But although not in the fashionable mold, she would attract male attention. She had a shapely figure and a lush ripeness that drew men to her. She would have been prey to every rake, disillusioned husband, and spoilt son. Look at Arden. One look at her, and he was in hot pursuit.
And even though she was oblivious to it, other women were not. Few women would have hired her to be a governess, and if they had it wouldn’t have been long before she was seduced.
Or worse.
No, that wouldn’t do for his Ria. So he had used his knowledge of her soft nature and played the lonely old man in need of a companion. His kind, gentle Ria had fallen for it and eventually agreed to marry him.
So his first stratagem had worked. He just hoped his second would be as successful.
Three days later Monty looked up as Ria strode into the otherwise empty library. She waved a note in her hand and told him. “This is from Lord Arden. He asks, as it is such an unusually mild and pleasant day, if I would like to go for a walk. He says he will be calling at two o’clock.”
She cast a burning look at the innocent note. “Why will that man not leave Little Bridgeton!”
Giving a deep sigh, she sat at the rosewood desk and dipped the pen into the inkwell. Pulling paper toward her, she told Monty, “I’ll refuse him, of course.”
When he cleared his throat she looked at him. He pointed out, “It’s after half past one already. Your message won’t reach him before he leaves.”
Ria threw the pen down, causing droplets of ink to spray over the paper. “I daresay he deliberately left it too late for me to reply.” Pushing back her seat, she stood. “No matter, I shall have Flowerday indicate I am not at home to visitors.”
“The other day you did say you would walk with him.”
She frowned at him, “No, I said it was a shame we couldn’t walk as it was raining.”
Monty deliberately lowered his voice to add a stern and serious tone to it. “You are prevaricating, my dear. You implied you would walk with him another day. I distinctly recall.”
Her frown deepened. “Nevertheless, I do not want to, and I am surprised you seem to think I should. Given I am a widow, it is entirely inappropriate. More importantly, what if he recognizes me?”
“Highly unlikely, my dear. If he was going to, he would have by now. As for not seeing him because you are in mourning, if anyone should ask, you can say he visits the ladies. Their mourning period is at an end. Damn stupid custom, if you ask me.”
Looking at her face and seeing how concerned she was, how reluctant to see the earl, he decided to help matters along a little. It wouldn’t do if she refused to have anything to do with Arden. It wouldn’t do at all. “Is your mourning period and the possibility of his recognizing you the only reasons you do not wish to see him?”
“What other reason could there be?” Although her words were innocent, he was interested to see Ria’s cheeks slowly turn pink.
“I asked because if you have no other reason I believe you should see him.” While he was talking, Monty quickly tried to come up with a plausible argument. He could hardly tell her he wanted her to continue seeing the earl because he wanted them to wed. Did she remember telling him she was going to marry Luc? Perhaps not. But he’d not forgotten, neither her words nor her tears, and would do anything to help her get her wish.
“If you do not, he might wonder why. May become suspicious. I believe the more you seem him the less likely it is he will realize who you are.” He knew this was weak but hoped it would do.
Just then, Flowerday entered with the news Lord Arden had arrived and was presently in the drawing room.
Responding to the unspoken question from both men, Ria heaved an exasperated sigh and left the library.
As she passed a hall mirror, she paused to pin back an errant curl and straighten the fichu covering the shoulders of her black mourning gown. Biting her lip, she stared at herself in the mirror and tried to see herself as Luc would. Had she changed so much in eight years? She didn’t think so, but either she had or those summers they spent together weren’t as memorable for him as for her. She’d recognized him as soon as she saw him at the masquerade.
If she was honest with herself, Monty’s argument hadn’t swayed her one bit. She wanted to see Luc again, and Monty had given her an excuse to do so.
Taking a deep breath, Ria strode into the drawing room and greeted the earl. “Good day, Lord Arden.”
He took her proffered hand and bowed low over it. “Mrs. St. James. My pleasure.”
Just the brush of his bare hand on hers was enough to send shivers down her spine. The impulse was so strong she felt dazed, though his next words woke her up.
“It is such a mild day I thought we could take the walk you promised me.”
Annoyance at his reminding her of what she’d said and thus leaving her with no option but to agree turned her tone icy as she replied, “That would be delightful, my lord.”
She led the way back to the entry hall to collect their cloaks and found her husband’s aunts and cousins doing the same.
Cousin Agnes greeted her and the earl with a wide smile. “Isn’t it a lovely day for walking? Such an agreeable thing to do on a day like this.”
Cousin Agatha nodded her head so vigorously the feathers in her bonnet appeared alive and ready for flight, “The weather until today has been so disagreeable. I can hardly wait to go outside. I vow it’s been over a sennight since we were able to leave the house, apart from church, of course, which does not count. How could it? After all, you only go from the carriage along the path to the church. No distance. A mere trifle.”
Their enthusiasm was so infectious Ria felt her mood lighten. But it dipped when she saw Luc had taken her pelisse from the footman and was waiting to help her with it.
Seeing no way to avoid his touch, she braced herself as he arranged her cloak on her shoulders. Although prepared, she was unable to prevent an involuntary shiver as his fingers brushed the side of her neck. The contact seemed accidental, though perhaps it lingered just a bit too long. She glanced quickly at him, but his face was innocent.
Aunt Faith caught her attention by saying, “Let us go out through the orangery,” and set off through a series of interior rooms into the conservatory. From there they went outside to the terrace and down the stone staircase to the shrubbery walk, which was laid out with a series of gravel paths.
The ladies were right. The unusually mild day was perfect for walking. Though devoid of the colorful array present in other seasons, the garden in winter had its own beauty.
The earl interrupted her contemplation when he indicated the ladies walking just ahead of them and then asked, “Are they visiting?”
“No, my lord. They live here.” Pleased to have a safe subject to talk about, she continued at length. “The manor has been home to Aunt Charity, Aunt Faith and Cousin Agnes for as long as I can remember. The aunts moved in when their husbands died. Cousin Agnes was living with Aunt Faith at the time, so of course she came too. Cousin Agatha joined us a few years ago. Sadly, her husband was killed fighting the French.”
They walked without talking for a while. The only sound was that of their footsteps crunching on gravel as they passed large statues set between ground-planted shrubs and large boxes containing yew trees.
The shrubs were works of art, crafted by her artistic gardeners into fantastic shapes that reminded Ria of the masquerade and her secret.
A shrub trained into the shape of a wolf bought back memories of the wolf who’d run past her chasing Red Riding Hood. Pulling her gaze away from the topiary, she asked the earl, “How much longer do you think you will be with us, my lord?”
“You have asked me that question at least three times, Mrs. St. James. Are you in a hurry to get rid of me?” He raised one eyebrow in query.
“Oh, of course not. Please excuse me if I seemed rude. I just wondered because…” Her voice trailed off into silence.
What could she say?
Every time she saw him, more memories of the masquerade surfaced. Such as the feel of his skin. It has been as smooth as her red silk evening gown but much warmer. Her hand itched to reach out and touch him once more.
Even without touching—just walking beside him—she could feel heat radiating from him. It reminded her of how at the masquerade his warmth had wrapped around her.
To add to her mortification, he raised one hand to his chest and gravely told her, “I would be deeply wounded if you were trying to get rid of me.”
Ria could feel her face grow hot with the beginnings of a blush and dipped her head to hide it. She hoped if he saw he’d put her blush down to embarrassment at her rudeness rather than his accuracy in judging her motives.
Looking around for help, she realized he had steered her onto a different path from that of the ladies. All she could see of them was Cousin Agatha’s feather bobbing up and down above shrubs in the adjacent walk.
Knowing she needed to reply, she said, “I am merely surprised you would spend so long in the country.”
“I am finding the countryside has its own pleasures.”
This time there was no doubt. He was smiling directly at her. He was flirting with her. Why?
Ria cast around desperately in her mind for a change of topic and netted one idle thought.
“What does Luc stand for? I assume Lucien?”
He smiled wickedly. “No, it actually stands for Lucifer.”
She stopped walking and stared at him, horrified. “Your parents named you Lucifer?”
“Adrian Lucifer. Lucifer was my mother’s choice, I believe.”
“I don’t…” Her voice trailed off. After all, what could she say? It was his mother, after all.
But what mother would call her son that? Why would she do that to a helpless baby?
A small, humorless smile played around the corners of his mouth as he watched her reaction. He seemed to know what she was thinking because he went on. “My mother and I have a…” He shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders, “…difficult relationship. From what she has said, I believe it began in the womb. Once I was born, it grew worse. She refused to have another child, which probably tells you something.”
“When you first introduced yourself to me, you called yourself Luc. If Adrian is your first name why do you use Luc? Especially given what it stands for?”
“At first I started calling myself Lucifer when I realized it was a way to get my father’s attention.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “Yes, my father and I had a difficult relationship too.”
As Ria continued to stare at him, he added in a lighter vein, “Lyons said it fitted my character far better than Adrian. Somewhere along the line, it got shortened to Luc.”
“So a friend of yours thinks you are a devil?”
He nodded in agreement; then one corner of his mouth lifted in a suggestive smile as he added, “A devil with cards and the ladies.”
She choked at his last comment. Unable to keep quiet a moment longer, she asked him. “Are you flirting with me?”
Ria could tell from his expression he was taken aback and took perverse pleasure from having rattled him. “I only ask because I am uncertain.”
“I must be losing my touch if you don’t know.”
“Don’t feel badly. I don’t recall anyone ever flirting with me before, and I’m not quite sure how it is done.”
“No one has ever flirted with you before?”
What could she say to that? “No.”
“Not even your husband?”
“I had known him a long time before we married, so it wasn’t necessary.”
Uncomfortable with their conversation that could lead to questions she didn’t want to answer, Ria returned to her original query. “As I said, I am unaccustomed to flirting and thus not likely to recognize it, so are you flirting with me?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her for a long moment. He then inclined his head and said very softly, in a deep, husky tone that somehow conveyed an image of candlelight and seduction, “Yes, I am flirting with you.”
“Why?” She could tell he was nonplussed. It was so nice to shake him out of his usual calm confidence. She was beginning to enjoy herself.
“Because you are a very attractive woman…”
Waving her hand in the air, she interrupted him. “There are lots of attractive women. Why me? Why are you staying in Little Bridgeton? If you went to London, you could have many far more beautiful women to choose from.”
“Yes, there are quite a few attractive women there—though I would not say a lot. But not all appeal to me. And not all are the right age. I have a liking for”—”He cast an appraising eye over her“—”blue-eyed blondes. I’m also not looking for a permanent liaison but rather an affaire, which limits the field even further. Generally to widows. So you see it is not as far-fetched as you seem to think.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “To summarize, you are flirting with me and are offering me carte blanche because I have blond hair, blue eyes, am the right age, and am a widow?”
He stopped walking and turned to face her properly, staring at her with narrowed eyes. Fascinated, she watched as a muscle twitched in his jaw. After a long pause he drawled, “Yes, to a point.”
“To what point?” When he remained silent, Ria waved a dismissive hand in the air and said, “The problem is that even though I am a widow I do not want to have an affaire.”
“Why not? Have you ever had one?”
Taken off balance, she blinked and cleared her throat, “Well, no, but…”
“Then how do you know until you try?” He had clearly regained his equilibrium.
She took a deep breath and seized her own back. “So I should have an affaire with you as a sort of trial to see if I like it?”
He smiled wickedly. “Who better than someone who is a devil with women?”
“Is that really a good recommendation?” She struggled to contain her mirth. Their highly improper conversation was definitely appealing to her sense of the ridiculous.
“Would you like me to obtain written letters of endorsement from my previous paramours?”
He probably would too! “No, thank you.” Ria responded primly. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
“Then perhaps this will convince you.”
Taking her hand, he slowly unbuttoned her glove. Holding her startled gaze, he lifted her hand to his mouth and blew softly on the pulse.
She involuntary jerked at the sensations such a small gesture invoked. Just as she realized she should be trying to pull away, he blew on her wrist again and then kissed it.
Ria sucked in her breath as ripples flowed up her arm and down her body. She felt giddy. How could such a small touch affect her so?
She watched in a daze as he slowly did up her glove.
He then looked back up at her and said, “I suppose the question you need to ask yourself is, what is the harm?”
“What is the harm?”
The question continued to haunt Ria long after their walk ended. As she lay in bed that night, she listed the reasons why she could succumb.
She was a widow. She could please herself. Truth be told, she wanted once again to experience the sensations he’d stirred within her at the masquerade.
Badly.
The night of the masquerade, something had awakened inside her. Something she hadn’t known existed.
If she wanted to have an affaire, he was the perfect candidate. This was Luc, after all. She wasn’t going to fulfill her childhood vow of marrying him, but this way she could have part of him, however briefly.
He did not live in the area. She’d already been intimate with him. He was gentle and considerate and an experienced lover. Very experienced.
She refused to think about how, where, and from whom her Luc had gained that experience and instead remembered the masquerade.
He had known how to caress her—how much pressure to use, where to touch. Ria whimpered as she remembered him nibbling her leg just above the knee.
From there he had nibbled his way up the rest of her leg. Just when she’d thought she could bear it no longer he had touched her between her legs.
Restlessly she shifted in the bed. Uncomfortable, she turned to lie on her back. That brought back memories of him as he lay above her.
His gaze had been intent as he sought entry. The fire and candlelight created shadows that, combined with his intensity, cast off his façade to show not an elegant gentleman but a marauder.
Suddenly overly warm, she pushed down the bedcovers, leaving only the sheet to cover her.
She had known from the look on his face the moment he realized she was a virgin. Felt his hesitation. Concerned he was going to withdraw, she had started to plead with him, but then he continued. The pain hadn’t been quite as bad as she’d expected.
And once the pain had gone… oh my.
Her legs moved restlessly against the crisp linen sheets. She wanted to experience those feelings again. She wanted to know what it was like without the pain.
What is the harm?
What if he recognizes you? the little voice inside her whispered.
He hadn’t recognized her yet, she told it. And if he hadn’t by now, it was doubtful he would. Monty had said as much and told her not to worry.
She rolled back onto her side, hugging her pillow.
She was worried, of course, though her fear of discovery was diminishing and being replaced by other emotions. There was annoyance mixed with relief, pleasure, and a large dose of frustration.
Annoyance—no. She wasn’t going to lie to herself. It was anger because he hadn’t known she was Honey. There, she’d admitted it. The summers they’d spent together meant everything to her but obviously nothing to him. How could he not know who she was! At the masquerade, she’d had no difficulty in identifying him. None at all.
But then there was relief because he had more substance than she’d feared. He was a favorite of the tabloids. His exploits were widely reported on, his identity so thinly disguised that he was easily recognizable. They portrayed him as a rake with nothing on his mind but the pursuit of pleasure. But she was growing to see he was more than that. He hadn’t gained his muscles from doing nothing but drink and gamble. And he could be thoughtful and kind—as illustrated by his manner with the ladies.
Dangerous Masquerade Page 6