Regency Masquerades: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Six Traditional Regency Romance Novels of Secrets and Disguises

by Brenda Hiatt

  “Come, you cannot begrudge me just one kiss.”

  Awaiting her reply, he stood so close that his pantaloons pressed the full, short skirt of her costume back against her limbs. She saw desire in his eyes, a look of determination about his firm-lipped mouth. Why not let him kiss her? Mademoiselle Juliette Lamant was an abandoned woman already, with no reputation to be smirched. Theirs would be a kiss without consequences. It was too tempting.

  “Very well, milord,” she said, lifting her chin. “You may have just one kiss.”

  He expelled a deep sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath. Did he desire her so much? she wondered. It was intoxicating and a little frightening to have such power.

  He put his arms around her and drew her gently toward him. Gradually, he tightened his embrace, one arm around her waist, the other caressing her bare shoulders, the very hesitancy of his movements enhancing every sensation. When was he going to kiss her? Oh, he was wicked indeed to tease her so, prolonging the moment, making her more and more aware of her own scanty raiment, and of the ebb and fall of his breath as the crisp linen of his shirt and the smooth silk waistcoat pressed against her bare skin, his warmth pervading her whole being. This was nothing like Charles Bentwood’s hasty assault.

  Belatedly, she remembered to return his embrace. It was strange, but exciting, to encircle his firm, masculine body with her arms. She hoped she did not seem awkward. Finally, Dare lowered his face down to hers, and brushed her lips with his. His mouth was warm, and tasted of wine. She pressed her own lips up against his, savoring the unexpectedly pleasant sensation. A moment later, seemingly by accident, his tongue slipped between her parted lips, and as quickly withdrew again. She gasped with surprise, and then pressed her mouth back against his, in a frantic attempt to hide her shock. She had not realized one could kiss so, but it would be fatal to let him know.

  Once again, his tongue penetrated her mouth, and this time, she responded, curling and playing her own tongue against his, hoping and praying she was doing it correctly. A deep, almost soundless moan rumbled in his chest, reassuring her that he was aroused by her kiss. He tightened his embrace, and her worries fled as new, compelling sensations surged through her own body. Pleasure such as she had never experienced, and yet somehow she wanted even more…

  “Juliette! Juliette!”

  Madame Bouchard’s shrill voice suddenly penetrated Juliana’s awareness. Burning, she pulled back from Lord Dare. He seemed flustered, his eyes bright and his hitherto perfect neckcloth slightly rumpled. She looked away so he would not see her blush.

  “Have you lost your mind?” cried Madame Bouchard, echoing Juliana’s own thoughts. “There are less than five minutes before you must be on stage again!”

  Juliana slipped quickly out of Dare’s loosened hold, panicking to see that many of the dancers had already left. But she could not run off, and let Dare think his kiss had overset her. She summoned up the courage to look back up at him.

  “Why thank you, milord Dare,” she said. “You kiss well… for an Englishman.”

  “I am glad I did not disappoint,” he said, and made her a stiff bow. Had she gone too far, and offended him?

  “And now I must go. Adieu!” she said, making him a little courtesy before leaving with Madame Bouchard.

  However, she could not resist one backward glance before leaving the Green Room. Jeremy Plumbrook and his friends had surrounded Dare, slapping him on the shoulder, their eyes filled with awe and admiration. Rage surged through her at the sight. Had they made some sort of wager? Was that was his kiss was all about?

  She hurried along, only half listening to Madame Bouchard’s scolding, even though she knew she deserved it. She should have known better than to allow Lord Dare to make a plaything of her. She knew what men were, and Dare’s charm and skill only made him more dangerous. But how could she have guessed how wonderful it would feel to be caressed by such a man?

  They reached the backstage, and Juliana forced herself to mentally review the figures of the divertissement that followed the opera. She had a dance to perform, and more challenges to face before she could end her masquerade. Now that she knew the perils and temptations of this life, she would learn to resist them.

  Head held high, back straight, she followed the other dancers onto the stage.

  Marcus watched Mademoiselle Juliette as she hurried away with the older woman. Her casual words stung him, but he composed his features as Jerry and the others came to his side.

  “Well done!” said Jerry, beaming generously, looking almost as pleased at Marcus’s feat as if he had managed to accomplish it himself.

  “How I envy you, Dare,” Oswald breathed, eyes wide with hero worship. “What it must have felt like to have that glorious creature in your arms! You must tell us all about it. All about it.”

  Marcus shook his head. He was not about to satisfy Oswald’s lewd curiosity, even if he could find the words to describe the rapturous moments before Mademoiselle Juliette had made it quite clear that the kiss that had affected him so powerfully had meant less than nothing to her.

  “I for one wish to know how you induced her to do it,” said George, scowling. “If I find that you used any sort of coercion on that lovely creature—”

  “Stubble it, George!” interrupted Jerry, and winked at Marcus. “Dare’s too charming to have to resort to coercion. He probably just told her she was beautiful in her own tongue.”

  George and Oswald stared at each other, arrested expressions on their faces, then they looked back at Marcus and Jerry.

  “Where does one find a French tutor?” queried Oswald eagerly.

  “Yes, where?” echoed George, dropping his martial stance.

  “Oh, I don’t know. There must be some impoverished emigrée that might be induced to teach you dolts,” said Jerry. “You can find out tomorrow. We’d better hurry or we’ll miss the end of Mademoiselle Juliette’s performance.”

  George and Oswald hurried out of the nearly-empty room.

  “I think I shall go home, Jerry,” said Marcus, following. “You know I am not accustomed to town hours.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Jerry. He paused and looked at Marcus with friendly curiosity. “You’re not by some chance falling for that coquette, are you? You do know this is just a game?”

  “Of course. I’m not a fool.”

  However, as Marcus rode home in a bouncing old hack, Mademoiselle Juliette’s words echoed through his head.

  You kiss well… for an Englishman.

  The words rankled. Holding her warm, supple body in his arms, feeling her quickened breath, tasting her lips was the single most glorious, transcendent experience of his hitherto boring existence. He had even thought he’d succeeded in pleasing her as well, since she had returned his kiss with what felt like true passion.

  But no, it was probably just the practiced response of one accustomed to flattering her admirers. She clearly had legions of them. Lovers, too, probably. Why should he expect that his kiss meant anything more to her than a minor diversion?

  As he entered his townhouse, he wondered why his desire for Mademoiselle Juliette had only grown, instead of dying when she had so easily dismissed him. In his room, he found Pridwell waiting up for him. Although he did not want the valet’s assistance or his company, he allowed Pridwell to help him out of his clothing and into his nightshirt, and even to pour him a glass of brandy. After Pridwell left, he sat up in the bed and sipped at the brandy, telling himself he ought not to let his mind dwell on Mademoiselle Juliette, or her words.

  You kiss well… for an Englishman.

  Vous embrassez bon pour un Anglais.

  He set his glass down abruptly. Now he knew why he could not get her words out of his head.

  The lying minx! It was a good thing she had mentioned that there was a rehearsal tomorrow. It appeared that another visit to the King’s Theatre was in order.

  Chapter Five

  “Again.”

  Obedient to Monsieu
r Léon’s command, Juliana took a deep breath, and launched herself once more into the jeté.

  “Your head up, and shoulders back, Mademoiselle. Can you not understand me?”

  Juliana tried not to allow herself to be rattled by the dance master’s impatient tone. Again, she concentrated on the challenging leap, trying to remember everything Madame Bouchard had drilled into her.

  “Again.”

  Three more times she leapt into the air, ignoring aching muscles that protested the unaccustomed discipline, until finally Monsieur Léon nodded.

  “It is satisfactory,” he said curtly. “But do not forget to smile.”

  He gestured for the other dancers to rejoin them, and relief flooded through Juliana. Even to have gained such lukewarm approval from the exacting dance master was an achievement. Neither the grudging tone of his voice, nor the looks of sympathy or superiority from the other dancers could mar her satisfaction.

  She continued to put forth her best efforts during the rest of the rehearsal. She even managed to avoid further censure from Monsieur Léon, although she was under no illusion that her dancing was anywhere near the standard normally expected from a member of the corps de ballet. Last week she had even overheard an argument between Monsieur Léon and Mr. Waters, the manager. Monsieur Léon had expressed his wish to find someone to replace her, but Mr. Waters had argued that attendance, particularly in the pit, had increased noticeably since her first performance. It was a bit mortifying to think that it was her looks alone which drew an additional masculine crowd, but she was relieved to know she had not detracted from the success of the theatre.

  When the rehearsal was over, Juliana took advantage of the empty stage to practice a little more. Finally exhausted, and satisfied that she could do no more, she prepared to leave. As she exchanged her slippers for half-boots and buttoned a warm pelisse over her thin dress, Juliana reflected that if she had ever seriously dreamt of a career on the stage, her experience here would have brought her back to earth quite quickly. The life of an opera dancer involved more gruelling work than she had ever imagined, and even so, few attained the success of the famous Armand Vestris or the graceful Melanie Duval.

  In truth, she would not be too sad when this masquerade was over. Surely Grandpapa would relent within the next few months, by which time the injured dancer whose place she had taken would have returned to the King’s Theatre. But for the time being, Juliana could not help but savor the pleasure that bubbled up in her at having somewhat mastered the jeté. Even the ache in her muscles was a good ache, achieved through hard work that brought her more restful nights than she’d ever experienced in her own ornate bed at Grandpapa’s house. Earning her own keep, moving freely about London without a chaperone, all these things were part of an experience she would always savor.

  She had to admit that even her encounter with Lord Dare last night had been a glorious part of the adventure. Warmth spread through her as she remembered how he had taken her into his arms and kissed her with such slow, spellbinding thoroughness. She reminded herself that she should court no more of his kisses in the future. At least she’d had the good sense to give Lord Dare a rebuff which should prevent any further advances from him.

  As she left the theatre she braced herself, leaning into the wind as she headed down the Haymarket toward Pall Mall.

  “Mademoiselle Lamant.”

  She stopped and found herself looking up at into Lord Dare’s hazel eyes. Today, there was no soft desire shining from those eyes, only a look of determination that made her vaguely uneasy.

  “Milord Dare,” she said with an inclination of the head, and prepared to walk around him.

  “I wish to speak to you,” he said, his broad shoulders blocking her way. She wondered why he spoke English rather than his excellent French, even as his tall, immaculately dressed presence beside her caused her pulse to leap.

  “Pourquoi?” she asked. “Did you not win your wager last night, or has a new one been proposed?”

  “My–my wager? Did you think I kissed you to win a bet?”

  “You did not?”

  “I kissed you because I wished to, and for no other reason.” The fierce sincerity in his voice sent a shudder of excitement through her. She looked down, only to gain an excellent view of his muscular thighs, encased in tightly fitted pale gray pantaloons. She looked back up, hoping he did not see her blush. She could not let this continue.

  “I am flattered, milord,” she said lightly. “But I am afraid I find repeat performances most fatiguing.”

  His shoulders stiffened visibly under his closely tailored black coat.

  “I am not asking for another kiss, Mademoiselle Lamant. I am asking for the truth.”

  “Whatever do you mean, milord?” she asked, looking away from him as she summoned up a carefree smile.

  “I mean that I know you are not what you seem,” he said, lowering his voice.

  She looked back up at him, but did not dare say anything.

  “This is too busy a place to talk,” he said. “Come stroll with me in the park.”

  She nodded and accepted his arm. It felt dangerous to walk beside him so, but she had to learn how much he knew or guessed of her masquerade. In silence, they walked to the juncture of Pall Mall and Cockspur Street, turned left and wound their way toward St. James’ Park. Juliana’s mind raced the whole way. Why had he emphasized her name so? Had he guessed her identity? But how could that be? She was quite certain they had not met before, and he was far too handsome and dashing to be someone Grandpapa had hired to find her.

  As they passed under the first trees of St. James’s Park, Juliana could no longer contain her anxious curiosity.

  “Now, milord Dare, you must tell me what you think you ’ave discovered,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  “I have learned that whatever your name is, it is not Juliette Lamant.”

  “’Ow can you know that?”

  “From what you were so kind to say to me last night. Vous embrassez bon… pour un Anglais.”

  She looked away, assaulted by an unwelcome suspicion.

  “Perhaps you meant to say, Vous embrassez bien…?”

  Blast! Monsieur Dubois, the French master at Miss Stratton’s select school for girls, would be most disappointed if he realized his most avid student had allowed a stranger’s kiss to rob her of her grammar. There was no convincing way to cover up such a slip. Only the truth—a partial truth—would do.

  “Yes, I admit it,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am as English as you are.”

  “But why the pretense?”

  “Is it not obvious? I have made a much greater hit as Mademoiselle Juliette Lamant than I ever could have as—as under my own name.”

  “I think you would make a hit under any name,” he replied, more gently.

  She let out a chuckle, relieved that he accepted her explanation. “No, in truth I am not a good enough dancer.”

  He grinned at her in return. So he was not such a fool as to admire her dancing, although he did seem to admire her. Suddenly, she realized that her situation was still quite precarious. Was Dare the gentleman he seemed?

  “Will you tell me your real name?” he asked. “I do not even know what to call you now.”

  “Mademoiselle Juliette will do,” she replied. “I would rather no one knew my real name. You must realize that my position at the opera is very important to me. The wages are so much higher than at the lesser theatres where I have danced in the past, but if I lose favor with the audience, I could be dismissed. Please, will you keep my secret?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Upon one condition.”

  She stiffened, angry and somehow disappointed. No doubt he wished to make her his mistress. What was she to do now?

  “Don’t you wish to know my condition?” he asked.

  She could not keep the bitterness from her voice as she replied. “I suppose it is the usual. You will keep my secret, and in turn you expect me to reward you with—wit
h private performances upon your request.”

  He suddenly stopped walking, the pressure of his hand on her arm halting her as well. He turned to face her.

  “Do you think I would take such advantage of a lady?”

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Dare,” she said, her heart lightening at his indignant tone. “What is your condition?”

  “You must admit you enjoyed our kiss, at least a little.”

  “Is that all?” she asked, relief and amusement bubbling up inside her. Then she saw from his intent expression that he was not jesting. Did he actually doubt his affect on a woman?

  “Very well, Lord Dare. I did enjoy our kiss,” she said.

  A new smile broke out on his face, lighting his eyes. He had retained his hold on her arm, and now grasped the other as well. Her heart began to pound more quickly again as she battled a sudden, strong urge to take a step forward into his arms, and let him kiss her again. Madness! She could not allow herself to be beguiled once more. Hastily, she slipped from his grasp.

  “You rogue!” she said, trying to smile. “You seek to entice me with your kisses, but you must believe me when I say I am not seeking a lover.”

  “Why not?”

  He seemed surprised, and she realized that her words were out of character for the dashing Mademoiselle Lamant.

  “Lovers can be so fatiguing,” she said with a cynical sigh, as she began to walk again, this time avoiding his proffered arm. “They take all one’s energy with their incessant demands, and then as often as not, abandon one without another thought.”

  “Surely not all gentlemen are so callous with their mistresses?” he asked. He sounded curious, but that could not be. He was probably only hinting that he would behave differently, should she accept a carte blanche from him.

  On her guard, she retorted, “Possibly, but how is one to know that in advance? One of my fellow dancers has lost her position due to just such a gentleman.”