“I suppose it does not matter, as long as you love one another now.”
Becky gave her smile. “Truer words were never spoken.” She turned her back to Maria. “Now, get me out of this gown, will you? I must rest before tonight.”
***
Stephen Christie, Viscount Hastings, looked positively ridiculous. These Italians were mad with their extravagant get-ups for Carnevale. But Stephen couldn’t help but smile in spite of himself. It would be great fun to see if Becky could spot him in the crush at tonight’s party. For it was certain to be a well-attended affair.
Their host, Barone Polizzi, and his wife, la baronessa, were apparently known for the lavish parties they threw, and as their home sat so near the Grand Canal, everyone wished to be invited to this inaugural event. The next two weeks would be filled with all sorts of balls and celebrations leading up to Carnevale itself.
Stephen didn’t much love parties. He preferred to sit quietly by the fire with his wife and a good book. However, he felt differently here in Italy. Perhaps it was all the wine and equally intoxicating cuisine, but he felt adventurous and spontaneous. Two words that were rarely used to describe his character.
“Ah! Molto bene, my lord!” The barone stood behind him in the doorway, clapping his hands excitedly. “This costume suits you, si?”
“I think so, barone.” He removed the mask and turned to his host. “What did you call it again?”
“Medico Della Peste. The Plague Doctor.” The man moved forward and retrieved the mask from Stephen. “You see the beak?” he asked in a thick accent. “It was to prevent the doctor from disease.”
“Very practical. But isn’t it rather morbid for a party?”
The barone laughed. “You English have no sense of humor!”
Stephen couldn’t argue on that account. The Italians had proved to be a far more liberated people in their short time here. “Well, I shall defer to yours then, my lord.”
“Bene, bene!” The barone slapped him on the back. “Now, make sure your beautiful wife does not see you before the party. Ah, ‘tis such fun watching everyone try to find their spouses…or avoid them, as the case may be.”
Stephen smiled as the man retreated from the room. Thankfully, he knew his Becky well, and had a great deal of confidence in their relationship, even after so many years of marriage. No, neither one of them would try to avoid the other. As a matter of fact, all Stephen could think about was finding his wife and taking her to bed.
***
Becky peeked her head out of the door to see if anyone was in the corridor. It was of the utmost importance that Stephen not see her before the party. And that she not see him. It would ruin all the fun if they did.
Perfect. It was empty.
She took a step out the door and as soon as she did, a male voice boomed from the staircase, singing horribly off-key. She knew that voice well, blast it all. She scurried back inside and shut the door.
As she stood with her back against the panel, she was alarmed to find that her curiosity was getting the better of her. It would be so very easy to crack the door and see Stephen. He would never have to know…
No! Becky chastised herself for even thinking the thought. They had an agreement, and besides, what fun would the party be if she already knew how to find her husband?
Yet still…
She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to know how he was dressed.
With shaking hands, she eased the door open just a crack. Thank heavens the barone kept his doors well oiled.
Stephen had already passed and was nearly to the stairs, but it was easy to see how he was dressed. A long black cloak covered him from head to toe, and when he looked slightly to his left, she could see he wore one of those unusual masks with the long, pointy nose. Huzzah! She had done it, and she didn’t feel a bit guilty over it. Now she would be able to find Stephen sooner rather than later and they could have their fun together.
Once she was certain he was good and gone, Becky ventured into the corridor herself. The layers of fabric swished and swayed around her legs, but they couldn’t slow her down. After bearing two children of her own and raising two others, she had spent the last several years living the quiet life of a mother in the English countryside.
Well, perhaps not quiet. But certainly not a life filled with parties that went on till dawn. So there was an extra spring in Becky’s step as she made her way through the house to the party. By the time she reached the foyer, it had become increasingly evident that tonight was going to be perhaps the most well-attended ball she’d ever been to. A turnout that even the Duchess of Weston would be jealous of.
She made sure her mask was securely in place and then joined in the fray of masked partygoers as they entered the grand ballroom.
Oh, my. Becky looked about and quickly realized that her husband had not been so unique in his choice of costume. It seemed that long pointy nose and black cloak were quite popular. And, blast it all, Italian men were short. Very short. As short as, say, her own husband. Which meant that her advantage in the game was dwindling by the second.
“Vino, Signora?”
Becky turned to her right where a young woman in an elaborate costume held out a glass of wine for her. “Oh, yes,” she said, taking the glass. “Grazie.”
“You are most welcome.”
Though she couldn’t see the smile behind the mask, she could hear it, and that gave her pause. This was not some maid offering wine out of obligation. This was someone who wanted to be discovered.
“Maria?” she breathed, aghast.
“Sh!” Maria grabbed her by the arm and drew her further into the crowd. “Please do not tell Papa. He will send me away, and I only wish to stay for a little while. Just one dance.”
Becky stared at the girl, torn between doing the right thing—sending her straight up to her room, of course—or letting her have just one dance. But she couldn’t help remembering what it was like to be left out of special events as a young woman, and she softened under Maria’s pleading expression. “Fine,” she said at last. “One dance. But then you will go right upstairs. And whatever you do, don’t let your parents catch you.”
“I knew you would understand! Grazie, Signora!”
Maria ran off and Becky lost her in the sea of people. She hoped the girl would do as she promised and go straight up to bed after her dance.
However, Becky’s concern dwindled as she caught sight of a pointy-nosed mask. It was time for the game to begin.
***
Stephen spotted his wife as soon as she walked through the door. Though she was draped head-to-toe in fabrics and her face was completely hidden by her mask, he had no problem identifying her. The way she carried herself—with unmistakable grace and confidence—gave her away in an instant. Stephen toggled between disappointment that the game had been so easily won, and excitement that he wouldn’t have to spend the entire evening searching her out. Instead, they might perhaps be able to escape for a secret rendezvous.
Yes, indeed. That would be quite the boon.
She spoke with another woman, though who it was, Stephen could not say. When that woman walked away, he emerged from the shadows, intent on approaching his wife. However, Becky had her sights on someone else.
Stephen looked across the room to where Becky was headed, only to see another man in the Plague Doctor’s costume. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose to his throat. Good God, she thought that man was him. Well, he wasn’t about to stop her. It would be quite good fun to watch her flirt shamelessly with another man that she thought was her husband.
***
Becky boldly walked across the room to where her husband stood watching her intently. Though there were several other guests in this costume, she was almost certain it was Stephen behind this particular mask.
She slowed to a seductive swagger as she approached him. She knew he couldn’t see her face, so she did her best to look sultry with her eyes, batting them and tilting her head ju
st so.
“Buena sera, signor,” she said, letting the Italian drip from her tongue.
The masked man responded with merely a bow.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” She moved closer to him until the fabric of their cloaks brushed together.
He turned to her abruptly, as if he was surprised.
“I knew it was you the moment I saw you. That mask cannot hide your commanding presence, my love.” She laughed when he drew back. “Do not act so surprised, dearest. We have been wed for many years now. Of course I should pick you out of a crowd.”
He cleared his throat and then lifted the mask just a hair. “Signora,” came a voice that was most definitely not her husband’s. “I think you may have confusion,” he said in his broken English. “But if you like my— come hai fatto a dire? Commanding presence? Well, perhaps we shall fuga per il giardino?”
Becky gasped. “No, I will not go to the garden with you!” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Blast it, this was a horrible idea. How many more times would she humiliate herself before she found her husband?
She backed away with a mumbled “Pardone,” and then pushed through the thickening crowd to find the exit. It was already turning into a mad crush, and part of her wished she were home again, tucking the children into bed.
But she wouldn’t be going home for a quite a while yet. Tonight was just the beginning, really.
Becky made it to the exit finally, and burst into the corridor, grateful for the silence and the space to take a breath. She pulled her mask off—blasted suffocating thing—and leaned against the cool, stone wall.
Moments later, a figure appeared out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to find the pointy-nosed man walking toward her. Oh, bugger. He had followed her from the ballroom. Perhaps he had not understood when she’d told him no. Though she was certain it meant the same thing in Italian as it did in English. Perhaps she could attempt to speak to him in Italian, flawed as it may be.
“Signore, no giardino. Sposato!”
The man stopped before her and cocked his head to the side. “Si, I know.” Only this man didn’t have an Italian accent.
Becky’s heart gave a flip-flop at the realization that it was Stephen. “Oh, thank heavens!” she cried as she threw herself into his arms, being careful to avoid the pointy nose. “I thought I’d have to humiliate myself a hundred more times before I found you. That man thinks I’m a lady-bird now!”
“Just the once was amusing enough,” Stephen said with a chortle. “But as humorous as it was, lady-bird, I found I couldn’t possibly wait for you to wade through all the other Plague Doctors in the room.”
Becky pulled away slightly. “Is that what this costume is? Rather morbid, isn’t it?”
“My thoughts exactly, but I was assured it was de rigeur for Carnivale.”
“And what do you think of my costume?” She put her mask back on and stepped back to display the creation.
He yanked her back into his arms and put his mouth close to her ear. “I think I would like it better on the floor of our bedchamber.”
***
Stephen grabbed Becky’s hand and took off down the corridor, dragging her behind him.
“You’re behaving like a cave man,” she said, but her giggle gave away the fact that she was enjoying his prehistoric conduct.
“Just wait until I have you in bed.” He turned back to look at his wife, and her expression was one of pure desire, which only fueled Stephen’s own fire.
When they reached their chamber, Stephen threw open the door, scooped Becky into his arms and then slammed the door shut again behind them. Becky reached for her mask, but Stephen stopped her. “Don’t,” he said, his voice gruff. “I like it on.”
Her mask shifted slightly, as if her eyebrows had shot up in shock. They had never been terribly adventurous in the bedroom—not to say that their lovemaking lacked in any way—but wearing masks was certainly not something they’d done before.
“And what about you?” she asked. “Will you wear…that?”
Stephen laughed as he carried her toward the bed. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I’m afraid you might poke my eye out.”
It was a valid concern. Stephen deposited Becky onto the bed and then divested himself of the mask and cloak. He approached the bed and looked down at his wife. Purple gauzy fabric surrounded her completely—not an inch of skin was showing. She was simply a mask in a pool of gauze. It would have been erotic if Stephen was confident he could find her in all of that.
“Is something wrong?” came her detached voice from behind the mask.
Stephen smiled. “Nothing at all.” He found her feet dangling off the bed and decided to start there.
He removed a slipper and Becky moaned as he began to rub the arch of her right foot. Slowly, seductively, he made his way past her ankle, massaging her calf…then the sensitive spot behind her knee…until he reached her thigh.
Becky’s breathing changed—it turned heavier, faster, as he pulled her stocking from her leg, and then her pantaloons, before returning to her thigh, now bare and soft beneath his fingers. He was so close to her honeypot, but it was too soon. The other leg deserved the same attention he’d shown the first one.
His hands reached to remove the second slipper and began the ministrations all over again. This time, when he reached her thigh, Becky was nearly overcome with desire.
“Please do not tease me any longer,” she begged. But teasing her was what Stephen loved to do most.
He bypassed her intimate parts and smoothed his hands over her stomach. He loved the roundness of her belly, the gentle curve of her waist, uninhibited tonight by any complicated undergarments. Just a simple chemise, which allowed him access to her silky skin.
The layers of purple cloth had bunched close to her head now, and Stephen swiftly lifted her and pulled them off completely. “Much better,” he whispered as he took in his wife’s perfect form. And then he lowered his head to her nipple. He took it gently in his mouth and swirled his tongue over the tip. Becky reared up, silently begging him to take more of her, which he did. Gladly.
Her hands moved over his shoulders and he pulled back to remove his shirt. Becky’s gaze raked over his bare chest, making him hard and desperate for her. He climbed from the bed to remove his breeches and then rushed back to his wife’s side. She still wore her mask. Stephen had thought it would be exciting for her to remain in costume, but the truth was, there was nothing more exciting than seeing her beautiful face as he made love to her.
He hooked his fingers under the bottom of the mask and lifted. Becky smiled up at him. “I thought you wanted to keep it on.”
“A man has a right to change his mind, hasn’t he?”
Becky didn’t answer, but instead she lifted up and claimed his mouth in a kiss. Their tongues danced with one another. Stephen suckled Becky’s lips—those luscious pink lips—until neither one of them could think clearly.
When he couldn’t wait anymore, Stephen climbed atop his wife and made love to her until they were both breathless and satisfied.
***
Becky lay silently next to Stephen in the cool, dark room. For the first time, she realized they could hear the music from the party downstairs.
“It must truly be a mad crush by now,” Stephen said, as if he’d been reading her thoughts.
“It was already madness when we made our departure,” she returned. “Do we have to go back?”
Stephen rolled over to look at her. His dark hair was ruffled and his skin was damp from their lovemaking. Becky was certain that no man existed as handsome as her husband.
“We will be missed, I’m sure. We are the guests of the host, after all.”
Becky sighed. She would have much preferred to cuddle up to her husband and wile away the evening in bed. “I suppose you’re right. Besides, I should probably make certain Maria has kept her promise.”
“Promise?”
“I told h
er she could dance one dance,” Becky said. “I probably should not have—her parents forbid her to come to the party. But when she looked at me with those big, brown eyes…well, I just didn’t have the heart to say no.”
Stephen smiled and kissed her upon the nose. “And what shall you tell Lydia and Clarabelle in the same situation?”
Becky harrumphed as she rolled off the bed and reached for the purple fabric. “Well, that’s a different story, isn’t it? They shall have to find another champion, for I am their mother.”
“Then it’s probably best we not tell them of this particular incident,” Stephen said as he, too, began to re-dress for the party.
“Most definitely not.”
Once they were clothed once more in their full Carnevale regalia, save the masks, Becky urged Stephen to go on ahead of her to the party.
“It’s not as if you’ll be ruined if we return to the party together, my dear,” he said.
Becky swatted at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am far beyond ruin, now. I want to check on Maria.”
Stephen pulled her close and planted another kiss on her lips. “Just promise me one thing,” he said.
“Yes?”
“That you won’t flirt shamelessly with any other Plague Doctors tonight.”
Becky laughed. “You should know by now, my love…there is only one Plague Doctor for me.”
The End…Again!
Excerpt from
The Robber Bride
Prologue
In the third month of her eighth year, Victoria Barclay climbed aboard her family carriage and took a seat opposite her mother. Mother sat with her gloved hands neatly folded in her lap, her expression unreadable. She was never one to display a great deal of emotion. Rather, her countenance always lingered somewhere between perturbed and content. Her blue velvet traveling gown stretched across the tufted seat and cascaded onto the floor.
The Wetherby Brides: Second Epilogues Page 3