“You are not going to be ruined.” Charlotte’s eyes rolled behind her mask. “No one will recognize you.”
“Are you certain?”
“Positive.” And she was. Why, if she didn’t know for a fact that it was Dianna beneath the gold demi mask she would have looked right past her own best friend. “You look beautiful. Radiant, even. Now come along. I’m not going to find my new future husband hiding in the bushes.”
“No, I suppose not.” Dragging her heels only a little bit, Dianna allowed Charlotte to pull her out of the bushes and onto the path where they were quickly swept up in the crush of bodies fighting to make their way inside. The moment they were through the towering entryway both women stopped and stared, identical expressions of shock and amazement lighting their faces as they took in their new surroundings.
Men and women swirled in every direction, their fanciful costumes glittering beneath ornate chandeliers swathed in ivory silk. A lively waltz floated on the air, coaxing the crowd forward into the massive ballroom. Cigar smoke billowed up from beneath one closed door; high pitched giggles from another. Champagne flowed freely and tables weighed down by every delectable treat imaginable ran the length of one entire wall. A fountain – a fountain! – had been dragged into the middle of the ballroom and sprayed impressive jets of water high into the air, showering those who ventured close enough in a cooling mist. It was, Charlotte thought as she spun in a slow, wide-eyed circle, almost otherworldly.
“It is unbelievable,” Dianna said in awe.
“Do you still want to leave?”
Her bare shoulder lifted and fell in a quick shrug. “We are here, aren’t we?”
Charlotte grinned. “We are.”
Linking their arms tightly together at the elbow, the two friends made their way further inside, fighting for room to move in the sea of costumes. Dianna was forced to stop short to keep from running over a ghost, while a woman dressed as a swan complete with a feathered headdress was jostled hard into Charlotte’s right side. For a fleeting moment their eyes met, the swan winked, and Charlotte stifled a snort of surprised laughter.
“What is it?’ Equal parts nervous and excited, Dianna craned her neck around to glance behind them, but the swan had disappeared.
“Lady Haversham,” Charlotte explained.
Dianna’s face paled beneath her mask. “Can you imagine what she would say if she saw us here? She is a patroness of Almack’s! We would never be invited again.”
“Oh, I think we would.” Leaning in close, Charlotte whispered what she had seen, and Dianna visibly relaxed. If Lady Antonia Haversham, renowned for her social etiquette, was in attendance, then the rumors were true: for tonight all bets were off, and the strict rules of the ton that governed their every step did not apply. They were free, as free as they had ever been before, and it felt wonderfully liberating.
“What should we do first?” Still holding fast to Dianna’s arm, Charlotte sidestepped a tottering clown, ducked under the arm of a goat, and narrowly avoided being run over by a man dressed as a horse. He raised his flute of champagne, neighed at them, and stumbled off.
“Dance?” Dianna suggested breathlessly.
“Dance,” Charlotte agreed.
The next hour passed in a blur of changing faces and colorful costumes. Charlotte could not say for certain who even one of her dance partners had been, and she knew no one had recognized her either, for not a single question about her engagement or impending wedding was asked. Somewhere during the organized chaos she lost sight of Dianna, but she wasn’t worried. Quite the contrary. She was glad that for once her friend had stepped beyond her comfort level and was enjoying herself for a change. This was precisely what Dianna needed: to loosen up and enjoy her life without all the seriousness she imposed upon herself on a daily basis.
“Might I cut in?” a husky voice asked.
Turning, a smile already in place, Charlotte froze when she saw who had spoken. It was him. Oh, he wore a costume like the rest, but she would recognize those piercing gray eyes anywhere. He was dressed all in black, from the hat tipped rakishly over one eye to a pair of gleaming riding boots that reached all the way up to his muscular thighs. Thighs that happened to be – not that she was looking – dressed in the most form fitting breeches Charlotte had ever seen.
“Or not,” Gavin said, one eyebrow rising above his mask.
Belatedly she realized she had been standing and staring without making any move to accept his outstretched arm. This is why you came here, she reminded herself as she lightly closed her fingers around Gavin’s wrist. He swept her immediately into a waltz, so fast Charlotte was forced to cling to his broad shoulders or be thrown off balance, and she knew by the gleam in his eye that was exactly his intent.
“What are you supposed to be?” she asked once her body had settled into the familiar rhythm of the dance. “A man dressed in black?”
He grinned down at her. “A pirate, of course. And might I ask who you are?”
It took Charlotte a moment to understand he was referring to her costume, not her actual name, and she wondered if that was because he already knew who she was. “Marie Antoinette,” she said impulsively, although in truth her attire had not been modeled after any woman in particular.
“Before she lost her head, I presume.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched, but she did not laugh. Poor Marie Antoinette’s untimely death was a tragedy, not a comedy, although she did appreciate Gavin’s dark sense of humor. She could count on one hand the number of men who could make her laugh. Certainly the duke was not among them, and the smile fled her face as she abruptly remembered why she was dancing with Gavin in the first place. It was not to coyly flirt and jest. She had a serious job to do, and she could not afford to let herself become distracted.
For the rest of the waltz they danced in companionable silence. When the music died away and Gavin still held possession of her arm, Charlotte gazed up at him questioningly.
“It is rather warm in here. Would you care for some fresh air out on one of the terraces?’
“That would be lovely,” Charlotte murmured, and again she wondered if he recognized her, or even remembered her. Surely he would have said something if he had, and as he led her to one of the many private terraces overlooking the gardens she thought madly of a way to reintroduce herself without seeming too desperate. After all, if Gavin did remember her then he would also remember that she was betrothed and there were very few reasons why a woman would be going out to a private terrace with a man who was not her intended.
A light breeze played on the air as they stepped out. Charlotte positioned herself against the curved railing of the balcony and leaned carelessly into it, while Gavin stayed a healthy distance away from the two story drop.
“I have never liked heights,” he admitted with a wry smile. The silvery light from the moon played across his countenance, highlighting his rugged features and truly making him look like a pirate of old. All he needed was a sword and she would be convinced he was a ruthless buccaneer intent on pillaging ships and deflowering innocent young maids.
She should have been frightened, or at the very least intimidated, but she had never felt more alive. She needed only to seduce him, although now that she was in the actual moment it seemed quite harder than she had imagined. Should she throw herself at him and kiss him madly? She could, but that would require knowing how to kiss, and Charlotte was not certain she did, at least not to the level Gavin’s experience would demand. Yes, they had enjoyed a ‘moment of passion’ (as Dianna so eloquently put it) before, but he had seemed to do most of the work while she reaped the rewards. Perhaps conversation would be best, she decided. A simple conversation where they could get to know each other a bit better. “Have you been to a masquerade before?”
“No.” Gavin crossed his arms over his broad chest and settled back on his heels. “Have you?”
“Oh yes,” she lied with nary a blink to betray the fib. “I do quite enjoy them.
They allow one to forget their… er… inhibitions.”
“Or the fact they are engaged.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his words to register, but once they did Charlotte’s eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath. “You know who I am!” she accused, pointing one finger.
“Should I not?” he asked.
“You knew who I was the entire time.” The cad. “Why did you pretend otherwise?”
Gavin shrugged. “Why did you?”
“Well, because I… That is to say… Well…” But for once in her life, Charlotte did not have any answer. She was too embarrassed to think straight, and too thrown off guard to come up with a quick lie.
In one ground covering stride Gavin was in front of her. He stretched his arms out and covered her hands with his, the calluses on his palms rubbing against her bare knuckles.
“I knew who you were the moment you stepped through the doors.” His hand drifted up towards her towering crown of hair, and he wrapped one pale curl around his finger. “I like the red better. Why did you powder it?”
Heights may not have made Charlotte dizzy, but Gavin certainly did. She had to clear her throat twice before she could say, “It is a costume, Mr. Graystone. Meant to disguise my appearance.”
A faint smirk played with the corners of his mouth. “You did not do a very good job.”
“No one else has recognized me.”
“Perhaps because no one else has kissed you in a dark study.” His voice was lower than it should have been, and it sent the most delicious shivers racing up and down her spine.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, tensing when she felt his fingertips make a slow, sensuous ascent up her arm and over her bare shoulder before tracing along the edge of her collar bone, freely exposed above the plunging neckline of her gown. The pressure of his hand was faint, but it might as well have been a hot brand on her flesh for all the heat that Charlotte felt. She licked her lips and shifted her weight, though towards him or away she could not be certain. He pulled at her like a magnetic force, willing her body closer. She glanced up at him, wanting to see if he was as affected by their closeness as she was. In the shifting light she saw his eyes had darkened to slate and his breath came in short, shallow pants.
A devilish thought occurred to her then, a type of experiment, really, and without giving herself time to think of the consequences she brought her hand between them and used the tip of her finger to trace a path down the middle of his chest. His black shirt was only buttoned halfway, giving her plenty of skin to explore.
She expected his chest to be covered in hair, but it was smooth as silk save a half dozen faded scars that decorated his lean torso in varying shapes and sizes. Stab wounds, her fanciful mind imagined. Or gun shots.
His chest was hard, the muscles beneath clenched and rigid. She had felt him suck in a breath at her first touch, and as her finger wandered down in an aimless, inquisitive pattern towards his navel he stopped breathing all together.
“Stop,” he said hoarsely. “For the love of God, stop.”
Charlotte stopped. Pulse racing, she began to pull her hand away, but Gavin captured her wrist and forced her palm flat against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat.
“What kind of woman,” he said, his expression dark, his words clipped, “can touch one man in such a way while being promised to another?”
“A woman not in love.” Seeking to escape the intensity of his gaze she stared instead at their joined hands. His skin was dark and rough. Hers was lily white and smooth. His was the hand of a ruffian. Hers was the hand of a lady. So different… and yet they fit together so perfectly. “A woman who wants more than what she has been given.”
Gavin’s released a mirthless laugh. “You are to marry a duke. Is that not what every young woman of the ton dreams of achieving? What more could you want than that?”
What more could she want?
Kindness.
Compassion.
Desire.
She lifted her chin. “I want to live my life as I see fit. To be more than a pretty trophy set up on a shelf to collect dust and wither away. I did not ask for this.” Using her free arm, she gestured down to the gardens where the masquerade continued in full force. The echo of merry laughter floated up on the breeze while music spilled from the open doors at Gavin’s back. They were surrounded by over two hundred people, and yet she had never felt so alone. “I do not care that Crane is a duke,” she said fiercely. “I would not have him if he were a king, and would gladly marry a common baker ten times over were the choice freely given to me.”
In the shifting shadows and stray beams of light Gavin’s stormy eyes seemed to glow. The callused pad of his thumb played across her knuckles, the touch so light and rhythmic Charlotte doubted he even knew he was doing it. “You would marry a man not of the ton just to be free of the duke?”
Charlotte felt a tremor somewhere deep inside of her body. She knew what Gavin was asking, and she knew her answer would either seal or fate or change it entirely. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I would.”
“Then marry me.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gavin watched Charlotte’s face carefully, searching for the surprise and shock such an offer should have wrought. When he saw nothing save calm acceptance he knew then why she had come to the masquerade. Why she had allowed herself to be taken out on the terrace. Why she had been so forward.
He was her escape, and she had executed her plan perfectly.
Could one kiss have meant so much, he wondered? Or had he simply been in the right place at the right time? His jaw tightened, the muscles clenching. Did it matter? She needed a different husband. He needed a wife born of the nobility. It would be a business arrangement, nothing less and certainly nothing more. He could give her the freedom to do whatever she wished, while he… Well, he would simply go on living his life as he had been, except now for every ball he attended he would have a lady on his arm. A lady born with the same silver spoon in her mouth as all the rest of the mighty nobility and oh, how he yearned to see their faces when they realized he had plucked such an exquisite rose from their garden.
“I would have several conditions.”
Gavin’s gaze swerved down to the heart shaped face tipped up towards his own. He glanced lower, and frowned when he saw their hands were still joined. His doing, or hers? And who was doing it still? “What conditions?” he asked warily.
A small line appeared between Charlotte’s winged eyebrows. “First, that I be allowed to do as I please. I should like to travel to the country whenever I wish, and I have always been very fond of riding but my mother—”
“Done,” he interrupted. “Next?”
Charlotte blinked. “I… Well, you see…” She paused, her expression hesitant, and Gavin tensed.
He should have expected this, of course. Women had needs the same as men, and Charlotte certainly did not act like a fluttery virgin. No doubt she had a lover on the side, one who for some reason or another could not provide as a husband, and she wanted to ask his permission to carry on with their secret liaison. He could appreciate her ability to be forthcoming, and steeled himself to be as agreeable to this condition as he had been the last.
“Before my father passed, he accrued many debts. In an attempt to… to pay off the debts, my mother entered into a contractual agreement with Crane.”
She did not have a lover, Gavin realized. At least not one she was going to reveal to him. The surge of relief that filled him was as unwanted as it was unexpected, and he reminded himself it did not matter who she spent her time with once they were married as long as she was discreet about it, for their marriage would be in name only. No emotions. No feelings. Nothing to distract him from his work. As for the contract…
“The duke agreed to pay off the creditors in exchange for your hand in marriage,” he said flatly, surmising what she had said in so many words. When she nodded, he bit back a curse. Charlotte’s mother had all but sold
her only daughter off to the highest bidder, and yet they called him the uncivilized one.
“Yes.” Her mouth twisted. “Precisely so.”
“And I take it this is not something you agreed to?”
“No!” She shook her head so hard from side to side a white feather came loose from her crown of curls and spiraled down in floating circles towards the tiled floor. Neither of them moved to pick it up. “No, I never wanted to marry Crane. I despise him,” she growled, and the vehemence behind her tone summoned a rare smile to Gavin’s mouth.
“There’s that temper again. Red hair or white, you’re a vicious little piece.” He meant it as a compliment, but saw by the quick downplay of Charlotte’s lips that she did not take it as such.
“I shall guard my words more carefully in the future,” she said stiffly.
“I like that you speak your mind.”
“Truly?”
“Not many ladies do,” he said with a shrug.
“You hate us, don’t you? The nobility, I mean.” Her amber eyes were bright and curious and far too perceptive by half, Gavin thought.
“I do not hate you, or them.”
“But you don’t like us.”
“No, I do not like you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously pushing her breasts up even higher above the low cut décolletage of her gown and drawing Gavin’s eye. She murmured something, but he did not hear her. He was too distracted, his mind busy imagining what it would feel like to slide his hands under the bodice of her dress and tip one succulent, rosy tipped breast up to his mouth. She would writhe against him, her fingers pulling at his hair, digging into his shoulders. He could take her against the balcony; thrust into her tight, wet folds beneath the moonlight and carry them both over the edge of oblivion while she cried out his name in ecstasy.
“…face is up here, Mr. Graystone.”
“What?” he said dumbly. “What did you say?”
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