Aunt Eleanor sighed. “All the men will be drawn to you.”
Jane wrinkled her nose. “I highly doubt it. My reputation, remember?”
“Posh! You have been hiding behind ugly black gowns. Just wait until they see you tonight.”
Jane stood and kissed her aunt’s wrinkled cheek. “I wish you could come.” Her aunt rarely left the comfort of her home.
Eleanor stomped her cane. “Nonsense. I’m an old lady and I’ve attended my fair share of balls.” She handed Jane a bejeweled scarlet half-mask. “Now you’d best hurry, my dear. The carriage is waiting.”
A short ride later, Jane stepped into the Lady Sefton’s ballroom with a purpose. Since it was a masquerade, the guests were not announced by a majordomo and a frisson of mystery and excitement pervaded the room.
Jane adjusted her half-mask and took a glass of champagne from a liveried servant’s tray. She scanned the room and spotted Olivia by the dance floor talking to a group of women. Olivia was stunning in a pink satin gown with a spangled mask. She looked up, met Jane’s eyes, and smiled. Even masked, they easily recognized each other.
Olivia excused herself from the women, then walked over to Jane. Olivia’s gaze traveled over the scarlet gown. “You look so different.”
“It’s the dress,” Jane said.
Olivia tilted her head to the side and regarded her. “No. It’s not just the dress. It’s you. And it’s about time, if I dare say so.”
Male laughter drew Jane’s attention to where Simon Marbury stood with a group of friends, his slim mask doing little to hide his identity. She also recognized one of the other young men as Lord Curran, Olivia’s cousin.
“Marbury is here,” Olivia whispered.
Jane swallowed. “How can I gain an introduction?”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think there’s a need. He’s coming over to us.”
Simon approached, accompanied by Lord Curran.
Simon’s male perfection completely overshadowed Curran. Simon wore his fair hair à la Brutus, a style currently popular with the dandies of the ton. His meticulously tailored double-breasted coat was embellished with large gold buttons, and his snowy cravat was intricately folded. Even partially obscured by the mask, his features were so flawless, so symmetrical, that any more delicacy would have made him too beautiful for a man.
“Good evening, ladies,” Lord Curran said.
Jane and Olivia curtsied.
“Allow me to introduce an admirer, Mr. Simon Marbury,” said Lord Curran.
Simon bowed. “Hello, Lady Olivia. Your cousin already revealed your identity to me.” He then turned his attention to Jane. His eyes roved over the scarlet gown and lingered on the fat ruby necklace resting between her cleavage. “And who is this lovely lady in disguise?”
Jane felt a thrill of excitement and her confidence spiraled upward.
“Why, Mr. Marbury. Surely you understand tonight is a masquerade. Even though Lord Curran pointed me out to you,” Olivia said, shooting her cousin a disapproving glare, “I insist on keeping my friend’s identity secret.”
Jane smiled coyly. “At least until after midnight, Mr. Marbury.”
Sapphire eyes shone from behind Simon’s slim mask. “You have an unfair advantage, my lady, as you already know my name.”
“I have heard much about you,” Jane said, emboldened by his interest.
He arched a brow. “Oh?”
“You are an excellent dancer.”
“I must live up to my reputation. May I have the next dance?”
“I’m afraid my dance card is full until after the supper hour, sir,” Jane said.
“I refused to be dissuaded. You must promise to save a waltz for me,” Simon insisted.
Olivia waited until Simon departed with Lord Curran before turning to Jane. “Clever to refuse him a dance.”
“I didn’t refuse him. I just made him wait until later in the evening,” Jane said.
“From the way he looked at you, he’ll be sure to return to claim the waltz.” Olivia clasped Jane’s hand. “Come. Let’s dance with my brothers and make a good show for Mr. Marbury.”
Jane let Olivia lead her away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tall figure step through the open doors leading onto the terrace. She turned to get a better look, but whoever she’d thought she’d seen was gone. Was Gareth Ramsey in attendance tonight? Her heartbeat quickened, and she pressed a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. She was reacting foolishly. It could have been any tall gentleman guest. Why did Gareth have to immediately intrude into her thoughts?
An even more disturbing thought sprang to mind: did she want him to be here?
…
Jane peered into the library to ensure it was vacant before entering. Her list had been calling out to her all evening and she needed a secluded room to think.
Her plan was working. Simon Marbury wanted to dance with her. Others had expressed interest as well. Once a man of Simon’s status had deemed her worthy of attention, others had come forward.
The scarlet gown had worked wonders.
Or was it her newfound confidence and determination?
Either way, she was one step closer to finding a lover. She should be happy that her well-laid plans were working.
Yet something was missing.
Opening her reticule, she removed the list. A large oak desk sat in front of a bay window flanked on both sides by tall, mahogany bookshelves. She removed her mask and gloves and placed them on the desk. The casement was cracked open a few inches, allowing a cool, evening breeze to blow in. A lantern in the corner of the desk illuminated the polished wood grain.
One unwritten name haunted her.
She reached for a quill on the desk, dipped it in an inkwell, and wrote Gareth Ramsey’s initials at the bottom of the list. She had originally wanted to put his name at the top, but she had held back. She didn’t want to show it to Olivia.
If Olivia deciphered the initials and figured out who Jane meant, it would raise unwanted questions that she was not prepared to answer.
Gareth was a bachelor who oozed virility, but he didn’t possess the qualities that she’d set forth. He was too intelligent and too dominant. Olivia would surely point out these flaws.
Jane stood and stared out the window at the full moon. A slight breeze from the open window ruffled the curtains, then blew the list beneath the nearby bookshelf.
“Oh!” Jane crouched down by the bookshelf and reached beneath the scalloped edge. Her fingers just grazed the foolscap. Curls loosened from her coiffure. Pushing the blond strands back with an impatient hand, she stretched further and further until…
“Got you!” The tips of two fingers grasped the edge and pulled it out.
“Well, well. I hadn’t expected such a magnificent view upon my arrival.”
Jane whirled around at the deep voice to find Gareth Ramsey standing in the open doorway. Striding forward, he stood over her—a tall, broad, and muscular man.
She sat back on her heels, looking up at him in shock. “You!”
“Yes. Me.” He extended a large hand.
Her eyes traveled from his outstretched hand to his face and back again. He was unmasked and just as she remembered—rugged features, sardonic black eyes, curling jet hair, and full lips that always seemed to curve at the corners in a mocking smile.
He quirked an eyebrow questioningly. “Are you going to take my hand or gape up at me all evening?”
She came to her senses and placed her hand in his. His palm was big and callused. He pulled her to her feet as if she weighed no more than thistledown, and a shiver of awareness crept down her spine.
She frowned. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone. It’s not polite.”
A flash of humor lit his eyes. “I wasn’t the one sneaking.” He glanced at the list in her fist. “What are you up to?”
She held the paper behind her back. “What are you doing here?”
He arched a dark eyebrow. �
�I was invited.”
What a silly question. Of course he was invited. A gentleman didn’t just show up at a masquerade without being welcomed by the host.
“I see.”
Disappointment pierced her. What had she expected? That he was in attendance tonight just to see her?
Ridiculous.
She really needed to get a hold of her rioting emotions. The last time she had met him, she’d lost her temper. It appeared she had done so again. What was it about the man that was so infuriating?
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.” She attempted to brush past him lest he see something in her face that she did not want revealed.
He didn’t budge. “No.”
“No?”
“Not until you tell me what you’ve stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“Something from the earl’s desk.”
Her jaw dropped. “How dare you!”
“Daring has nothing to do with it.” Reaching behind her, he plucked the list out of her hand so fast she had no time to react.
“Give that back!”
He held the list up high. He was extremely tall and she had no hope of reaching it. Still, she jumped and tried. “You arrogant swine!”
She jumped twice more and the remaining curls tumbled from her coiffure across her shoulders and down her back.
His eyes darkened as he looked down at her. “If I had any doubt before that this was important, I don’t now. I must see for myself.”
To her horror, he unfolded the paper and read aloud. “Possible Candidates as Lovers.” For a brief instant his face hardened, then the cool, confident mask descended once again.
“Are you serious?” he asked, mockingly.
Never had she been so embarrassed in her life. Not even when she’d tripped after being announced at Lady Tavistock’s ball as a first year debutante.
But then her humiliation veered into anger. How dare he rip a private document from her hand and then mock her?
She placed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “I am quite serious. I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Turn over a new leaf?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the list and smirked. “The Marquess of Carr, Sir Miller, Baron Umbridge, and the Earl of Townsend?”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Carr is an idiot, Miller is an avaricious fortune hunter, Umbridge will bet on anything and is in debt up to his neck, and Townsend was thrilled at his wife’s passing.”
“That’s a falsehood about Townsend. He’s publically grieving and still wears black two years later.”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “The Earl of Townsend is a hypocrite. He sought out my services when his wife was alive. He called her a witch and wanted her gone.”
She gasped.
Ignoring her dismay, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Mr. Simon Marbury is also on your list.”
She met his stare. “You cannot possibly criticize the man.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something dark and unpleasant. “Stay away from him.”
“You cannot tell me what to do.”
“The man is a dissolute pleasure seeker.”
“Half of the gentlemen of my acquaintance match that description.”
“Your behavior is reckless.”
Her anger rose a notch. “There’s nothing reckless about my list. To the contrary, it’s very well planned.”
He looked back at the paper and smiled arrogantly. “If you refuse to come to your senses, then I have just one question for you.”
“What?”
“Why am I last on your list?”
She wanted to laugh at that. He would have been first, had she dared. “It’s not you,” she lied. Thank heavens she hadn’t written out his full name.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “It clearly has my initials.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “That could stand for anyone.”
“I’m well versed at reading people. You’re a bad liar.”
“You’re a conceited fool.”
His eyes narrowed and for a heartbeat she thought she had gone too far, but then he threw back his head and laughed.
“You are a handful, Jane. You need a man to keep you in line. A man that can teach you passion, not these fools.” With deliberate movements, he folded the list and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I do believe I’ll keep this.”
Reason fled. She threw herself at him, fully intending to strike him and take the list back with physical force. But as she lunged forward, her heel snagged in the thick carpet. She stumbled, lost her balance, and fell headlong into his solid chest.
He grunted as she took him by surprise. Strong arms grasped around her waist as they tumbled onto the settee, Jane sprawled on top of him.
“Oh!”
She was aware of every hard inch of him. He was completely unlike Charles or any of the popinjays she had put on her list. He was all male—big, hard, and dangerous. His mouth was mere inches from hers.
“You needn’t have worked yourself up into such a fury, although I must admit I don’t mind. I intended to give the list back to you. I was jesting,” he said.
His eyes weren’t black, but deep coffee-brown. His lips full and sensual.
“Oh. I see.” She made no attempt to rise, and he made no effort to assist her to her feet.
“But I am serious about the character of the men on your list. None of them are appropriate for the position, especially Marbury.”
“And you know others who are?”
“Other. And yes.” His eyes raked her face with a sensuality that was unmistakable. She started to rise, but his arms tightened about her, forcing her to remain pressed against him.
“Then you truly are a fool, Mr. Ramsey. You are the last person I’d want as a lov—”
He captured her lips in a searing kiss. Drawing her tightly to him, her breasts were crushed against his solid chest. The heat emanated from his body and seeped into hers, flooding her limbs with languid passion. His lips, which had appeared carved of marble, were not cold, hard, or demanding as she had initially thought, but sinfully seductive. He explored her mouth with tantalizing persuasiveness, and coaxed her response like one would stoke a slow burning fire.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. She grasped his forearms to steady herself, then slid her hands up his arms. His biceps were enormous, rock hard and pulsing with heat. His size should have alarmed her; Charles had been young, but his love of drink and gambling had turned him soft. Simon Marbury appeared well built, but she suspected his tailor had added padding to his coat to increase the breadth of his shoulders.
Nothing about Gareth Ramsey was padded or soft. The shock of his muscular frame ran through her body. But instead of fear, his strength and power thrilled her.
He licked her bottom lip and sucked the delicate fullness into his mouth like he was savoring a ripe plumb. The simmering heat in her veins turning scalding hot. The contrast of their sizes and his tightly leashed lust was a potent aphrodisiac. She’d never experienced it before.
Certainly not with Charles.
Gareth’s intense sexuality excited her, and she wanted to be ravaged by him—to know what it felt like to be fiercely desired by a man.
She stopped herself just in time. This wasn’t a man she could control. The passion that inched through her veins was as dangerous as it was thrilling, and without a doubt she knew that she wouldn’t be able to have a casual affair with Gareth Ramsey.
No. She wanted a lover without complications. A man who would not hurt her.
With Gareth Ramsey she would get scorched.
She pushed against his solid chest. Her efforts were in vain. He let her place inches between them, rather than allow her to rise.
“Release me. This is wrong.”
The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her.
“It’s perfect. Neither of
us wants to marry, and you are in search of a candidate. Let me be your lover.”
“Never!”
“We shall see.”
She pressed harder against his chest. “Let me up.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
He released her and handed her the list. “This is a very bad idea.”
She ignored him and snatched the paper from his hand. Rising as gracefully as possible on shaky legs, she smoothed her rumpled skirts with damp palms and glared at him. “It’s best if we avoid each other from now on.”
He stood and looked down at her intently. “As the Season has started, that will prove difficult.”
“I suggest you try your best,” she said, “As I shall do!” Then she spun on her heel, snatched her discarded gloves and mask from the desk, and marched from the room.
Chapter Four
Jane’s heart raced as she fled the library. She halted in a dim alcove to straighten her disheveled hair with her fingers, tie her half mask back in place, and slip on her gloves. If she had a mirror, she knew her cheeks would be flushed. Silently counting to ten, she tried desperately to calm her breathing before returning to the ballroom.
Olivia approached as soon as Jane stepped into the room.
“Where were you? You missed the supper room,” Olivia said.
“I needed some time to think and found myself in Lady Sefton’s library,” Jane said.
Olivia surveyed her kindly. “You’re pink. Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine, truly. I just needed some time alone.” She should tell Olivia truth, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit what had transpired between herself and Gareth Ramsey. Goodness, she couldn’t even comprehend it herself. She didn’t know which was more shocking, his kiss or her own eager response.
The crowd was making its way back into the ballroom. The musicians began tuning their instruments.
“Mr. Marbury approaches. You promised him a waltz, remember?”
Had she? It seemed like such a long time had passed since she’d spoken with Simon.
At the Spy's Pleasure Page 3