“Thank you.” Mirabelle smiled in appreciation. “I’ll send the money back to you as soon as I get home, I promise.”
“Oh, rot. What’s a few farthings between friends?” Henrietta took her firmly by the hand. “Are you going to be all right, Belle?”
“I think so.” She sniffed. “Henry, I know he’s an undeserving rogue, but still…”
Henrietta offered her a thoughtful look. “Still what, gel?”
“It hurts,” she whispered.
A look of understanding passed between the two women.
“Oh, Belle!” Henrietta gave her a tight hug. “Don’t I know it.”
Chapter 23
A peck on the cheek and Henry was off. “I’ll go and get the blunt.”
“I’ll wait for you out on the terrace.”
Henrietta nodded, secured her mask, and skirted away.
Camouflaged by the fern, Mirabelle spied her comrade wend through the mob of dancers and disappear into the corridor beyond. Once she was gone, Mirabelle moved to the open terrace doors and peeked outside.
She had only the moon and the stars for company, it seemed. A good thing, too, for she wasn’t in the mood to converse with strangers.
Mirabelle moved to the edge of the terrace, intent on the shrubs and garden paths. Her eyes wandered over the ghostly terrain, to the knotty tree she had scaled a short while ago, and on to the twinkling heavens.
It was such a beautiful night, the moon glowing in full brilliancy. A soft breeze kissed her skin in a cool and soothing gesture, stimulating her otherwise bereaved spirit.
She should not have said anything to Henry about Damian. Even the smallest reference to the navigator made her heart quiver with woe, evoked memories she would rather have stifled.
But this was just her penance, she supposed, for letting Damian so close to her heart. She had vowed to keep the bounder at bay. To ignore his charms…his kisses. But she had faltered in that resolve. Now look what had happened. The knave had injured her. It was only a prick. She would get over it. Really, she would. But still, he had hurt her. And it was a miserable thought, knowing she had given Damian clout over her, even a little.
“Good evening.”
Mirabelle whirled around to confront the large figure lurking in the shadows. There was something familiar about the sound of his voice. She screwed up her face in contemplation, but soon quit trying to remember. She wanted to be alone.
“Good evening,” she returned stiffly, hoping to discourage the gent from further conversation. But her cool demeanor didn’t appear to dampen the bloke’s desire for chitchat one little bit.
He stepped out of the shadows and approached. Now she recognized him.
“You again?” She didn’t bother to hide her displeasure. “I already told you, I don’t want to dance.”
He placed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, madam.”
She snorted softly. The man might be dressed like a coachman but he was clearly a member of the peerage. His diction was superb. His grace and flirtatious manner polished. He even swaggered like a noble.
She wasn’t comfortable in his presence. He still wore his mask, and she felt quite naked standing beside him without hers. But it would be foolish to secure her mask at this stage, so she simply held the headpiece in her hand and flitted it in the direction of his chest. “I’m sure your heart will mend soon enough. You men have a way about you when it comes to such matters.”
“Not all men heal after a broken heart.”
Mirabelle sensed her own heart pinch at his murmured words. She suddenly wondered if Damian would recover from their affair quickly. Would it take him months to forget her? Or just a few days? And why did the thought of being forgotten by the blackguard make the bones in her breast ache so?
The somber subject was set aside in favor of more light banter. “Aha! I see why you do not want to dance, madam.”
Mirabelle stomped her bewildering grief into the bowel of her belly. “And why is that?”
“You have misplaced your dancing shoes.”
She blushed. Carefully, she slipped her booted toes beneath her hemline. “And you, sir, have misplaced your dancing clothes.”
He laughed softly. A deep and husky rumble that unsettled her. “Touché. We are both mismatched, you and I.”
He was funning with her, she knew. But there was something devious in his manner and tone of voice.
“I left my dancing shoes at home—intentionally,” she quipped. “I do not want to dance.”
“Not want to dance?” He took another step toward her. The fine hairs on her arms bristled. “A beautiful miss like yourself?”
Mirabelle squirmed in her spot. He really was making her uneasy.
“Is your heart broken?” Dark and shadowed eyes pinned on her. “Is that why you’re not inclined to dance?”
“No,” she said curtly, and then to maintain her pretense of nobility, huffed, “And it’s very rude of you to ask.”
“My apologies, madam. I am only concerned with your well-being.”
“Rot!”
“You mistrust my sincerity?”
“I have four brothers.” She held up four fingers to prove her point. “I know exactly what men are like, always searching for innocent girls to woo.”
His voice was smooth and unquestionably wicked. “Are you an innocent girl?”
She took in a sharp breath. The impertinence! “What are you implying?”
“Well, I’m convinced it is not your brothers who have instructed you in the ways of the heart…but a lover.” Then in a hushed voice, he said, “Unrequited love, is it?”
She gnashed her teeth. “I told you, there is no one.”
“Come now, madam,” he drawled, eyes luminous like a prowling cat’s under the moonlight. “What young woman would come to a ball and not want to dance? Unless she was pining?”
A finger went to her chest. “This woman.”
Mirabelle twirled about and headed for the terrace doors.
“So he does not care for you?” a call resounded after her. “The scoundrel.”
She paused and turned around to glare at him. “He is none of your concern.”
Her maddening companion quirked a half smile. “So there is someone?”
“Oh, you are a persistent devil,” she charged, scowling.
“No, just a curious one.” He knotted his arms across his strapping chest. “Did he leave you?”
“I left him.”
“Bravo, madam!” Soft clapping was heard. “Abandon the knave, as he justly deserves.”
“He’s not a knave!”
Mirabelle started. Now where the devil had that assertion come from? Of course Damian was a knave. He had betrayed her. So why in heaven’s name had she just defended the blackguard?
“Oh?” said the stranger. “He cares for you then?”
He doesn’t give a fig about me, she thought, but couldn’t quite admit the truth aloud. There was a deafening roar in her ears and a throbbing in her chest, making the words too difficult to enunciate.
Not that her silence dulled her companion’s dogged curiosity. “Well, if he cares for you, madam, he will come after you.”
“He won’t come after me.” She was sure. Damian didn’t care for her, wretched as the truth might be. He didn’t even know where she was!
“We shall see about that, madam.”
Mirabelle stared at the masked figure with scrutiny. She wanted off the topic of Damian, and noted the bandage secured to the man’s palm.
She quirked a questioning brow. “What happened to your hand?”
“It’s nothing.” He glanced at the wound with indifference. “A botched duel, I’m afraid.”
“You lost?”
“A stalemate, actually. But we will have another go at it soon.”
“I have two brothers just like that,” she said in disgust. “Always fighting.”
“It’s a matter of honor.”
“Slaying an opponent over a misunderstandin
g or slight? Restitution not enough?”
He said softly, darkly, “Sometimes an apology won’t do.”
She shivered. She had had enough of the peculiar man’s company. “Well, sir, I hope you fare better the second time around.” She lifted the side of her dress to skirt away. “Better yet, I hope you come to your senses and forget all about the ridiculous duel.”
But when she glanced back to impart those words of wisdom, she found the stranger was gone.
What an odd gent!
Mirabelle smoothed her wrinkled brow and looked ahead to find Henrietta dashing toward her.
She was thankful to see her comrade and let it be known by the noisy sigh she exhaled. “What took you so long, Henry?”
“Well, I had a devilishly hard time getting past Ravenswood. The rogue trapped me in Papa’s study to scold me about what I did to Cat’s mask.” Henry huffed. “Lud, the man is impossible. He notices everything I don’t want him to see and pays no heed to everything I do want him to see.”
“Like your gown?”
“Exactly.” Henrietta let out another frustrated burst of air. “Here.” She handed her friend a small velvet sack. “This should be enough to get you back home.”
Mirabelle cradled the hefty bundle. “More than enough. Thank you.”
The girls looked at each other, then hugged.
“I have to go,” whispered Mirabelle, voice choking.
“Must you?” Henrietta broke away from the embrace, her eyes filling with tears. “You’ve only just arrived. Can’t you stay and chat for a little while more?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But it’s been more than a year since I’ve seen you.”
“I’m sorry, Henry, but my brothers will be worried if I don’t get home soon.”
The girl nodded in reluctant approval. “Oh, very well. If you must.” She squeezed her shoulders. “But promise me you will come back and visit soon.”
Mirabelle wanted to, she really did, but she intended to go back to the Bonny Meg and she didn’t know when she might get the chance to journey back to London. And she didn’t want to make a promise she couldn’t keep. Not to Henry.
“I will try, Henry,” she said instead, amid a puddle of tears in her throat. “I have to go back upstairs and change.”
Henrietta nodded and took her by the hand. “I’ll come with you.”
The two girls headed back inside the ballroom.
Mirabelle took only a few steps before rooting to the spot.
He stood across the room; big, beautiful, and dressed in riding breeches. He wore a mask, but such a sexy and towering figure could never blend in among an ordinary crowd. And he didn’t. Voices whispered and fingers pointed as soon as he appeared in the doorway. Not that Mirabelle paid the commotion any heed. Oh no. She was far too busy trying to keep from hooting with joy.
Stormy blue eyes scanned the horde and lighted on her. All other thoughts faded from her head as he marched through the parting mob of dancers—heading straight for her.
Heavens, he had never looked so perfect…so passionate…or so livid. But she didn’t mind his temper just then. He had come for her. And she was too dazzled by the flurry of giddy sentiments stirring in her breast to speak or blink or even breathe.
“Is he the one, Belle?”
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she heard Henry’s voice and nodded.
“Oh, I say, Belle, I don’t know why you think you can’t have him. He seems quite determined to have you.”
Damian thundered across the dance floor. Fury filled him.
The shifty little witch! She had left him. Abandoned him in the street like a grimy urchin. He had turned his head, and poof, she was gone. Vanished. Lost to him for good.
He shuddered at the morbid memory and struggled to contain the frenzy of dark emotions roiling in his gut.
He was going to shake her. He was going to throttle her. He was going to spank her…He was going to kiss her wildly.
It hit him with the might of a berserk horse, the desperate joy rattling in his chest at the sight of her. Could she look more devastating, more wanton, in that shimmering coral frock? The bodice so low and tight it made his heart pinch in sympathy for her generous breasts, stuffed so snugly. Her glorious gold locks sat in a mound of twisted knots atop her head, her slender neck exposed, so delectable. The warm glow of her cheeks, the bright fire in her sensuous amber eyes, the rosy pink lushness of her lips…
A gloved hand popped in his face. “How good of you to come.”
Impotent passion wracked Damian. He couldn’t get to Belle. A bloody pest was in his way.
“Henrietta Ashby,” the girl clipped out. “I’m delighted to meet you.”
Henrietta “Henry” Ashby? It was then reason intruded. Music shifted in his head. Voices, too. He stared at the offered hand and recognized it as a saving grace, for he’d been about to set off a rumpus by mauling Belle—or something akin to it.
With much restraint, he accepted the gloved fingers and kissed the back of Miss Ashby’s hand.
He then moved over to a bewildered Mirabelle, and with quiet firmness said, “Outside. Now.”
He cupped her elbow and steered her toward the terrace doors.
“What a delightful idea,” Henrietta chimed behind them, loud enough for the guests to hear. “A stroll sounds charming. I shall chaperone.”
In the shadows of the garden, Damian tore off his mask and pressed his lips to Belle’s with a carnal hunger he had never suffered before. The blood hastened through his veins, pounded in his head. He devoured the taste of her, inhaled the rich musk of her, smothered the warmth of her against him. He gripped her with strength and tenderness and wild abandon. Fingers ripped through her hair, groped her lush behind. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care. She was filling his soul with hope and joy. He was awash in the promise of her comfort, of her ability to slay the demons in his head.
It was some time later he broke away from the kiss. Belle slumped into his arms with a satisfied sigh. Lips swollen, lids heavy with heady passion, she appeared a sultry wanton. A siren, beckoning him. And he heeded the enchanting call.
With the pad of his thumb, he stroked her puffy lips and kissed her softly. Blood still rushed through his limbs, and he all but gasped for air, but slowly, steadily, the passion subsided, and Damian could think with clarity once more.
And the first thing he noticed was the lone figure perched on a stone bench a little ways off. Henrietta. She was fanning herself with her mask and looking on in apparent fascination…and envy?
“Oh, I say,” she murmured. “I’d give my baby toe to be kissed like that.”
Damian spared her a curious glance before he peered around the rest of the terrain. Deserted. Good. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him and reveal his identity to Belle. It was too soon. Henrietta was no threat. He had never met the girl before…
No. Really, he hadn’t. It was hard to remember the adolescent, even adult, years of his life after so much drink, but he was sure he had not encountered the innocent Miss Ashby before. He doubted very much her father the baron would have allowed it.
With that resolved, Damian took Belle by the hand. “Let’s go.”
Mirabelle blinked. “Go where?”
He dragged her.
She dug in her heels. “Tell me, Damian.”
It was then he heard the clinking sound. He paused to look her over, wondering what she had on that was causing so much racket. He spied the bundle in her other hand.
“What’s that, Belle?”
“Nothing.” The bundle disappeared behind her back.
He reached around and grappled with her for the small sack. When she didn’t relent, he kissed her—hard. Knocked the wind from her lungs; his, too.
In the chaos of the stormy kiss, she lost her grip on the sack and it plunked into his palm.
“Scoundrel,” she hissed.
He quirked his lips. Weighing the velvet bag in his hand, h
e concluded it was blunt. “Going somewhere, Belle?”
She huffed. “I was trying to get home.”
“Not yet, I’m afraid.” He tossed the bundle back to a waiting Henrietta. She caught it in the darkness of the night without fumbling. Impressive. He looked back at Belle. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
There was more promise in his voice than threat. And when she shivered in his embrace, he rebuked himself for sounding like a seductive lover. He couldn’t dally with Belle anymore. He damn well knew it. He had come for her to take her back to his castle. He needed her to avenge his brother. He could not have a wonderful life with her. It was as simple as that.
He took Mirabelle through the garden.
“Good-bye, Henry!” she cried.
“Bye, Belle!” Henrietta hastened to the garden edge. “Let me know how it all turns out.”
It was going to turn out miserably, that’s how, he thought. Damian pushed back the twisting grief in his belly and pressed on.
“How did you find me, Damian?”
Good. Something other than pending doom to think about. “It wasn’t hard,” he returned gruffly. “You told me about Henry, remember? And how she was the daughter of Baron Ashby.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she murmured, thoughtful.
“I just figured you would go to her.”
Through the courtyard and out into the street, Damian hauled his wily pirate over to the stationed gelding. He hoisted her into the seat and straddled the beast behind her.
“What, no rope to bind me?”
He nudged the horse onward. “Don’t tempt me, Belle.”
She made a noise akin to a huff. “Why are you here, Damian? Why did you come back for me?”
“Like I said, I’m not finished with you yet.”
She stiffened. “You mean you’re not finished torturing my brothers?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You scoundrel!”
She thrashed in his arms.
He clamped her body close to his, giving her nary an inch to move.
“I should have known you didn’t care!” she cried. “A rotten bounder like yourself!”
Lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Did you want me to care, Belle?”
Too Great A Temptation Page 22