest and felt him warm and firm, even through his embroidered silk waistcoat.

  “Princess,” he said hoarsely. “We should speak a little.”

  “Yes?” she said.

  No, she thought. She didn’t want to speak. She wanted to do.

  “I don’t know how to put this tactfully, so I’ll come out and say it. You are not a courtesan, are you?”

  Naively, it had never occurred to her he might think so. Had he been about to offer her money? “I’m a respectable woman,” she said, then laughed again. “Though I suppose I’m not really, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’ll take you back to your friends if that is what you wish.”

  “Is that what you wish?” Of course it was. She might have guessed Mr. Wynford didn’t really find her desirable. A moment’s madness and he’d come to his senses.

  “It’s the last thing I want,” he said, and even she couldn’t mistake the fervor in his voice. “The only thing I want less is to do anything against your will.”

  “You won’t,” she whispered and reached up to find his head, drew it down, and kissed him.

  It was a real kiss this time, deep and hot. She’d been dreaming of it for weeks and it didn’t disappoint. She drowned in the heat and taste of his mouth, the rough silk of his lips working hers, the caress of his tongue finding sensitive spots she’d forgotten existed. Threading her fingers through his thick, springy hair, she cradled his scalp. She held on so he couldn’t leave, but also because she ne
eded to clasp something solid lest she dissolve into a liquid pool of bliss.

  It would be all right, she realized. She was safe because he had her. Lord did he have her. He’d reached under her domino and explored her body. Even clothed in her all-too-decent best gown her waist, back, hips, and finally breasts tingled beneath the touch of big, skillful hands.

  She hadn’t noticed they were walking until her back hit the wall and she was able to lean against it and thrust her hips forward. Without thought she instinctively begged for him to take her, ached for relief.

  “Please,” she moaned into his mouth. “Yes,” she encouraged as he lifted her gown and found her bare thigh above her garter. Partly by instinct, partly by his guidance, she bent and lifted her leg and curled it around him. The position exposed her through the slit in her cotton drawers and she ground her sex into his groin. He was still fully dressed, a state of affairs he found as unsatisfactory as she did.

  “Wait,” he said in a rusty croak and pulled away.

  She heard a rustle but she’d lost physical contact with him and she missed him. “Where are you?”

  His response was a tug at her garments. “Stand there,” he said, “and hold your gown up.”

  From the location of his voice she inferred that he was seated in front of her. She raised the front of her skirt above her waist. One firm hand clasped her bottom while the other caressed her inner thighs then brushed over her nether curls. By the time his fingers found her damp, aching center she was crazed with desire, desperate to feel him, Simon, inside her.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “I’m sitting on a bench,” he said softly. “Kneel.” He guided her with sure moves until she straddled him. His erect sex brushed against her thighs. “Grasp my shoulders.”

  Blindly following his directions lent an erotic dimension to their congress Susanna had never experienced. With her husband she’d made love in the dark often enough, but in a bed and in a predictable position. Not knowing what would happen next wound her to such a state of arousal she almost sobbed. Yet for all the illusion of danger and adventure, she felt complete trust that Simon would take care of her.

  “Lower yourself on to me.” One hand was on her hip, the other he used to guide himself into her. She moaned with relief when finally, at long last, she felt him enter her, long, hot and hard. She clenched her muscles to hold him tight and never release him. She wanted this moment to last for ever. “And now,” he said, “we ride.”

  His princess was as delicious as he’d guessed she would be, an enticing combination of boldness and reserve with an uncanny ability to read his desires. The slightest hint of what he wanted and she caught his meaning. In no time they established a rhythm, though a puff of surprise had told him this way of making love was unfamiliar. At that first fleeting kiss he’d known their mouths fit perfectly, and now it appeared everything else did too.

  The passage of time receded and he knew only the clashing of tongues and breath and the matching wet heat below, until all sensation concentrated in one spot. When he felt her convulse around him and throw back her head in a subdued scream, he let himself go, accelerating his thrusts until he answered her cry.

  They clung to each other, the inky silence pierced only by their breathing. He hugged her closer, foreheads touching, as his panting subsided. Jupiter, she enchanted him. He didn’t want to let her go. She, alas, returned to reality.

  “I should go,” she said. “My friends will be worried.”

  Perversely he wanted to find these people and rebuke them for not taking care of her better. “Are you sure? I’d like to take you home and do this again, in a bed. With fewer clothes. A lot fewer clothes.” He gave a lingering kiss.

  “I would too.” He could feel her smile against his lips.

  “And I want to see you.”

  She climbed off his lap in a hurry. “No,” she said. “It’s better not.”

  He heard her readjust her garments. She didn’t want him to know her identity, but he had to try. “When can I see you again? Will you give me an address? Where can I reach you?”

  “Nowhere. Let’s not spoil a beautiful night by letting the real world intrude.”

  “Would that be terrible?”

  “Yes,” she said, and sounded sad. “I believe it would. Please, say no more. I trust you as a gentleman to escort me downstairs and leave me without making any further attempt to discover who I am.”

  When she put it like that, appealing to his honor, what could he do? It occurred to him she must be married, and that fact made him want to howl with rage. He set about arranging his own clothing, thinking furiously. Every cell in his body rejected the idea that their affair was over.

  “Are you ready, Princess?” he asked, and opened the door. After the treacle black of the box, the light of the single lamp on the staircase made him blink. She stumbled and landed on the top step, the skirts of her domino wide open and her gown hitched to her knees, exposing white stockings.

  He helped her up and gave her another kiss. “Careful, Princess,” he said, smiling broadly. “You really do need someone to look after you.”

  ♦♦♦♦♦

  Annoyed as she was by spending an entire evening alone, Lavinia had by no means abandoned her plans for Mr. Wynford.

  “I shall ask him to our dinner on Christmas Eve. Half a dozen are already expected and even with two days notice I shall invite others. I want you to go to Nutley’s in the Strand and pick up some more invitation cards.

  For once Susanna was happy to be sent on a long, unnecessary quest on a cold day. It wasn’t actually raining and it would get her out of the house, away from Lavinia’s speculations on the timing of Mr. Wynford’s proposal. Besides, she had an errand of her own in the neighborhood. On the way home she returned to the little book shop in St. Martin’s Lane.

  Mrs. Merton greeted her eagerly. “What can I do for you? Are you looking for a Christmas gift, perhaps?”

  “Actually I have a proposition for you. I wondered if you would be interested in acquiring a partner for your business. I have a little money and perhaps we could share living expenses.”

  Mrs. Merton looked doubtful. “I’m barely making enough to keep myself. I don’t see how the shop could support two of us.”

  “I have some ideas about how we might bring in new customers.”

  They talked for over an hour and Mrs. Merton, who Susanna learned was named Juliana, promised to give the matter some thought.

  When she reached home and heard Lavinia’s news, she was even more certain that she’d made the right move.

  “Mr. Wynford called while you were out,” her cousin crowed. “He has agreed to come on Christmas Eve.”

  Apparently his attentions to Lavinia were far from over, although he’d made love to another woman the previous night. Her disappointment in his character relieved her heartache by an iota. Grief at losing him was nudged aside by self-disgust that she had succumbed to his blandishments, and her own infatuated lust. The encounter at the masquerade had seemed magical at the time. In retrospect it felt merely sordid.

  Susanna resolved to leave Lavinia’s employ as soon as possible. She wasn’t at all sure how she was going to get through dinner with Wynford at the table.

  ♦♦♦♦♦

  Susanna had to keep reminding herself that he had no idea who she was, what they had shared. As far as Mr. Wynford was concerned, she was Lavinia’s drab cousin and nothing more. When she could no longer avoid him among the dozen or so guests in the drawing room, she abjured herself to calm. He probably only wanted to offer his polite wishes for the season.

  As he smiled down at her she was torn between affection and antipathy. The former hadn’t disappeared, despite her knowledge of what he was. Though she was equally to blame for what happened, in her case it was an anomaly. For all she knew Wynford made a habit of having his way with strange women in dark boxes.

  “Mrs. Burley,” he said, his smile tentative. “I would like to
speak to you in private.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Wynford. Lavinia needs me. And I’m sure you have nothing to say that can’t be said here.” The alarmed excuses had emerged before it occurred to her to wonder why he wanted to see her alone. Could he possibly know?

  “I have a present for you.” He removed a package from an inner pocket and handed it to her. It was obviously a book.