Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  With interest he watched as she came nearer, sweet, hot desire building in his veins with every step she took. "Oh, I'm quite sure that it would be perfectly proper," he returned huskily, his gaze mesmerized by the slow, sinuous slide of her riding skirt to the floor.

  Standing before him in her chemise, she toyed with the dainty little strap on one shoulder. Then she walked to the edge of the tub and with exaggerated fastidiousness commenced to remove her remaining piece of clothing. Avidly his eyes feasted on the beauty slowly revealing itself to him: the high, coral-tipped breasts, the nipples already puckered and stiff; the narrow waist; the alabaster sheen of the flaring hips and the long, slender legs.

  Through passion-narrowed eyes Dominic stared at her, the knowledge that this was his wife, the woman he adored, filling him with fierce delight. Gliding to his knees, he reached for her. His arms went about her waist as he pulled her to him. His cheek resting against her soft, warm midriff, he closed his eyes in pleasure at her nearness and muttered gruffly, "The next time I wake and you are not in my arms, I shall beat you."

  Not the least disturbed by this threat, Melissa nodded in perfect agreement and flexed her fingers with sensuous enjoyment in his thick dark hair. "Of course," she murmured, "and after you have beaten me...?"

  "After I have beaten you," Dominic fairly purred, "I shall have to kiss all your hurts... like this...." His lips closed over her nipple, pulling it into the wet warmth of his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive tip.

  Melissa moaned, her hands cradling his head nearer to her aching breast. Languor creeping through her limbs, she swayed against him, the throb of rekindling passion increasing its tempo.

  There was nothing hurried about their movements; it was as if last night they had momentarily dulled that first razor's edge of passion and could now simply savor the joy they found in each other's arms. Last night had been the greedy feasting of a starving lover, but now... now was a banquet of erotic delights to be relished slowly.

  Nuzzling her tingling nipple, Dominic slid his hands to her hips, gently exploring the smooth flesh of her buttocks as he said thickly, "I'm on fire for you already, sweetheart... all I have to do is touch you and my body burns for you." Sliding without haste backward into the water, he gently dragged Melissa with him, deftly guiding her pliant body where he wanted.

  The water was warm, and, filled with a strange inertia, Melissa rested against Dominic's hard length, distinctly aware of every muscle and sinew of his tall form beneath her. A ripple of pleasure surged up through her as she felt his bulging shaft nudging hotly between her thighs, and her arms twined around his neck, pulling his head down to hers, her lips seeking his.

  They kissed with easy intimacy, their tongues lazily stroking against each other in unhurried, teasing movements, both of them conscious of the obsessive, all-consuming passion that welled up more powerfully with every languid motion they made. It was exquisite torture to deny themselves deeper caresses, but by an unspoken consent they contented themselves with increasingly more passionate kisses, the hungry fire within them blazing brighter and brighter.

  Lifting his lips from hers, his eyes smoky with desire, Dominic said roughly, "You're driving me mad." His gaze dropped to her breast, the swollen nipple half out of the water. Lifting her slightly, he bent his head, sucking the coral tip deep into his mouth. "Quite mad," he said in a muffled tone as his lips traveled up her chest to find her mouth once more.

  With growing urgency their bodies moved against each other, the silken feel of Melissa's slender form rubbing next to his sending a bolt of naked longing through Dominic. Her body touched his everywhere and he groaned when her hand traveled with a tormenting lack of haste over his chest, down across his flat belly to tangle in the thick curly hair at the junction of his thighs. She seemed to hesitate there and he nipped her ear, saying huskily, " Touch me." and ungently dragged her hand where he wanted it most.

  Melissa touched him, excited and fascinated by his shape and size, her fingers gliding up and down the rigid length. There was much pleasure, she discovered, in giving pleasure and, enthralled by her own power, she caressed him more passionately, her own arousal deepening.

  His fingers bit into her waist and he pulled her up over him, her knees fitting snugly on either side of his lean hips in the narrow confines of the tub. One hand behind her head, he caught her lips with his, his mouth moving demandingly over hers, all restraint gone. Blind to everything but his great need, Dominic sought the eagerly yielding flesh between her legs, caressing her until Melissa was writhing against his fingers.

  Trembling from the force of the passion that raged within her, Melissa said against his mouth, "Take me, darling. Let me feel you inside me."

  Dominic needed no further urging, his body surging upward as he guided her onto him. The silken warmth as she sheathed him was nearly more than he could bear and he twisted wildly beneath her, his fingers digging into her hips while he fought against quick release.

  Her eyes glistening with passion, Melissa watched him fight for control and then, a siren's smile on her kiss-swollen mouth, she moved up and down slowly, reveling in the sweet sensations that swept through her body. But the fire that drove Dominic drove her too, and fiercely she pushed down on him, eager to share again the joy she knew awaited them.

  Dominic could bear the exquisite agony of Melissa's movements no longer and he held her captive as he thrust urgently up into her. Racked by desire, Dominic drove into her again and again, every deep stroke of his body bringing them nearer to the brink of ecstasy.

  Impaled by Dominic, his hard body driving into hers, Melissa was mindless with pleasure when that first sharp jolt of rapture hit her body, and with a sigh of fulfillment she collapsed against him, tingling from the force of her release.

  Feeling the tremors that shook Melissa, Dominic lost his battle to prolong their pleasure, and groaning, he let that same rapture crash over him. Replete and sated, he drew Melissa nearer to him and kissed her, murmuring his love for her even as their lips met.

  She returned his kiss and together they lay there in the cooling bathwater, whispering all the vows that lovers do, and when the chill of the water brought them back from their rosy world, they laughed and proceeded to give each other a hasty wash. The hasty wash, however, led to other things.

  Consequently, it was not until they were seated in the dining room enjoying a plump stuffed chicken that the subject of Deborah Bowden came up. A bit uneasily, Melissa mentioned the note that had arrived and her subsequent reading of it. Dominic looked interested and did not appear to be the least perturbed at what she had done. He was not pleased when he learned the contents of the letter, nor was he thrilled with the news that Melissa had gone to meet Deborah in his place.

  "Good God, Lissa! You took a terrible chance," he exclaimed, his only concern being for her safety. "It could have been a trap. And I'm not talking about seduction either. Latimer has good reason to dislike us and he could very well have meant to do me a mischief."

  Melissa smiled at him saucily. "Well, it all turned out rather well, if I do say so myself."

  "Oh?" he said warily, not quite certain that he trusted that gleam in his wife's eye.

  Struggling to keep a straight face, Melissa gave him an unvarnished account of her meeting with Lady Bowden, and if she had harbored any lingering doubts that he might have nurtured a spark of feeling for the other woman, they were vanquished with his shout of laughter ringing through the room.

  "In the pond?" he asked. And at Melissa's nod, he added, "Good! Serves the scheming hussy right!"

  And that, Melissa thought with satisfaction, is that! Something occurred to her and she said, "Oh, dear! There is Uncle Josh's party tomorrow night—I wonder how she will act when we meet."

  Dominic had been admiring the curve of his wife's bosom where it swelled above the low-cut bodice of her green satin gown and he replied indifferently, "Does it matter? I would far rather talk about us than the sodden Lady
Bowden, wouldn't you?"

  Melissa agreed and they spent the remainder of the evening in complete harmony with each other. Not surprisingly, they retired early.

  On Friday evening, however, as they were ushered into the handsomely furnished salon in the Manchester home, Melissa could not help but unobtrusively glance around to see if Deborah was present. There was no sign of the Englishwoman, although Latimer was there, deep in conversation with young Franklyn.

  Dinner was a pleasant affair, and it was not until the ladies were comfortably situated in the salon again and the gentlemen had disappeared into Josh's study to play cards and follow masculine pursuits that Melissa learned of Deborah's hasty departure. She was sitting on a lovely Sheraton-style sofa upholstered in an elegant tapestry print of blue and gold, her aunt at her side, when Sally said softly, "You know that Lady Bowden has left us?"

  "Left us?" Melissa repeated. "What do you mean? I'm sure that I saw Mr. Latimer here tonight."

  "Oh, yes," Sally said, "he is here, but his sister left for New Orleans... our sultry weather upset her delicate constitution and it was felt an immediate departure was necessary for her health. He explained everything to me when he arrived." A wistful look entered Sally's pale blue eyes. "I had hoped that Royce might find Lady Bowden attractive... it would have been so thrilling to have an actual member of the English aristocracy in the family. Of course," she murmured, "there is the problem of our weather for her...."

  Melissa nearly choked on the cup of tea she had been sipping. Royce and Deborah! Oh, wait until I see him, she thought with unholy glee; how I shall tease him on his narrow escape.

  Royce and Dominic, too, for that matter, would have appreciated being able to escape from tonight's gathering, each for his own reasons. Royce was eager to be on his way to New Orleans; upstairs in his room, his valise stood all packed and ready, the list for Jason even now burning a hole through the sole of his left silk stocking, where he had placed it for safekeeping. Until he turned those names over to Jason, Royce was determined to know precisely where that list was at all times, even if it meant wearing the damned thing. As for Dominic, his desire to be elsewhere this evening had nothing to do with the list. His love for Melissa and hers for him was so newly acknowledged and discovered that he objected to anything that took her from his arms and prevented, even momentarily, their absorbing discovery of each other's thoughts and emotions. That he enjoyed discovering all the sweet charms of her lovely body also had a great deal to do with his reluctant presence at the Manchester home.

  But both men had resigned themselves to the evening ahead and had been visiting and talking with various friends and acquaintances when they became aware of the fact that Latimer and George Franklyn were playing for disturbingly high stakes at one of the small tables Josh had ordered set up for cards and gambling. It was Zachary who alerted them when he wandered over and joined them as they stood conversing with a group of friends. Sipping his glass of Madeira, Zachary gave Dominic a speaking look and murmured, "It would appear that Latimer's luck has changed. He and Franklyn have been playing piquet for just a few parties, and already George has lost nearly seventeen thousand dollars to Latimer."

  Royce and Dominic exchanged glances and, as inconspicuously as possible, drifted over to the table. If Latimer was aware that he now had two pairs of suspicious eyes watching his every move, he gave no sign, but continued to play with ruthless intensity against the younger man.

  It was Franklyn himself who caught Latimer in the act of cheating. They had just begun to play a new round when Franklyn's hand suddenly shot across the small table, and gripping Latimer's right wrist, he cried triumphantly, "I thought so! I was not certain after the last partie, but this time I was watching very carefully." He gave Latimer's wrist a violent shake, and there was a shocked, angry gasp from the others in the room when a card fluttered to the table from Latimer's coat sleeve. Dominic found it fitting that it just happened to be a spade... the queen.

  "No wonder you were able to claim carte blanche last hand!" Franklyn stated grimly, his young face set and dangerous. "How many more cards do you have hidden up your sleeve, you damned cheating bastard?"

  An appalled silence fell over the room, every eye trained on Latimer. There was little that these hard-drinking, hot-tempered, neck-or-nothing gentlemen would not overlook in the character of one they admitted to their ranks, but to cheat at cards was tantamount to social suicide. Latimer was utterly ruined. He was finished here in Baton Rouge, and from the furious expressions of the gentlemen in the room, he would be lucky to escape without a sound thrashing. Only Dominic and Royce seemed unmoved by what had happened, both of them alert and waiting for Latimer's next move.

  Disgraced, any chance of regaining the fortune he had lost to Dominic gone, Latimer was confronted by a bleak future in his remaining months in America. It was not just tonight's lamentable end that caused his face to whiten with rage and chagrin, but the certain knowledge that all up and down the Mississippi River word would travel that Julius Latimer was a cheat, a man not to be tolerated in polite circles, a man to be despised and shunned. He would no longer be of any use to Roxbury, and the thought crossed his mind that Roxbury might not be willing to pay him the full price agreed upon. Latimer had no doubt that eventually his reputation would follow him to England, and instead of being welcomed into the homes of the wealthy and powerful, he would be treated like an outcast.

  As the seconds passed and Franklyn and Latimer stayed frozen in their original positions, the threat of violence hung in the air. There were few things more despicable and abhorred than a man who cheated at cards, and there wasn't a gentleman staring at Latimer who didn't itch to lay his hands on him.

  Clearly guilty, Latimer knew he was in a dangerous position, and glancing from one outraged, menacing face to another, he a trickle of fear coursed down his back. This was not sophisticated London, where gentlemen handled their differences with a rigid and prescribed set of rules, but the wilds of Louisiana, where men had been known to settle their disputes in a swift and brutal manner.

  It took but a moment for these thoughts to flash through Latimer's mind and, fueled by a desperate wrath, he exploded into action, his free hand smashing into Franklyn's face as he jerked his wrist out of the young man's slack grasp. In one blinding second he reached into his jacket and pulled forth the small, deadly pistol he carried at all times.

  His face contorted by fury, he snarled, "Stay back! The first man who takes a step forward will die."

  There had been a concerted surge forward by the gentlemen in the room when he had struck Franklyn, but at his words, everyone froze. Latimer smiled thinly, a feeling of power sweeping over him. "Not so brave now, are you?" he said sneeringly.

  No one answered him, everyone sensing his dangerousness. And Latimer was dangerous. He was a man who had nothing to lose. He was a ruined man, but more than that, he was a cruel, cowardly man; and as he stood there, his brain racing while he considered a way to snatch victory out of defeat, his eyes landed on Dominic.

  Maddened by sudden, blinding rage as he gazed upon the one man he blamed for his downfall, Latimer swung the pistol in Dominic's direction and fired. The sound of the pistol firing was thunderous and the smell of gunpowder filled the study.

  Dominic had no chance to defend himself. There was a searing pain along his temple and then blackness descended as he crashed to the floor.

  Murder in his eyes, Royce leaped toward Latimer, but Latimer was ready for him, the pistol aimed squarely at Royce's chest. "I wouldn't if I were you," Latimer said coldly. "Now stand back, all of you."

  In impotent rage, Royce remained where he was, his gaze going to Dominic's still body, a small pool of blood forming near the dark head. Pain and grief ripping through his heart, Royce willed his friend to move. His breath stopped when he saw the slight movement of one hand. Hope springing in his breast, he glanced quickly back at Latimer and snapped, "Well, what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to make good your es
cape—before we decide to rush you? After all," Royce said in a deadly tone, "you have only one more round left... and while you might kill one more of us, the others would be upon you."

  This thought had already occurred to Latimer and, his eyes full of hatred, he slowly backed toward the door. He could not see Dominic's body from his position, but he was satisfied that if he had not killed him, he had at least gravely wounded him. Taking satisfaction in the knowledge that if Dominic was not dead, he would remember this night for a long time, Latimer bolted from the study.

  Royce was in motion the moment Latimer disappeared, and rushing to Dominic's side, he knelt and had just put out a hand to touch him when Dominic rolled over and groaned, "Jesus Christ! I'm glad the bastard hasn't improved any since the last time he shot at me."

  A few smiles and grins of relief met Dominic's words, but others, Royce and Zachary among them, still looked grim. Josh, his bluff features pale with anxiety, said, "Good God! He tried to shoot you down in cold blood. An unarmed man. He shot an unarmed man!" Then, struck by another thought, he added incredulously, "In my house. He shot an unarmed man in my house!"

  There were murmurs of concern for Dominic as Royce helped him to his feet. Blood matted his dark head and ran down one cheek, but a swift examination by Royce revealed that the bullet had only creased Dominic along the side of his head.

  Touching his wound gingerly, Dominic winced and asked,"What happened after I hit the floor? All I remember is Latimer firing at me and then nothing until I heard a door slam."

  "You didn't miss a great deal," Royce said dryly. "The slamming door was Latimer's departure not quite two minutes ago."

  Dominic sent him a sharp glance. One eyebrow lifted, he drawled, "And no one has left to go after him yet?" An ugly notion bursting in his brain, he started forward, asking sharply, "Or made certain that the ladies are safe?"