Once Upon a Midnight Masquerade: Scot to the Heart #3

by Charles, Jane

  She’d had anonymity once, barely an hour, and Claresta craved more opportunities to enjoy the experience. Unfortunately, such a circumstance was not likely to happen again, and she was ready to be done with the Season.

  “Perhaps the problem isn’t so much that you can’t trust the words of a gentleman as much as you haven’t found anyone in Town that yet warms your heart,” Emily suggested.

  Claresta studied her cousin and gave a good deal of thought to her words. Only one gentleman had ever warmed her heart and it was unlikely she’d ever see him again, unless she traveled to Edinburgh and sought him out.

  “No. I haven’t met anyone in London with whom I wish to further an acquaintance.”

  * * *

  A few bloody fights and his brothers and cousins had raced to Edinburgh to save Donovan MacGregor from himself.

  He didn’t need saving.

  His family had assumed the state of Donovan’s mood was due to Mary Grant, now Soars and a widow, soon to return home now that Napoleon had been defeated in the very battle that had claimed her husband’s life. In a sense, she was the cause of his dark mood, but not in the way his family believed. He’d tried to correct their error, but they’d not listened, and Donovan finally stopped arguing.

  Ah, sweet Mary. He’d been in love with her once. Well, about as in love as any twenty-year-old could be when he knew little of the world. His life had been spent at the family estate in Anagburn in Bonnybridge, Scotland, except for the years when he attended Royal High School of Edinburgh. It was when his education had been completed and he returned home that Donovan first truly became aware of Mary Grant. He’d known her his entire life, but while he was away, she’d grown up into the bonniest of lasses in all of Scotland. He’d courted her and two years later pledged his heart. She pledged a deep friendship that she’d value all of her days.

  His heart had shattered and a few months later she joined her brother, Lachlan Grant, the Marquess of Brachton, in London for the Season. His uncle had assured him that once Mary experienced an adventure in London, she’d return home, ready to pledge herself to Donovan.

  Mary never returned. She fell in love with an officer and decided to follow the drum.

  She was the reason for his first drink of the night. As soon as Donovan had been told that Mary was returning home, he’d left and gone to Edinburgh, though he refused to examine the reason for doing so. Was he running away to avoid her and his humiliation of the past, or was he afraid that if he saw her, his love would bloom anew, and he feared his heart being shattered again?

  However, by the time he’d requested a second drink, Donovan realized that Mary had been right all along. They were friends, companions and close, but it was a comfortable love, not one for marriage, and the reason why she’d sought excitement in London all those years ago. He’d held onto her because she was familiar, safe.

  The second drink caused him to look inward, and that’s when his frustration bloomed, and he had to face the true cause of the turmoil. He’d not been content for some time and had hidden it from his family and even himself, but Donovan couldn’t hide it any longer. His irritation came in not knowing the cause.

  The third drink brought the realization of when his frustrations began—nearly one year ago at a masquerade. He’d known Juliet less than an hour, but she’d haunted his dreams since, something Mary had never done. Every time he came to Edinburgh, he looked for her, but it was as if she’d simply vanished. Had Cameron not seen her as well, Donovan would have thought he had imagined the entire encounter and was losing his mind.

  Aye, he drank too much in Edinburgh, and he fought more than he should, but his family’s interference, and their insistence that he once again pursue Mary had sent him from Scotland. Donovan needed to be away from Bonnybridge and Edinburgh so he could finally put memories, dreams and the past behind him. Mary was easily put aside. Juliet, however, followed him everywhere and there was only one answer to cure him—become embroiled in the family business, but in London. Concentrate on what was good for the family and ignore everything else until he was once again satisfied and settled.

  However, despite those intentions, Donovan found himself inside a London ballroom. As he stared out at the sea of pastel gowns and bright regimental uniforms, Donovan wondered why the blazes he was here. He wasn’t in London to find a wife, but to set the next course of his life, yet he’d allowed Jonathan Bridges and his wife, Genviève to drag him to a bloody ball.

  “Donovan, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Chambers.”

  Bridges’ voice pulled Donovan from his thoughts and he glanced to the couple who was being introduced. One of dozens that he’d met tonight. Before he could respond, a small woman with golden curls rushed forward and grasped Mrs. Chambers’ hand. “Isn’t this delightful?” An instant later, her smile brightened and crystal green eyes sparkled. “Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Donovan stepped to the side, opening the circle so that she could be included.

  Her eyes widened as she looked up to him.

  “Lady Claresta Copeland, might I present Mr. Donovan MacGregor.”

  As she glanced up at him, her eyes widened as if she were alarmed and her smile slipped ever so slightly as awareness trickled down Donovan’s spine.

  Eyes of emeralds, hair of gold, perfectly formed kissable lips…It couldn’t be.

  Donovan blinked. He was simply imagining things. It wasn’t possible that his Juliet was a lady from London.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet ye,” he finally said and then nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Chambers.

  “Bridges, I’ve been meaning to call on you,” Mr. Chambers began. “I’d like to discuss our wool shipments.”

  Donovan stiffened, then narrowed his eyes on the gentleman. Was he speaking of actual wool? When the MacGregors shipped whisky, it was crated with wool to keep it from being discovered by excisemen.

  “I’ve noticed an increase in your shipments of textiles from Yorkshire.” Bridges slid a look to Donovan. “Mr. Chambers owns a number of mills and my ships bring his fabrics to London.”

  “Mr. MacGregor’s uncle married my step-mother, the former Dowager Countess of Bentley, and is recently of Bonnybridge, Scotland.” Genviève Bridges offered.

  “Have you visited London before, Mr. MacGregor?” Lady Claresta asked.

  “Nay.”

  Lady Claresta studied him, and her emerald depths held a bit of concern, or perhaps it was curiosity. “Do you visit Edinburgh?” she asked slowly.

  Donovan stared into her eyes. “Often.”

  “Such a lovely city,” Mrs. Chambers exalted. “We were there last summer, and even though I was ready to return home, Lady Claresta begged for one more day.”

  Lady Claresta’s blush reminded him of the delicate roses that grew in the gardens of Anagburn, the family estate where he’d been raised. Was it possible that she was his Juliet?

  No! Donovan dismissed the possibility. The two were simply similar in appearance, nothing more. “I too spent much of my summer in Edinburgh last year. It’s a shame we dinna meet.”

  Her blush deepened as Lady Claresta glanced away and an awareness settled into his gut, though his mind scrambled to deny what his body already recognized.

  As the strains of a waltz began, Bridges looked to his wife and she smiled, which meant Donovan would be left to stand with the Chambers and Lady Claresta.

  “I do so love to waltz but nobody has claimed this dance.” Lady Claresta looked up at him expectantly, her green eyes beseeching him to do just that. “Do you waltz, Mr. MacGregor?”

  “Aye.”

  She held out her arm. “Would you be so kind to partner me?”

  For a moment he simply stared at her hand. Were all ladies in London so bold?

  It didn’t matter because as soon as he had her in his arms, Donovan would know the truth. “Aye. It would be my pleasure.”

  As he led her to the center of the room and then took her int
o his arms, a familiar awareness settled within him. Only one woman had ever fit this perfectly beside him and he stared down into the very same eyes he’d gazed into last summer.

  For a sennight he’d remained in Edinburgh looking for Juliet, but she was not to be found and eventually he had returned home with every intention of forgetting her. After all, he rarely spent much thought on a lover after they’d parted, and he was certain he’d soon forget Juliet. Except she had continued to invade his dreams—vivid dreams, where his imagination had him disrobing her, and her him, both wearing Shakespearean costumes, until he woke, awash with desire and miserable. The reason he traveled to Edinburgh so often was in search of her. Donovan had been certain that once he’d bedded her, Juliet would cease to haunt him. Except, until now, he had always believed Juliet was a light-skirt, not a lady.

  She was to blame for his lack of sleep on occasion. She was to blame for why he could not find contentment with the few mistresses he’d engaged the past year, and she might possibly be responsible for the foul mood that had plagued him for months.

  Chapter 2

  Claresta had chosen this ball above all others because it was being given by a general and his wife to welcome his officers home and to celebrate the defeat of Napoleon. She’d hoped that she’d meet a gentleman who may not already know who she was. However, she’d never dreamed that Romeo would come to London and was known as Mr. Donovan MacGregor.

  Thank goodness he didn’t recognize her, or all would be ruined. Or at least she’d be quite ruined and all she could do was pray that he didn’t realize that she and Juliet were one and the same.

  As they took their place on the floor, Claresta looked up and nearly sighed. He was such a handsome man, with a strong jaw and brow, light brown eyes with flecks of gold, and a ruggedness that so many of the gentlemen in London lacked, but she found delightfully appealing. If possible, he’d grown more handsome in the past year.

  Unlike he had in Edinburgh, Mr. MacGregor held her at the exact proper distance, and the tender pressure at her back along with the firm, yet gentle way he clutched her hand made it easy to anticipate his steps and turns. He danced with confidence and she as the puppet to be maneuvered. In most instances, such a thought would irritate Claresta, but she enjoyed his power and masculinity too much to be insulted. His nearness warmed her in ways that she’d not experienced in a year, causing her to grow nearly breathless each time she gazed up and into his eyes, especially when she recalled how he’d kissed her, almost as if he were attempting to possess her soul. No gentleman had ever kissed her in such a manner, not that she’d been kissed often, but even before she’d encountered Romeo, those kisses had been lacking. Since, well, she’d not kissed anyone else, as Romeo had ruined her for all other gentlemen.

  Despite his ruggedness, there was also an elegant and gallant manner in Mr. MacGregor’s dress, even though his choices were understated in comparison to the dandies in London, such as his crisp white and perfectly tied cravat, the dark coat that hugged his shoulders, and his polished hessians. However, what had caught her attention was his waistcoat, embroidered in shades of red, orange and gold, reminding Claresta of autumn trees as they burst into spectacular beauty.

  “Shouldna the man ask the lady to dance? Such boldness could lead a man to wonder what else a lady might do.”

  Claresta was certain her heart skipped but dismissed his words as a generalization because it wasn’t possible that he’d recognized her. Her face had been covered with a gold mask and one could not recognize another simply by their lips. “Did you intend on asking me?”

  “I wasna given a moment to even consider the option before ye made yer suggestion.”

  Claresta bit the corner of her lip. He was correct, but she couldn’t have just stood there and waited, not when a lovely waltz was about to play, and she so enjoyed being in his arms. “As we were going to dance anyway, it was more expedient for me to make the suggestion as I have little patience in waiting for others to come to a decision.”

  “They say patience is a high virtue,” he returned.

  Yes, lack of patience had always been one of her shortcomings, but she so hated to miss out on perfect opportunities. “Are we going to argue?”

  At that, he smiled, and her heart lifted as her body warmed. “Nay. There is nothin’ to argue about.”

  He studied her for a moment, his brown eyes darkening with the same intensity of last summer, as the corner of his mouth quirked.

  “Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

  having some business, do entreat her eyes

  To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

  What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

  The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

  As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven.”

  Claresta sucked in a breath at Romeo’s lines from the famous play and it was as if ice now rushed through her veins as her face grew cold.

  “Would through the airy region stream so bright

  That birds would sing and think it were not night.

  See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

  O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

  “Ay me,” Claresta murmured as she tried to gain control of the panic that threatened to strangle her.

  Mr. MacGregor executed a turn that nearly lifted Claresta from the floor.

  “She speaks:

  O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art

  As glorious to this night, being o’er my head

  As is a winged messenger of heaven.”

  As he said the words, Mr. MacGregor looked down into her eyes and her stomach sank. He knew she was Juliet.

  Though she was thrilled to be in his arms again, it was overrun with the dread of what he might say to others.

  “You know,” she whispered.

  “Aye, lass. I wasna certain until ye were in my arms.”

  “Please, I beg of you, don’t tell anyone.”

  The side of his mouth quirked. “That depends.”

  “On what?” Claresta asked as the song ended.

  Instead of answering, Mr. MacGregor took a step back as the music ended, bowed and winked, a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes.

  What should thrill her, only filled Claresta with trepidation.

  MacGregor offered his arm and began to escort Claresta back toward the couple but paused. “I’d not realized we’d waltzed the supper dance.” His smile broadened.

  Oh, dear, what was she to do now? As was custom, she’d be with him through the meal now, and as much as she’d longed to see her Romeo again, Claresta feared what he might reveal of their previous meeting.

  What must she do or say to convince him to hold her secret?

  MacGregor said nothing further but escorted her into the supper rooms only to pause and look about until he located Dillon and Emily and continued in their direction. Before they reached the table, the Chambers were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, leaving two seats available.

  As they gained the table, Dillon stood. “Shall we acquire refreshments for the ladies?”

  Claresta looked up to Mr. MacGregor.

  His brown eyes smoldered, sending a shiver down her spine. “It would be my pleasure.” Then he turned and she couldn’t help but admire his long, confident stride to the buffet as fear and desire collided within her soul.

  * * *

  Donovan accepted two plates and allowed the servants to fill them with the offered selections. He wasn’t hungry, though he had been before Lady Claresta made an appearance.

  Bloody Hell! Lady Claresta was his Juliet. The woman who had haunted his dreams. The woman he had wanted to make his mistress.

  She wasn’t the only one who should be afraid of anyone finding out how they’d met. If her family, whoever her father happened to be, ever learned of the way Donovan had held her during their waltz in Edinburgh, or worse, how he had kissed her, they’d be married as s
oon as a Special License could be acquired.

  However, now that he had found her, what was he to do?

  Donovan still wanted her, nearly with the same passion as he had experienced in Edinburgh, but this setting and the truth of who she was had dampened some of his lust. The thoughts and dreams he’d had of Juliet were not proper for an innocent lady—an unmarried lass.

  Donovan nearly snorted. He’d come to London to distance himself from his family, Anagburn and Bonnybridge and put distance between his memories and his past only to come face to face with the one woman he’d been unable to forget.

  She’d asked him to dance! That was nearly as brazen as her appearing at a ball that she’d not been invited to.

  A ball that had been hosted by a madame.

  What the blazes had Lady Claresta been thinking? Had it been her plan to be ruined or had she simply sought an ill-advised adventure and been lucky not to have been discovered for who she truly was?

  “Are all English ladies so bold?” he asked.

  “Lady Claresta may be a little bolder than to what you may be accustomed,” Chambers offered.

  “The lasses in Scotland can be bold, too bold for my likin’ most of the time. I dinna expect it of an English lady,” Donovan grumbled. “My sister and cousins might have asked a man to dance, though that doesna make it right.” But they’d never sneak into a ball to which they’d not been invited, especially hosted by a famed madame. His sister and cousins shouldn’t even know madams exist, nor should any innocent lass.

  “If that is the case, Lady Claresta would probably prefer Scotland to London,” Chambers chuckled. “She is an intelligent lady who knows her worth and will not sit around and wait for something to come to her but will go after it.”

  Such a temperament was undoubtedly what had led her to appear at a Madame Marseille’s ball.

  Good God, had another man set his sights on her, they may have been freer with their affection and if she objected, they’d very likely have thought she played a game. That night could have ended in disaster for Lady Claresta. Thank God it was he who had gained her side first.