by Lavinia Kent
What was she doing? Isabella wanted to stop and run, but her feet kept moving. How dare he be hunting for another conquest when he had only left her bed that morning? It didn’t matter that they’d fought, didn’t matter that she’d run. He should not be doing this.
If he did realize who she was—she didn’t think he had, yet—then she did not want him to connect her to Annie. She had spoken as quietly as she could, investing her voice with an exaggerated upper-crust accent she had not used since she first fled London.
Her lips were dry. Her whole mouth was dry. Was she really going to do this?
There was no way she could resist one last kiss. It might be unwise, it was unwise, but she could not leave now.
They stepped out onto the terrace, the hot summer air cooling rapidly as twilight fell. The crowd was almost as tightly packed here as it had been on the dance floor. She spotted several couples peering about as if looking for their own darkened corner.
A faint breeze blew across the yard, causing an almost audible sigh from everyone. Isabella started to turn toward it when she realized several of the gentlemen were staring at her. She dropped her gaze. The wind had lifted the panels of her dress, revealing her leg to midthigh. Clenching her fingers, she fought the urge to pull everything back together. Instead she lifted her chin and met each gentleman’s eyes in turn. She pursed her lips, ran a hand down her side, pulling the fabric tight.
“Let’s go back in.” Mark was not pleased with the attention she was getting.
“I am only letting them look.” She kept her voice pitched low, as quiet as she could manage. “There’s never harm in looking.” In truth, she was suddenly feeling very powerful. It was amazing what feeling desirable could do—desirable and in control.
That was why she’d said yes to Mark, invited the kiss.
She wanted his lips upon her own one more time—but also, she wanted to feel wanted, wanted to know that she was something special. She might be angry that he was looking for another so quickly, but when the other he chose was she it caused a tingle to run the line of her spine. Out of a ballroom full of beauties in scant dress, he had chosen her.
“It is not looking I am interested in—either mine or theirs.” He sounded firm, but his arm was pulling her from view.
She leaned closer to him. “I rather thought you liked looking. I can’t believe that it was my sterling wit that drew you before I had even opened my mouth.”
They entered the ballroom again, avoiding the dance floor. He pulled her closer as couples swirled by. “Would you like to dance again?” he asked.
It was a hard decision. Years, if not decades, could pass before she had another chance to dance. “Would you be disappointed if I said yes?”
“I cannot promise you more than another dance without raising gossip.”
“Ah, but that is the joy of a masquerade. How will anyone know how many dances are with me, and not them?” She tilted her head toward the edge of the floor where the two other Graces stood a few yards from each other. It was lucky the terrace had been crowded. She’d promised Annie she’d stay in sight until twelve-thirty. Forgetting her friend because of Mark would be very poor form.
Mark laughed, a low rumble deep in his throat. “I hadn’t even noticed them. I thought you were a goddess.”
“Is it a letdown to find yourself with only a Grace?”
“Not at all.” He looked across at the other two. “It’s strange, you look identical and yet I feel no desire to sweep either of them into a dark hall.”
Was it really her he was drawn to? It seemed impossible, but then it seemed impossible that he did not know her when she had known him instantly. Again her mind told her to flee, but she held tight to his arm. “I am awaiting that dance.”
“I do believe a new one is starting.” He led her out onto the floor.
This time it was a simple country dance, fast, but precise. And fun. So gloriously fun and carefree.
Her breathing was heavy by the time the music stopped and she let him lead her toward the refreshments table. She didn’t care what was offered as long as it was cold.
Champagne. She’d only had champagne once before. Accepting the fine crystal glass, she raised it to her lips. Cold. Bubbles. The sharp tang. Another sip. She drained the glass. Mark offered her another.
She shouldn’t, but this was not a night for shouldn’ts. It felt as if the bubbles were filling her brain, making each moment more wonderful than the last.
He leaned near her, his breath brushing her neck. “I want to kiss you more than ever. I want to taste the wine on your lips, feel your pleasure in each new experience.”
She pulled back, stared at him. His face was almost hidden by the scowling mask. Only his lips, soft and full, lay revealed. “Do you speak to every woman in that fashion? You must have quite the reputation.”
He ran his thumb across her bare palm. “No.”
She wanted him to say more, to whisper more sweet nothings—but who was he whispering them to, to Isabella, or to a stranger at a ball? She took another sip from her glass, playing for time. She didn’t know what she wanted—or she knew, but wasn’t sure it was what she should do. “I don’t believe you.”
“You should. I never lie.”
She knew better than that. She would not be in this situation if he’d told her he was a duke from the start—not that he’d lied exactly. She glanced at the clock. Soon Annie would be back and it would be time to leave. Her Cinderella moment would be finished. “Let us dance again.”
“If that is your pleasure.” They slowly walked back toward the dance floor.
A portly man slid in front of them, a slight wobble to his stance. “I think it’s my turn to escort the lady. It’s unfair to hold on to the pretty ones.”
“Forgive me, sir,” Mark answered, “but I do believe you are speaking of my wife. Have care what you say.” His hand dropped to his belt. “This sword may be only a toy, but I assure you I can have very real steel in hand by dawn.”
His wife? Why had he said that? Why did it send a quiver of hope straight to her heart?
The man turned and left without another word.
“Sorry about that, it seemed the easiest way to get rid of him. And as you said earlier, nobody will be able to connect us later. Even I may not recognize you in the morning.” Mark turned and looked at her, his lips drawing tight. “You’re not married, are you?”
“Would I have told you I was willing to kiss you if I was?”
“I would hope not.” He did not sound sure.
She was about to assure him that she had never wed when she suddenly remembered who she was supposed to be. Annie most certainly was wed. What of the other two? If only Annie had told her something more. Surely at least one of them had remained single. She refused to lie. “No, I have never married.”
“You sound sad.”
“Is it not every woman’s dream to marry?”
She had meant the question facetiously, but Mark replied in utmost seriousness. “In my experience, no. Many women seem to marry out of duty or desperation, not desire.”
There was great truth to that. She had seen many women in her time in service who had accepted a ring because they saw no other option. From the time she had been little, however, Isabella had always dreamed of marriage and family. It was her sister who had tried to avoid the state. Although Violet seemed quite happy with Lord Peter now. “Will it be off-putting if I say that I had always hoped to marry and have children? I can think of nothing I would like more.”
“I will wish that for you, then. You do seem the type who deserves to have her dreams come true.”
“But not with you.”
Oh dear, that had shocked him. She was forgetting where they were, forgetting he did not know her—or at least claimed not to. It was odd. She could say things to him that she never could have if they were face-to-face, but she never could have said them at all if she had not known him so well. It left her feeling there was no cl
ear path.
He chuckled, clearly trying to make her words a joke. “No, not with me, unless you’re the daughter of an earl. I’ve been informed I must not marry lower than that.”
“How about the granddaughter of an earl?”
“Hmm, perhaps with impeccable character. Someone well loved and respected by all of society.”
It was her turn to try for humor. “I did just agree to kiss you behind a potted palm. I am afraid that does rather cry against impeccable character.”
“I am glad we are back to the kissing. I would not want you to think I had forgotten.”
“You’ve danced with me twice, walked with me on the terrace, and fetched me champagne—and you are a man who is not thinking of marriage. No, I was not worried you had forgotten the kissing.”
“I am afraid that we can no longer hide behind the tree. The spot has been taken.”
Surely not. “Oh dear, you are correct. Do you think they realize how clearly they can be seen? Surely he would not put his hand there if he did.”
“I am afraid, my dear, that anytime a man gets a chance to put his hand there he will. I am not sure the presence of the angel Gabriel would stop him.”
“So I should expect you to put your hand there?”
“If presented with the opportunity.”
The clock from the hallway struck. Oh dear, Annie would return at any moment and it would not do for there to be four Graces. She glanced at Mark from the corner of her eye. This was the moment. What was she going to do? She should make an excuse and depart, never to be seen again. She would not go without her kiss. She deserved that, at least. “I am feeling a little faint. Perhaps you would escort me to get some air?”
“Out there?” He looked toward the terrace.
“There are too many people. I fear it may be hotter than in here. Perhaps there will be a quiet room off the main hall, a parlor or sitting room?”
Mark offered his arm again and his companion strolled beside him as they made their way around the edge of the ballroom and out into the hall. It was amazing being at a masquerade, the anonymity that allowed those things that otherwise would have been questioned.
“I do not know your name,” he said as they left everyone else behind and walked toward the dark back of the house.
She stopped near a closed door, slipping away and pressing her back against it. He heard a click as she pushed down on the handle. The door eased open a crack. Only blackness lay beyond. “Do you need to?”
The door opened and she slipped through.
He followed. “It would seem the natural thing. Should I light a lamp?”
“I think not. Darkness allows even more freedom than masks. I can only hope we are alone.”
He laughed. “Yes, I do hope so. This is not a moment to be shared.”
The door clicked behind them as he pulled it closed. “Perhaps I should open the curtains—let in just a touch of moonlight.”
“No.”
“Why? It is a bit off-putting to not even know what room we are in.”
He heard her breath catch. “I believe I heard somebody say there was a conservatory that overlooked the back garden. This must be it.”
“Well, don’t you think we should see so that we’re sure not to land upon the harpsichord? I can only imagine the noise that would make.”
“We’ll just have to feel carefully.”
He felt a whisper in the air and then her hand upon his face, her fingertips tapping lightly across his cheek below the mask. And then his lips.
Her touch ran across his lower lip and then across his other one. On the third pass she ran right across the seam and he opened his mouth, pulling her fingers in. “I begin to see why you are so fond of the dark.”
“Actually I’ve always been slightly scared of it, but here now it feels like an old friend.”
Mark reached out to stroke her cheek. That was definitely not her cheek, but interesting, very, very interesting. He stroked again.
She slapped at his hand. “I believe there is an order to these things.”
“I’ve never heard that. I’ve always thought one should let things progress as they happen.”
“I definitely believe in an order. That”—she slapped his hand again—“is definitely skipping ahead.”
“And you don’t like it?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but I do think I want other things first.”
“Like what?” He leaned forward, pressing against her hand, which still lay cradled against his face.
“Kissing. I believe you promised kissing.”
“I am not sure it was a promise—but yes, I do see your point.” He could feel her breath against the side of his face and he turned, following it. Nuzzling first her cheek, beneath the edge of the mask, and then her lips, he found his way across her face. Her lips were full and soft, magical. He knew them so well. He pressed forward, running his tongue across them as he knew she liked.
As he knew she liked.
And then he knew. Darkness and his senses had combined to tell him what his eyes had not. “Bella? I should have known. I did know. But, damn it, I convinced myself otherwise. How can you possibly be here, Bella?”
Her mouth moved from his, but not far. Only the sound of her heart was audible, or perhaps it was the beat of his own.
Seconds ticked by.
“How, Bella? How did you get into Lady Richard’s masquerade? Why did you come?”
Chapter 24
She had thought blackness was her friend. Instead it had been her undoing. All those years of fearing the dark had not been without reason. The moment their lips had touched she had known her mistake. She would have known the feel of his lips anywhere, the taste of his breath, the brush of his stubble.
“Yes.” It did not answer any of his questions but it was enough.
“You must have known I was coming. Was this a plan to teach me a lesson? You pretend to leave me and then tease me? What more do you want that I have not given you?”
Marriage. But she did not say it. Even within her own mind the word was almost forbidden. If he had not called her his wife earlier she would not be thinking it now. “If I had set out to teach you a lesson you would have failed. I left you this morning and tonight you were already looking for my replacement.”
“I was hardly looking for a replacement for you at the Tenants’ masquerade.”
He should not have said that. Isabella’s hand rose, ready to slap him. How many times did he need to show how little respect he had for her? Before she had become his mistress he had never treated her so poorly.
“I am sorry.” His finger skimmed her cheek as if feeling for a tear.
“For what?”
“Too often my words move faster than my brain. I only meant that if I had been looking for replacement I would not have chosen a masquerade. I am rather fond of faces.”
It sounded good, but she did not believe him entirely. He might prefer faces, but he had also meant he would not seek a new mistress among society. “If you remember, you first met me in the dark.”
“And then I asked if I could light a lamp.”
“So it is only my appearance that draws you.”
He pulled her close, the speed pushing the air from her lungs. Holding her tight, their bodies so close as to be almost one, he whispered, “I cannot see you now and I am sure that you can feel just how much I desire you. And don’t ask if it is your body or your voice that I want. I desire them both—but the truth is I desire all of you. We are standing here, in pitch blackness, in the house of a man I barely know, arguing in a fashion that makes me want to scream, and I am harder than I have been in my whole life.”
He certainly was. Well, she couldn’t speak to his whole life, but as she rubbed herself along his length it was clear he was rather fond of arguing with her. She leaned against him, feeling the hard plane of the breastplate against her chest. She ran a hand over the smooth leather, feeling the artificially well-defined mu
scles. “You don’t need this, you know. Your chest is quite fine as it is.” She couldn’t wait to feel him, skin to skin.
“It was not my choice of costume. I would have much preferred to be without the nonsense of costume altogether.”
“Should I help you off with it, then?” She ran her hands up his chest and felt for the straps and buckles she’d seen at his shoulders.
“That was not quite what I meant.”
“So you don’t want me to?” Her hands moved across the top edge of the armor, feeling for the warm skin beneath.
“I did not say that. You must do as you will.”
“Ah, the choice you do give me.”
“Do you really wish to argue now?” He shifted a leg between hers, letting her ride upon his thigh.
Isabella moved hard against him, trying to ease the pressure growing within. He smelled so good, tobacco, brandy—and man. Combined with the champagne she had consumed it was enough to leave her quite intoxicated. “No, arguing is not what I am thinking of at all.”
The thin silk panels of her dress slid open as his hands tightened about her waist and slid down to her hips. “What are you wearing beneath this thing? I could swear that is your skin I feel. I’ve never known any fabric to tempt my senses in such a manner.”
“Nothing.”
His gulp was audible. “Nothing?”
“I tried to wear a chemise, but it showed through.”
His fingers explored further, sliding completely between the panels to caress her bare thigh. “You are almost naked.”
“Yes.” She bent her head forward, licking at the salty sweat on his neck. His tendons strained with his excitement.
“I don’t know that I like that.”
Daringly she slid a hand down his chest and over the firm bulge so evident beneath the leather and linen of his short toga. “I think you like it very much. Yes, very much indeed.”
This time she drew a groan from him as she pressed firmly, wrapping her fingers about his thick length. “God, that’s good. I will embarrass myself if you are not careful.”
“Shhh, you don’t want anyone to hear and investigate.” She gripped him more tightly, moving her fingers along his shaft. “And you, what do you have under your skirts?” She paused and allowed a small giggle to escape. “That is one question I never thought I would ask.”