by D. L. Carter
* * *
He pulled her close against his chest, even as his breath heaved and body shuddered in the aftermath of pleasure. He thought at first the vibration rising from her chest was laughter, then choked on his own amusement when he realized she was purring.
“Again cats, Mr. North?”
Now she laughed.
“What better guide, have we? Cats, when well petted, purr.”
* * *
Early the next morning, dressed only in a borrowed powdering gown, Millicent picked up her silk dress, then dropped it in disgust.
“Whatever is the problem?” asked Shoffer from the other side of the room where he was wrestling with his cravat.
“I cannot go home dressed like this,” cried Millicent. “It is morning already. My staff will be up and about and, even with my own key to the door, I am sure to be spotted. Can you imagine the fuss?”
“Yet another reason why Mr. North must die,” muttered Shoffer, running his hand over his stubbly chin.
“Leave off that nonsense, Shoffer; it will not happen.” Millicent again lifted her dress, still staring at Shoffer. “That is not the same shirt you wore last night.”
“Of course not. I am in the habit of leaving a change of clothing…” he stopped and raised both hands. “No. No, Millicent. I will not give you my clothing.”
“Why ever not? They will be of finer make than my usual clothing and it will not matter that they do not fit. Mr. North never appears in tailored clothing, anyway.”
While Shoffer stuttered protests Millicent walked past him into the dressing room. The main armoire was occupied by half a dozen women’s dresses of different styles and colors – the sizes were much the same, which told Millicent that Shoffer usually chose women of smaller stature than herself, but better endowed about the bosom. In the corner were a chest and a trunk containing Shoffer’s clothing. It was the work of a moment for her to locate small clothes, linens, and a suitable set of evening clothes. The only problem she was left with was shoes. Somehow it had never been necessary for Shoffer to leave shoes behind. She dithered for a moment about wearing her evening slippers, then decided not. Going about in her socks was unusual, but she could explain that she had ruined the shoes somehow. No one would care about that. But appearing in women’s shoes? No, that would start rumors she sincerely feared.
Shoffer was standing in the middle of the room scowling at the floor when she emerged from the dressing room attired in his clothing.
“I want you to know I disapprove of this,” he said.
“Of my borrowing your clothes or the masquerade?”
“Both!”
Millicent laughed. “And yesterday, when I was Mr. North, you trusted me to stand guard over your sister, your most precious treasure. You are a hypocrite, Your Grace. My deception may be an inconvenience to you, but as it is life and liberty to me, I suggest that if it offends you so much, you just do not look!”
Shoffer gave her his back, his face thunderous. A rattle on the cobbles outside had them both turning to the window.
“My carriage is here. Come along, I will drop you off at your home.”
“I think not, Your Grace. ‘Twould attract comment from your staff here if you arrive in the night with a woman and depart in the morning with a man, and from my staff if we arrive together after a night of dissipation. No. I will find my own way home. But, if I might request it, please make a fuss as you depart and attract the attention of all of your staff. Have them join you in the front hall so I may slip out the back.”
“You cannot travel through London unattended!”
Millicent sighed. “Shoffer, you turned not a hair when I traveled the length and breadth of England alone this summer. Kindly, do not be more of a fool than me.”
Shoffer snarled, then left the room without another word. Millicent folded her mother’s wig into the evening dress and searched the room for something in which to carry the bundle. She found a pile of brown paper sheets and string in the bottom drawer of a chest. Her head came up as she heard Shoffer’s roar from the front of the house. Snatching up the paper she hurried from the room and down the servant’s stair. She stopped and clung to the shadows while the maid-of-all-work hurried past, obviously confused at being summoned to the front of the house. Once that lady was gone Millicent dashed through the servant’s area out into the tiny back yard. It was a well maintained garden, as she expected for one of the duke’s properties and the hinges on the gate that lead to the mews were well oiled. Cursing the cold ground and the dew that rapidly soaked through her socks, Millicent hopped from foot to foot as she roughly wrapped up her precious dress and wig; then she crept away down the mews. She emerged in time to see the rear of Shoffer’s carriage as it rattled away.
Clutching her package as if it contained nothing important and trying to walk as if she were indeed well shod Millicent started off in search of a hackney.
She was cursing her pride by the time she reached home two hours later, soaked to the skin by a sudden rain shower, footsore, tired, and wounded in her heart.
* * *
When she was safely behind her bedchamber door, she stripped to the skin and stood naked before her mirror. Strange that her body should be so unfamiliar to her this morning, as if the act of loving had transformed her. She studied her face and eyes intently seeking some sign – a knowing look or wanton gleam – to mark her as a fallen woman. There was none. Indeed, once she was bathed and dressed in Mr. North’s attire, no one could see the little bruises on her neck, the glowing red abrasion across her breasts. But she knew. She knew she was changed. These last few months, she had entertained herself with imagining receiving affection, acknowledgement of her femininity from Shoffer, usually in the form of a kiss. Since she possessed little knowledge of kisses until last night, her imaginings were rather unsatisfying. Not so the actual act. Even now, remembering was enough to melt her hidden core and set it to painful longings. She wrapped her arms about her chest and squeezed, remembering the strength of his embrace, the hunger aroused by the weight of his body on hers. Her breath hitched and quickened and her body warmed. There was no denying she wanted again to experience last night’s passion, but it was dangerous beyond all consideration.
The risk was not worth the price.
She would have to be strong and deny herself and him repeated pleasure.
Oh, but it hurt. It hurt. She sank to the floor, hugging herself, refusing to give in to the tears that burned her eyes and throat.
She had hungered for so long to know the ecstasy of Shoffer’s touch and now that she had experienced it, the memory was intolerable.
She had loved him before as a virgin, now she loved him as a woman, with a woman’s full knowledge of all that was possible.
In the eyes of the world she was a man, and necessity demanded she remain a man.
She would. There was no other choice. She would care for her family. At the price of her own happiness, she would ensure theirs.
* * *
It seemed to Shoffer that he had spent the whole year in a dream. Nothing he had considered real or true was so. That he had been deceived to such a degree when he was accustomed to considering himself clear-eyed and perceptive stunned him, and now, to discover how completely he had been deceived? Intolerable.
He had gone to bed as soon as he had returned home, expecting to lie wakeful and in turmoil, but instead had fallen into a dreamless sleep that had lasted until evening.
After he had bathed and eaten in a leisurely fashion he had sent a message to Maricourt Place requesting Mr. North attend him. His intention was to lecture the stubborn Millicent Boarder until she finally saw sense, but to his consternation his messenger had returned with the news that the Boarder family and Mr. North were attending the Jensen-Smythe ball and had already departed.
He was out of the house, dressed for the evening, within a quarter hour – leaving his stunned valet in his wake. On arrival at the ball, where he had not been expected, h
e had been little better than rude to his hostess in his impatience to locate Millicent.
Shoffer charged from one overcrowded room to another, ignoring everyone who tried to catch his attention.
He found the object of his search, again attired as Mr. North, holding forth to a group of wallflowers and a few gentlemen who were attracted by the laughter. Shoffer halted and stood to watch Millicent cast her spell.
It was amazing, now he was in on the secret, how clear it was that Millicent was no ordinary man. The movement of her hands was too graceful, her manner cheerful and all encompassing. She made no attempt to cut out other gentlemen to increase her own status, but included them in her humor. Her attention to the needs of wallflowers should shout for all to hear that this was a gentle lady trying to advance the cause of less bold and less favored ladies, and yet, no one could see.
He shook his head. Blind. They were all blind. It was incomprehensible. It astonished him and, then again, it did not. The masquerade was masterful. The costume, all things considered, perfect. No one looking at Mr. North would ever think that “he” was anything other than a unique individual, but still a man.
Her audience was captivated. Shoffer stepped closer to stand behind her just as she wound her way to the end of a joke.
“… his wallpaper was Chinese silk and there was an Egyptian sarcophagus in the corner. Statues of Greek and Roman gods stood on pedestals all about the room and he was wearing French fashions and drinking scotch whiskey. He pounded himself on the chest and declared to me, “I am proud to be an Englishman,” and I thought, ‘Pray, sir, how am I to tell?’”
The wallflowers tittered behind their fans and the gentlemen laughed whether they understood the joke or not, such was the power of Mr. North’s reputation. Millicent turned her head, catching the opening bars of the next set.
“Ah, I distract you. Surely, these gentlemen have come to claim their dances. I apologize for monopolizing the ladies.”
She bowed and stepped back leaving the gentlemen face to face with hopeful wallflowers. The ploy had worked yet again. Shoffer watched a smug smile cross Millicent’s lips as she watched the pairings.
The stunned gentlemen dithered and muttered, but could not escape. No. They were surrounded by steely eyed mothers and soft, willing virgins before they could gather their wits. Introductions were provided. Offers were made and accepted and the wallflowers were led onto the dance floor. Millicent glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at the duke.
“I knew you were there,” she said. “I could sense your presence. Why did you not join us?”
Shoffer shook his head at her. “I came to rescue you.”
Her eyes opened in surprise.
“From what? The ton? I thought you had realized by now I have them all well in hand.”
“From … from exposure.”
Millicent laughed, a deep husky laugh that to Shoffer was seductive and reminiscent of the bedroom, but apparently to all others little more than a gentleman’s ordinary laugh.
“Ah,” still smiling Millicent lowered her voice. “Poor Shoffer, now that your eyes are opened, you think I am exposed to the general throng? No, my dear sir, as you see the mask is still in place.”
“I cannot decide if that pleases me or not.” His voice sounded petulant even to himself.
“It pleases me.” Hands clasped behind her back Millicent took her place at Shoffer’s side and they began to stride about the room as they had so many times before, watching the ranks of dancers prance and dip their way across the floor. “I will not give it up, Shoffer. I gave the matter serious thought today. Believe it or not, I enjoy it. There is a freedom in being a man that is addictive. Once I tasted the privilege of being able to walk down a street alone, go across country unattended, and of being treated with respect rather than condescension at inns and shops, I determined that I had no wish to give it up.”
“And what of us?” Shoffer said softly, nodding distantly to an acquaintance.
A pained shadow crossed Millicent’s face and she struggled not to turn and throw herself into his arms. Instead, she smiled at yet another matron who simpered and curtsied in response, then fluttered and gossiped with her friends, pleased to have received Mr. North’s notice.
“We remain friends, I hope.”
“We cannot,” whispered Shoffer. “You know there is foul gossip circulating about us and while people fear to cut me, your cousins’ status will suffer.”
“There will be less gossip when I depart London. Attelweir and his friends will consider they have won. You will continue to protect your sister, so my aid is not required. I grieve to yield the ground to them, but I must. Felicity and the girls are not important enough to cut so their consequence will not suffer.”
Shoffer pulled her into an alcove. The ducal stare was enough to keep all others at a suitable distance. Millicent attempted to leave his side, but was pulled back.
“You do nothing to reduce the gossip by acting this way, Shoffer,” she said shaking his hand off her arm and glaring at him.
“Be damned to them all,” Shoffer hissed. “What of us? I want to be again with Millicent.”
“Do not say that name,” hissed Millicent. “She is dead.”
“Then how shall I name her … you?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Call me … call her Helene Winthrop, if you must.”
“Will this Helene protest your assumption of her name?”
“I think not. Helene was one of my mother’s cousins from Cornwall. She died about the same time as my father.”
“Another lie. Lie upon lie,” Shoffer swore and clenched his fists at his sides. “Each one necessary to conceal the greatest lie. I wonder why I ever considered you an honest man.”
“Well, therein is your essential problem,” said Millicent calmly. “I am neither.”
Against his will and despite his anger, Shoffer laughed.
“Oh, very well. When shall I see Helene?”
“Never.” Millicent stared up at him, her eyes clear of tears by willpower alone. “I thought I was clear. We would be together one night only. I shall be leaving London in a few days. My … Felicity does not know why and she is less than pleased, but they have enough invitations to keep them busy for the rest of the season. I have left them money enough to enjoy themselves, so she has no good reason to complain.”
“Be damned to your cousins, North. What of … Helene and me? I have no wish to end the liaison after only one night.”
“You will have to learn to live with the pain,” Millicent’s eyes grew sad, “as shall she.”
“That is not satisfactory, at all.” Shoffer turned his back to those curious persons in the ballroom. “I wish to continue a relationship with … Helene. Surely, one night was not enough for her. Especially after she has declared her love for me.”
“You are the oddest person, Your Grace,” said Millicent, smiling despite the stab of pain to her heart. “Surely a man in your position would run a hundred miles rather than continue to spend time with a mistress who has professed her love?”
“Love? Good heavens, Your Grace,” came a voice from the other side of the concealing house plant. “I had not thought any lady had caught your eye this season!”
Millicent’s heart stuttered as panic caught her breath in her throat. How much had the listener heard? Who was it?
Shoffer spun to face the intruder, effectively blocking Millicent’s view of the ballroom. She slapped at his shoulder to no effect. Silence stretched, which made her suspect Shoffer was subjecting the interloper to the ducal stare. Her suspicion was confirmed when she heard stammering and stuttering.
“Do you have something to say that I wish to hear, Wentworth?” asked Shoffer.
Maude’s suitor. Millicent’s stomach unclenched. That little weasel was so self-concerned that he would pay little mind to other people’s troubles.
Still, Wentworth’s presence was annoying. Shoffer was as aware as Millicent of the youth’
s pathetic courtship of Maude and was just as offended. The boy had to have some spine to still be standing there having endured the ducal stare.
“I was hoping to have private speech with Mr. North, regarding his cousin,” stammered Wentworth.
“Oh? Well, here he is.” Shoffer stepped to one side permitting Millicent to see Wentworth for the first time. “Are not such private conversations traditionally conducted in a gentleman’s study during the daylight hours? I was not aware that they were conducted in public venues.”
Wentworth had the grace to blush. “Please do not misunderstand. It is not that conversation, exactly.” He met Millicent’s eye. “If I might have a moment of your time?”
Millicent folded her arms across her chest. “I do not know that I wish to speak to you, Wentworth, on any subject. I do know that my cousin is saddened by the mere mention of your name. Why should I subject myself to your company?”
“Please? Sir, it may not be important to you, but it is life’s breath to me.”
The youth went paler and looked, to Millicent’s older and wiser eye, near to tears with some soul deep distress. Very poetic, to be sure, but not much use.
Millicent groaned and glanced toward the ceiling. “Dear God, spare me from… Oh, very well. Come along. Shoffer, do you have any suggestions where this gentleman might have private speech with me?”
Shoffer considered the request. The card room would be crowded and any stray corner at this hour of the night was likely to be occupied by those determined to engage in a little scandalous activity.
“The garden it will have to be,” Shoffer declared. “Thank God it is not raining.”
Shoffer gestured toward the nearest French window leading out onto the terrace. Millicent led off, followed by Wentworth. To that young man’s increasing distress, Shoffer trailed along behind. Millicent permitted herself a small smile. There was no way Wentworth would be able to summon the spine to dismiss a duke should he choose to join the conversation.