Disguised Enchantment

by S. Quinn McAfee

  Suddenly, a feeling of dread swept over her as another woman pushed her way through the crowd and clutched his arm in a very possessive manner. It was unmistakably Marsha. Her heavy mane of burnished hair was piled high on her head and arranged in a mass of wild curls. The violent purple gown she almost wore was slashed to her navel in the front and barely covered her ample breasts, making Shannon extremely grateful the Marquis had the good taste to choose a more modest design for her.

  A pang of fear and remembrance from her last encounter with the woman made Shannon want to flee back into the safety of the foyer. The thought of another confrontation with her made her blood run cold, as she certainly wasn't up for a vindictive tongue-lashing in front of a crowd of snickering woman. Escaping from the room, however, was futile. Jean Laffite had spied her in the open doorway and wasted little time alerting the Marquis. She watched breathlessly as he pried himself from Marsha's grip and made his way toward her. She hadn't fully noticed his attire before, but now it was all her eyes could dwell on.

  His black velvet, long-skirted coat trimmed with red braid intensified the almost painful whiteness of the shirt and ruffled stock he wore beneath a red brocade waistcoat. Yet it was the black calfskin breeches he wore with a pair of shiny, cafe-length boots that captured her attention. They fit him like a second skin, doing nothing to hide the physical attributes of his manhood. Shannon couldn't help staring as he drew closer to her.

  "Good evening, Mademoiselle," he bowed, grinning at the direction of her wide-eyed perusal.

  Shannon jerked her eyes to his masked visage as a matching wave of hot crimson crept up over her face from the neck of her gown. "G-good evening," she stammered. "I'm sorry if I'm late."

  "Au contraire, Mademoiselle ... you're right on time for making a grand entrance. Shall we?" He lifted her hand and gently placed it in the curve of his arm.

  The Marquis led Shannon into the ballroom amid a flutter of oohs and aahs and light applause. Every head in the room turned as he paused with the raven-haired beauty on his arm.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he began in a clear voice, "may I present Miss Shannon McAllister. She's rather new to our illustrious group here, but I'm sure you'll all do your best to make her feel welcome ... as I most certainly intend to."

  His eyes lingered warmly on her face as he spoke, and it wasn't until Marsha confronted them, that he finally redirected his gaze.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she spat icily, raking Shannon's dress with envious eyes. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I told you never to come back here!"

  Shannon opened her mouth to reply, but the Marquis beat her to it. "She's my guest, Marsha. I invited her. So if you'll excuse us." He nodded at the musicians to begin playing again. "I've asked Shannon to dance and I intend to make good my request."

  Marsha shot Shannon a dagger-laden glare, and then grabbed the cuff of his coat as they started away. "Oh, please, darling," she cooed sweetly. "You will save a few dances for me, won't you?"

  "Gee, I'm sorry, Marsha." He gave her a pointedly distraught look. "It appears my dance card is quite full tonight."

  Shannon watched Marsha flounce across the room to the champagne table as the Marquis escorted her onto the dance floor. The thought that she looked like a huge, pouting purple plum popped into her mind and brought a smile to her lips. It was small consolation for the way she had treated her, but just seeing her on the down side for once gave her a great deal of satisfaction.

  The Marquis pulled Shannon into his arms and stepped out in time with the music. "Don't let Marsha intimidate you," he whispered, drawing her closer to his broad, hard chest. "She's just a jealous busybody trying to get a rise out of you."

  "She is right, though." She bit her lower lip as she glanced up at him.

  "About what?" he scowled.

  "A-about being here ... I feel very much like a fish out of water, and if it wasn't for your persuasive invitation and this lovely dress, I probably wouldn't have come."

  "I see," he eyed her astutely. "Then you're here merely because you felt obligated?"

  "I didn't mean it like that," she gulped. "It's just that I'm not one of your clients, so I don't feel comfortable being included in the Chateau's affairs."

  "No, you're not one of my clients," he replied, his arm tightening about her waist. "You mean much more to me and that's exactly why I invited you ... and why I bought you the dress."

  "You shouldn't have done that, either..."

  Feigning a wounded look, his blue eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Since when is it a crime for a gentleman to buy his lady a Valentine's Day gift?"

  His lady! The words jolted her like a bolt of lightning, and instantly revived the vow she made to thwart his romantic overtures. "I-I guess it isn't," she conceded, struggling to distance herself from the invading warmth of the rock-hard bulge pressing against her. "But it must have been very expensive and I..."

  "My dear lady," he cut her off abruptly, "the way you look in that dress ... let me assure you, it was well worth every penny--and then some! So why don't you stop fretting about all this nonsense and just dance with me! What are you doing way out there, anyway?" Frowning at the sizable space between them, he pulled her back to the coziness of his muscled shoulder.

  Shannon smiled to herself and lifted her lips to his ear as once again her plan to dissuade him had been abandoned. "Thank you for the dress," she whispered demurely. "I shall cherish it always."

  The remainder of the evening found Shannon swept up in a world the likes of which she had never known before. While the Marquis could not devote all his time to her as he had the pleasure of his clients to consider, it was during those moments his attention turned to her that she became aware of a quickening pulse and a fluttering in her stomach. Each time he took her in his arms and guided her onto the dance floor it was as if nothing else existed. Not the Ball. Not even the others. His eyes held hers with a language devoid of words, but punctuated with many soft, tantalizing kisses that left her melting in the snug confines of his embrace.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind a scream of protest permeated her conscience, but it was quickly smothered and replaced with an overwhelming desire. A deepening awareness of the virile, sensually masculine man holding her had penetrated the carefully guarded portals of her soul and laid bare a sudden revelation that she was falling in love.

  The Marquis escorted Shannon to the side of the room as the strains of the music they had been dancing to waned, and reluctantly released her. Immediately he was surrounded by a crowd of female admirers vying for the favor of the next dance. Wistfully, Shannon watched as he swung a somewhat plump brunette onto the floor and smiled down at her adoring face.

  "Better watch it, sweetie, the clock's about to strike midnight. You certainly don't want to risk turning into a pumpkin right before his eyes, do you?"

  "Huh?" Shannon uttered, dragging her eyes from the Marquis and refocusing them on Marsha's mocking face in front of her.

  "Oh, nothing," she smirked. "I ... ah, was just commenting on the large client turn-out this year, and how it's such a shame the Marquis can't spend much time with you."

  Shannon gave Marsha a dark look. "A shame indeed. However, I do understand his position and I'm quite willing to wait my turn."

  "I'm sure you are," Marsha chortled. "But should you get just a wee bit bored, you might find the kitchen more to your liking."

  Shannon opened her mouth to counter with her own smart remark only to again be interrupted by a deep, masculine voice.

  "Excuse me, ladies ... Shannon, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of a dance this evening."

  Shannon looked up into the masked face of Jean Laffite and smiled with relief. "I'd be delighted." Accepting his hand, she accompanied him onto the dance floor. "Thank you for rescuing me," she breathed, leaning back against his arm.

  "Her fangs were beginning to show, eh?" he grinned knowingly.

  Shannon nodded. "She's hoping I gro
w weary of waiting to share a few moments with the Marquis and resign myself to kitchen work."

  "That's Marsha," he snorted. "Ms. Tactless USA. I certainly hope you aren't letting her worry you."

  "Her? No, but..." She craned her neck to see past his shoulder as the Marquis whirled past them with the beaming brunette in his arms.

  Jean glanced around to see what she was staring at, then quickly fixed Shannon's concerned look with a wide grin as he saw the Marquis only a short distance away. "You don't have to worry about him either," he whispered, leaning down to her ear. "I can vouch for the fact that he only has eyes for you."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was well into the wee hours of the morning when the last of the guests departed and the Ball finally came to a close. As the Marquis walked Shannon into the foyer, he considered asking her to spend the remainder of the night with him. He hoped her willingness to be in his arms and return his kisses tonight was an indication that her feelings toward him had mellowed, and that she had decided to further their relationship after all. At the front door, he stopped and peered down at her. Shannon returned his unswerving gaze with a shy smile that belied the warm glow on her face.

  "I really enjoyed the party," she whispered. "Thank you for inviting me an-and, again, for the dress."

  Wordlessly, the Marquis gathered her into the curve of his hard body and lowered his mouth to hers. Shannon's world reeled under the firm pressure of his lips as they moved over hers with a leisurely thoroughness. Finally drawing back, he held her against the all-consuming warmth of his chest and, in the quiet moment that passed between them, she tried to calm the frantic pounding of her heart.

  "I-I guess I'd better go. It's quite late," she breathed, reaching for her cloak and the rose lying atop a small desk. She started to turn away, but his arms abruptly tightened about her.

  "Have you given any thought to what we discussed earlier this week?" he asked in a hopeful tone.

  A tinge of color touched her cheeks as she squared her shoulders and met his twinkling eyes with judicious regard. "Yes, I have ... and I've come to the conclusion that you have a great advantage when it comes to sexual matters, sir, for I am sorely inexperienced."

  The Marquis stared at her for a split second then exploded in laughter. "How long have you been rehearsing that line?"

  "It's not a line," Shannon huffed. "It's the honest truth."

  "Come here, you." He pulled her against him. "Do you really think it matters to me how inexperienced you are?"

  "I don't know. Does it?" she replied meekly.

  "Shannon, I realized the very first night you came here that you've never been with a man and, frankly, I'm glad."

  Shannon's wide, green eyes flew to his masked face. "You are? Why?"

  "Because a woman's first sexual experience is very important," he murmured seductively. "It can often mean the difference between her enjoying sex in the future or despising it."

  Shannon eyed him shrewdly. "So you're implying that if I choose to have my first sexual experience with you, I won't end up bitter and frigid the rest of my life."

  "Well, I would certainly hope not!" he laughed. "But yes, I would take great care to see that you experienced nothing but complete fulfillment and exquisite pleasure."

  "Our first encounter not withstanding, of course," she quipped sarcastically.

  The Marquis shifted uneasily under her accusing perusal. "You're never going to let me off the hook for scaring you half to death that night, are you?"

  "I know I shouldn't..." she sighed, "...but I suppose I can forgive you ... just this once."

  A look of relief flooded his eyes and a crooked grin softened the hard line of his jaw. "Then you have come to a decision about our relationship!"

  Shannon's voice faltered as she abruptly turned away from him. "I-I still think I'd be nothing but a disappointment to you."

  "Aw, sweetheart, don't you know?" he said, coming up behind her and slipping his arms about her waist. "Nothing we do together could ever be disappointing. Please let me show you how beautiful and fulfilling lovemaking can be. Please say you'll stay with me tonight."

  Slowly Shannon turned in his arms until she was gazing into his pleading eyes. "But ... but what about Marsha? If she finds out I'm here with you..."

  "Don't worry about her," he scowled. "She may own this house and collect a sizable portion of the profits, but contrary to her belief, that's the extent of her power. She doesn't control me or any of the other men--and that includes what we do privately. Besides," he grinned wickedly, "the last time I saw her she was so drunk it will take her a week to sleep it off. Sooo?" His eyes narrowed seductively.

  "All ... all right," she nodded hesitantly. "I'll stay."

  The Marquis drew her back to his chest and gently began stroking her hair. "You won't regret your decision, Shannon," he whispered into the mass of ebony silk on his shoulder. "That I promise you."

  As the Marquis escorted Shannon through the Chateau's corridors to his chamber, her heart began to pound with fierce anxiety. Although she knew she would be perfectly safe in his company, the mere thought of being intimate with him panicked her beyond words. She knew practically nothing about being with a man, and it terrified her to think about what he might expect of her--especially with his experience in the art of sexual pleasure. When he opened the door to his dungeon entryway, she was again confronted with eerie darkness that instantly compounded her fear, and she halted in her tracks trembling with trepidation.

  "It's just a passageway. Remember?" he whispered, drawing her against his muscular form.

  Shannon nodded silently as he took her hand and led her past the many grotesque torturing apparatuses and concrete slabs occupying the center of the room to his inner chamber. What her eyes saw next came as a delightful surprise. Unlike the ominous blackness of the dungeon, the drawing room was aglow with shimmering candlelight. Everywhere Shannon's bemused eyes roamed, every corner of the room, every available space on the tables and mantle, was adorned with brightly burning white pillar candles.

  "Oh, it's so beautiful!" she gasped as she stepped into the room. "You didn't do all this just for me, did you?"

  "For us, Shannon," the Marquis professed. "And there's more in the bedroom. Come." He held out his hand to her.

  Again Shannon slipped her hand into his large, warm one and walked with him into the purple damask room where, like the drawing room, numerous burning candles lent a soft, romantic glow to the room's already cozy interior. She was so enchanted by the beauty of the candlelight she didn't realize the Marquis had closed the bedroom door until she heard it click shut. Then, as if a switch had been thrown inside her, the fear she had about making love with him came surging back with a vengeance. Quickly whirling around, she frantically sought to escape the intimacy the room promised and nearly collided with him in the process. Instantly, his iron-thewed arms went around her, snatching her away from what could have been a nasty injury.

  "Relax, Shannon," he whispered into her hair. "Just let me hold you for a little while."

  Shannon closed her eyes and let herself absorb the feel of his powerful body against her. Slowly, the realization that he had, at some point, removed his coat and shirt, pervaded her senses and she drew back in timid uncertainty.

  "It's all right, sweetheart," he murmured soothingly as he lifted her trembling hand to his bulging pectoral muscles. "My body is not something for you to fear. See? Touch me," he urged, moving her fingers over his warm, firm flesh.

  Timidly, Shannon allowed him to guide her hand across his chest and shoulders, but when he encouraged her to do it herself, her gaze quickly dropped to the floor in utter mortification.

  "Don't look away," he scolded gently. "I want you to look at me when you touch me."

  Hesitantly, Shannon lifted her flushed face and looked up into his passion-filled eyes while her hands slowly caressed the curves and hollows of his taut upper body. The Marquis' skin felt branded everywhere Shannon touched him
and now she was looking at him with a wide, open expression he couldn't resist. Swiftly dipping his head, his lips captured her in a kiss of such intensity it bordered on the point of no return.

  Shannon's surroundings reeled under the impact of his searing lips as she was rapidly being swept into a dreamy world where nothing else mattered but the closeness of his muscular body and the comforting protection of his arms about her. Gradually, she became aware that her own arms had linked themselves around his neck and that his hands were roaming sensually over her back, stopping briefly to undo the zipper of her dress. A soft sigh of anticipation slipped from her lips as he drew back just long enough to slip the jacketed top off her shoulders and arms. Then he was kissing her again, holding her against him with that incredibly warm embrace that she loved so, while his persistent, yet gently probing tongue parted her lips and plunged inside to taste the honey sweetness of her mouth.

  Uncontrollable tremors of delight shot through Shannon, electrifying every nerve in her body until she was wild with desire. Her skin felt as though it had become one big, live wire, and anywhere he touched her sent sparks racing to her throbbing clitoris. She drew closer to him, arching herself against him as her hands traveled over his bare back, lingering on the muscles rippling and tensing under her touch.

  "God, how I want you," he groaned hoarsely against the smooth curve of her neck. "I want to love you, Shannon--give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams."

  Shannon heard his words through an impassioned haze. Yet as his hands slid down to the waist of the dress and lowered the zipper the rest of the way, she tensed.

  "Hey, you're in good hands here," he murmured huskily, as he pushed the dress past her hips, allowing it to fall to the floor in a pool of red satin.

  Slowly his hands traveled back up to the straps of her teddy and pushed them off her shoulders. Again panic surged through her as she remembered she hadn't bothered with a bra, but it was too late for modesty. The Marquis had already lowered the shimmering article to her waist.