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

by Brenda Hiatt

  “I will be leaving London myself within a few days. Before then, I should like to know that you are out of Verwood’s reach. Are you certain your friend in the country can provide you with a safe refuge?”

  “Yes,” she replied, pretending a confidence she did not feel. She knew Catherine would welcome her, but would Catherine’s respectable husband extend his protection as well? If he did not, she might have to return to Grandpapa. She felt chilled, now that half the room separated her from Dare. Suddenly the thought of a future without him held little appeal.

  “If you wish, I will escort you back to your lodgings tomorrow so that you can prepare for your journey.”

  “Thank you,” she said, grateful for his unspoken promise of protection.

  “It is nothing,” he replied, going over to the mantel. From it, he picked up a small, dark box that had escaped her notice earlier. “Please sit down. I have something for you.”

  She sat back down on the chaise longue. He sat back down beside her and handed her the box, which she now saw was a small jewelry case.

  “I cannot accept this,” she said on impulse, holding it toward him. He recoiled, and she wondered if she had given herself away. Surely Mademoiselle Juliette always accepted such gifts from her gentlemen friends.

  “I expect nothing from you in exchange,” he said, almost roughly.

  She relaxed slightly. Still, it would not be right to take it from him.

  “It is a mere trifle,” he insisted. “Take it, and remember me when you wear it.”

  His words reminded her that he would be leaving England soon. That she might never see him again.

  The firelight clearly illuminated his profile. She thought the faint lines around his eyes and mouth that pain had etched onto his young, aristocratic features had deepened. She remembered what his foolish friends had said about his mysterious occupation. Was he planning to leave for the Continent on some mission of secret diplomacy? Could his life be in peril?

  He was still waiting for her to open the jewelry case, so she obliged him. Sapphires and diamonds in a delicate brooch shaped like a spray of flowers shone up at her from the dark velvet case. He could not have chosen anything more beautiful, or that suited her better.

  “It is lovely,” she said, “but I would think of you even if I did not have it.”

  “I am glad.”

  “Where are you going? What will you do there?” She could not help but ask the questions.

  “I cannot say.”

  “When will you return to London?”

  “I cannot say. Perhaps never.”

  So it was true. He was leaving on some dangerous errand, from which he might not return. Instinctively, she moved closer to him. He put an arm around her, lightly brushing her bare arm.

  “Oh, Juliette,” he whispered, leaning his face against her hair. “I wish I knew your real name.”

  “I wish I could tell you,” she said, moving her head, making the mistake of looking in his eyes, darkened with suppressed passion.

  Then he pressed her close, kissing her with an ardor even greater than their earlier kisses at the theatre. Overcome with warmth and champagne and the bitter feeling that they were soon to part, she returned his caresses. Greedily, desperately she twined her tongue with his, but glorious as their kiss was, still she hungered for more. Tears pricked her eyes as he finally released her lips.

  “Be my love tonight, Juliette,” he whispered.

  She could not even speak, but summoned up the last shreds of her self control and shook her head.

  “I cannot.”

  “If you are concerned, I have the means to prevent… consequences.”

  A few weeks ago, she might not have understood what he meant, but she had learned much from her fellow dancers. To make love without consequences… No, it was impossible. Once she had thought they could kiss without consequences, but she had been wrong. Now she knew that every intimacy would only strengthen her attachment to him, and deepen the pain of their parting.

  She did not want to care so much.

  “Please. All I ask is one evening of beauty and passion and pleasure. I may not have such an opportunity again.”

  The longing in his voice pierced her to the core. Perhaps it was love, heightened by the sort of desperation a soldier felt on the eve of battle. How could she deny him? And yet, how could she comply, inexperienced as she was?

  “What do you wish from me?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “Let us pretend we are young lovers, that we have not known any others. Let us explore each other as if it were our first time.”

  Our first time. Was this some sort of game he enjoyed? But no, there was a desperate urgency in his voice, and she found herself melting. How could she walk away now, when he offered her the greatest adventure of her life? How could she part from him, tomorrow, knowing that she had denied him what might be a final glimpse of joy before he faced his fate, whatever it was?

  She leaned forward and gave him his answer in a kiss. He encircled her in his arms for a moment, then gently pushed her down until she arched back against the large, soft bolster on her end of the chaise longue. Realizing she still held the jewelry box, she set it carefully down on the carpet under the sofa. Dare lifted her legs up, then lay down beside her and kissed her again. As they lay, touching from head to foot, she knew there was no turning back. She only hoped he would not stop when he discovered her innocence.

  He kissed her ear, her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat. She gasped as his long fingers caressed her shoulders, parting the sides of her bodice, pushing down the twining leaves and pale gauze of her costume until he had bared her almost to the waist. He raised up on one elbow to gaze at her. Instinctively, she raised a hand to cover herself.

  “Let me look at you, love.”

  Feeling as if her entire body blushed, she lowered her hand. Dare watched her longingly, almost as if he had never seen a lady’s body before. But it must be part of his fantasy. He probably thought her own modest gesture part of the game as well.

  To cover her confusion, she raised a hand to loosen his cravat. He stopped her, holding her hand in his.

  “Wait, my darling,” he murmured. “I wish to please you first.”

  He captured her lips again, then released them to press his own hotly against the base of her throat. Then, with a slowness that was at once a torture and a delight, he trailed kisses down her chest, touching and tasting all the tender, sensitive flesh he had exposed earlier. She gasped with pleasure, first at the heat of his mouth, then at the cooler air that wafted over her as he lifted his head away from her.

  “That did not hurt, did it?” he asked.

  She shook her head, amused. He was pretending again. Surely he knew the pleasure he gave her.

  He kissed her again. Now his hand roved over her, gliding down her stomach, down her legs. Then back up, sliding the flimsy fabric of her skirt up between her legs. Blushing, she closed her legs, but he soothed her with sweet, soft whispered endearments. Slowly, she opened herself to him, every muscle taut with anticipation of what might come next.

  After an agonizing moment, he moved his hand, slowly pushing her dress aside, then beginning a slow, feather-light exploration that stoked her hunger for even more intimate caresses. She moaned. He paused, and she pushed herself against his hand, shocked at her own boldness. He continued to stroke and tickle and tease until the pleasure became almost unbearable. She twisted, turning away from him, caught between his firm body and the low back of the chaise longue, but as quickly turned back, ravenous for more. She put up a hand to stifle a sudden cry, and once again he soothed her in a soft whisper.

  “Cry out if you wish, love. I want to know if I please you.”

  He caressed her again, using his fingers to wicked effect. As he touched and searched, each spot seemed more sensitive than the last. A frantic hunger possessed her, causing her to twist and push against him, seeking ever greater heights of pleasure. She closed her eye
s and threw an arm around him, desperate to hold onto something. A sudden ecstasy shook her to the core, and she could no longer hold back her cries.

  She came back to herself, slowly, awed by the power of what she had just experienced. She opened her eyes and looked at Dare. He was smiling, looking absurdly delighted at having brought her to such a peak. The joy in his eyes deepened as he continued to gaze at her.

  “Take me with you,” she said.

  He stared at her in astonishment, and she wondered what madness had prompted her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take me with you, away from London,” she repeated, with growing confidence. Surely this was meant to be. She could not go back to the opera; she had no wish to go back to her previous life. Why not share in the adventures that awaited Dare? Perhaps she could even help him somehow.

  He shook his head, but his voice was hoarse as he replied. “I wish I could, but I cannot. All we have is this night.”

  He laid his head against her breast and held her against him, running a hand gently along her back. Then he began to kiss her again. She put her arm back around him, and his touch became less gentle, more insistent as he traced her contours, pressing her against him so closely that she heard his quickened breath, sensed his growing excitement. She shivered a little, wanting him to take his pleasure, too. Dare lowered her onto her back, and began to caress her intimately again. A renewed hunger took hold of her. He was so skilled. She relaxed, knowing all would be well.

  Suddenly, Dare lifted his head.

  Juliana noticed muffled sounds. The butler’s voice, raised in protest, mingled with the deeper tones of another man and the higher notes of several ladies. They were all coming closer.

  Dare got up, looking angrily toward the door. Juliana sat up, bereft of Dare’s warmth, her passion draining away at the thought of being observed by strangers. With trembling fingers, she rearranged her dress to cover herself as much as possible.

  The door opened.

  “Why shouldn’t he receive us? What is it? Is he drunk?” a voice bellowed, and Juliana realized at least one of Dare’s visitors was no stranger. Why would Lord Plumbrook come here of all places?

  She dove down behind the back of the chaise longue. Perhaps she could hide while Dare diverted his visitors elsewhere. Holding her breath, she listened to the butler make one final attempt to repel the visitors. She peeked up at Dare, in time to see the stunned expression on his face as one word fell from his lips.

  “Mama!”

  Chapter Nine

  Juliana huddled quietly behind the low, curved back of the chaise longue, horrified at the prospect of being discovered in such a position, not only by Lord and Lady Plumbrook, but by Dare’s mother as well.

  “Yes, dear Marcus, it is I,” answered the sweet, cultured voice she had heard earlier.

  There was a rustle of skirts, and Juliana realized Dare’s mother must be coming forward to embrace her son. Swiftly, Dare moved away from the chaise longue.

  “What is going on here?” his mother asked. “The roses, the champagne… Ah! You have a lady-love here with you! How wonderful for you, my darling! But so dreadful of us to interrupt you. My friends, we must leave them alone at once!”

  Juliana’s mind reeled at this speech. The lady sounded positively delighted.

  “You may think this is wonderful, ma’am,” said Lord Plumbrook. “Have you thought of the consequences if the wrong parties get wind of this?”

  “My dear Margaret, Plummy is right,” added a voice Juliana recognized as Lady Plumbrook’s. “If word were to get round, all our plans could come to naught.”

  What plans? Juliana wondered. How could Lord and Lady Plumbrook possibly be involved in any scheme involving Dare?

  “I am afraid the plan you so kindly proposed has failed already,” replied Dare, a grim note in his voice. “Now, perhaps, we could retreat to my study to discuss the matter?”

  Juliana breathed a prayer that they would all fall in with Dare’s suggestion and she could leave the house without being discovered. She had no idea where to go now, but she would think of something, anything to escape this insane situation.

  Before anyone could reply, more voices were heard from the hall. The butler’s voice again raised in protest. And then, Grandpapa’s. Dear heaven! He must have traced her here somehow. She tensed, hearing more footsteps come over the threshold.

  “Good evening, my lords, my ladies,” said Grandpapa, in a hurried greeting. The anxiety in his voice tugged at Juliana. “I would not disturb you all at such an hour were it not that I have received some frightening news.”

  “It is not something to do with—with the letter you wrote us about dear Juliana, is it?” asked Lady Plumbrook nervously.

  “I am afraid it is. Today, Lord Amberley discovered the truth, that she has run away. Now I have just received a missive from a Lord Verwood informing me that she has been masquerading as a dancer at the King’s Theatre, and has now been foolish enough to run off with a gentleman of dubious reputation.”

  “Verwood!” exclaimed the Plumbrooks in unison.

  “An opera dancer?” asked Dare, in an odd, strangled voice.

  Juliana cringed. She could no longer see his face, but there was no doubt that he now suspected her identity.

  A short pause ensued, broken by Lady Plumbrook.

  “Mr. Hutton, Lord Verwood is one of the most notorious rakes in London,” said Lady Plumbrook, sounding puzzled. “I am surprised he did not run off with her himself.”

  “It is said,” replied her husband, “that Verwood maintains his style of living by blackmailing persons of wealth who have secrets they wish to hide.”

  “Good God!” said Grandpapa. “But scandal is not the worst I have to fear. If what Verwood says is true, Juliana may be in the clutches of an even more dangerous rake. Verwood wrote that the gentleman calls himself Lord Dare, but Verwood doubts that is his true name.”

  “Is this why you have come here tonight?” asked Dare, his voice still sounding taut and strange.

  “I’ve come because that dolt from Bow Street claims he saw the tall dancer who pretends to be French ride away in a carriage with the Amberley crest. But I doubt—”

  “Amberley!” The name escaped Juliana’s lips before she could stop herself.

  Another brief silence ensued.

  “Who is that? Show yourself,” Grandpapa demanded hoarsely.

  She heard muffled footsteps on the carpet coming closer, and knew it was useless to hide any longer. She got up and turned to face Grandpapa, steeling herself for his ire. A collective gasp echoed faintly through the room, and Juliana blushed, realizing what a shocking an appearance she must present.

  For a moment everyone stared at her. She met Dare’s gaze. His eyes were wide with shock and consternation.

  No, not Dare’s eyes. Amberley’s.

  As she struggled to make sense of what had just happened, he moved his hand as if to remove his coat, perhaps to give it to her, and then stopped, apparently realizing he no longer wore it. Then the tall, graceful lady beside him rushed over to Juliana and draped a shawl around her shoulders.

  “My dear Miss Hutton, I am so delighted to meet you. I am Mrs. Redwyck, Marcus’s mother,” she said, a comforting smile on her face.

  Juliana pulled the shawl around her, a sense of disaster conquering her ability to think. She looked to Grandpapa. His expression was grim.

  “Good God, look at you, child!” he said. “What have you done with your face? Your hair? You look like a veritable trollop! How could you do such a thing?”

  She lifted her chin and met his gaze. Defiant words came to her lips, but then she saw the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, eyes she’d never seen shed tears before.

  “Oh, Grandpapa,” she cried, and ran into his arms. He pulled her into an awkward but warm embrace.

  “My little Juliana,” he murmured. “Thank Heaven you are safe. Why did you run away?”

  She
lifted her face, her resolve returning. “I did not mean to worry you so, but I had to prove to you that I could fend for myself. I could not marry Lord Amberley—”

  She disengaged herself, and turned to stare at Dare. Amberley.

  “You!” she exploded. “You knew, did you not? It was all a scheme, a plot to get me here and compromise me so I would have no choice but to marry you!”

  “I did not know,” he insisted, but she knew better than to trust his air of candor.

  “You must have, but how did you find out? How did I give myself away?”

  “I tell you I did not know who you were!”

  “If you did not, why did you call yourself Lord Dare?”

  “Yes, why?” asked Grandpapa. “Perhaps you will tell me how it comes that you and my granddaughter are here, alone, at such an hour?”

  Juliana relaxed slightly as she watched Amberley pause, struggling to think of a satisfactory answer. Perhaps now Grandpapa would support her resolution not to marry the rogue.

  Then Lord Plumbrook cleared his throat, drawing attention away from Amberley.

  “He rescued her from Lord Verwood, of course,” he said, once they were all looking at him.

  Grandpapa looked sharply at Lord Plumbrook, then at Amberley.

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Lord Verwood certainly tried to take Miss Hutton with him after the opera,” said Amberley slowly. “As she was clearly unwilling, I could not help but intervene.”

  “Why did you call yourself Lord Dare?”

  Amberley paused before replying. “Friends invited me to accompany them to the theatre, and to the Green Room where the dancers practice. I did not wish to cause you or Miss Hutton embarrassment by letting it be known that I visited such a place while I am thought to be courting her.”