Unmasked Heart_A Regency Romance_Challenge of the Soul

by Vanessa Riley

Movement outside the room sent her pulse racing. Maybe Elliot had been detained, but was still coming. She wrung her hands and looked to the shining circle on the door, its crystal knob.

  The footsteps passed by, the sound diminishing, as did her dreams.

  Elliot wouldn't show. He must still think of her as a child, as Julia's hapless sister, as Millicent's plain cousin. Or maybe Julia had told him. They could be laughing about it now.

  Sighs and a misguided tear leaked out. She leaned against the burnished mantle. The warmth of the hearth did nothing to thaw her suddenly-cold feet. It was best he didn't show. He'd saved her the embarrassment of his rejection. A mulatto's dance or kiss could never do for him.

  The rhythm of a dance set crept beneath the ivory doorframe. Maybe Elliot found a new young lady, whose large dowry like Millicent's made her irresistible to men. Was she in his arms, basking in the glow of his smile, his fun conversation?

  The ache in her bosom swelled. Gaia released her breath, stilling her trembling fingers against the sheer veil of her fairy costume. Perhaps she should slip from the room and run into the moonlight of the moors.

  The door opened. The strains of violin-play seeped into the salon.

  Elliot in his domino cape and ebony half-mask entered the room. "Excuse me," his voice was low, hoarse. He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth as he bowed.

  Always so formal, but what a pity his melodious voice sounded raspy.

  Now or never. She cleared her throat and, in her most sultry manner, she placed her hands to her hips and curtsied. "I've been waiting for you."

  "Excuse me, do I know you?" He tugged at the ribbons of his mask.

  Waving her arms, she caught his gaze. "Please don't take it off. I won't be able to get through this if you expose your handsome face."

  "I see." He stopped, his strong hands lowering beneath the cape of his domino. "Miss Telfair?"

  With a quick motion, she whipped up her airy silk skirts and moved closer, but maintained an easy distance on the other side of the settee. "Call me Gaia. We needn't be so formal."

  His head moved from side-to-side, as if to scan the room.

  "You needn't fret, sir. We are quite alone. That's why I decided to confess my feelings."

  "I see."

  Must he continue to act as if he didn't know her? The moonbeams streaming through the thick window mullions surrounded him, and reflected in the shiny black silk of his cape. Could he be taller, more intimidating?

  Elliot had to think of her as a woman. She straightened her shoulders. "I'm so glad you've come. I know I'm young, but not too young to know my heart."

  "Miss Telfair, I think this is some sort of mistake."

  Blood pounding in her ears, she swept past the settee and stood within six feet of him. "Please call me Gaia."

  "I'll not trespass on your privacy any longer." He spun, as if to flee.

  She shortened the distance and caught his shoulder. "Please don't go. It took a lot to garner the courage to meet you here."

  With a hesitance she'd never seen from confident Elliot, he gripped her palm and kissed her satin glove. "I know it takes a great amount of courage to make a fool of one's self."

  "There's no better fool than one in love." She slipped his hand to her cheek. "Why hide behind mocking? I know you. I've seen your heart. The way you take care of that precious little girl as if she were your own." It touched Gaia, witnessing Elliot helping his brother's household as if it were his own.

  "How did you know my fear?" He drew his hand to his mouth. "You see too much."

  Squinting, he still wasn't quite in focus. He shifted his weight and rubbed his neck, as if her compliments made him nervous.

  "This is a mistake. We should forget this conversation. A man shouldn't be alone with such a forthright young lady. I will return to the ball." He leveled his broad shoulders and marched to the door, his heels clicking the short distance.

  Maybe being so low was freeing. "Why leave?" she let her voice sound clear, no longer cautioned with shyness or regret. "Here can be no worse than out there, with the other ladies readying to weigh your pockets."

  His feet didn't move, but he closed the door, slamming it hard. Had she struck a nerve?

  He pivoted to face her. "Aren't you just like them, my dear? Weren't all gentle women instructed to follow a man's purse? No? Perhaps torturing is your suit, demanding more and more until nothing remains of his soul."

  "Men hunt for dowries, and they know best how to torture someone; ignoring people who want their best; separating friends, even sisters, in their pursuits. The man who raised me did so begrudgingly, just to make me a governess to my brother. Is there no worse torture than to yearn to be loved and no one care?"

  "A governess? I think I understand."

  This wasn't how she’d expected this conversation to go. Elliot's graveled words possessed an edge as sharp as a sword. He seemed different, both strong and vulnerable. It must be the costumes, freeing them both from the confining roles they lived.

  Yet he didn't move. He didn't feel the same.

  She fanned her shimmering veil. Half-seeing and disguised, she could be as bold and as direct as Millicent or Seren. Gaia could even face the truth. "I forgive you for not feeling the same."

  She'd said it, and didn't crumble when he didn't respond in kind. Maybe this was best. With the release of a pent-up breath, she added, "I wish you well."

  He chuckled, the notes sounding odd for Elliot's laugh. "Has a prayer wrought this transformation? Well, He works in mysterious ways."

  Maybe it was all the prayers over the years that built up her strength. Amazing. Elliot didn't love her, and no tears came to her. Well, numbness had its benefit. "Good evening. You can go; my friend Seren will be back soon."

  When he finally moved, it was to come closer, near enough she trail her pinkie along the edgings of his domino, but that, too, was a cliff she wasn't ready to jump.

  "Gaia, what if I'm not ready to leave?"

  Her ears warmed, throbbing with the possibilities of his meaning.

  "If I am trapped," his voice dropped to a whisper, "it is by your hands."

  Her heart clenched at his words. Elliot never seemed more powerful or more dangerous. "I'd hope I, ah, maybe I should be leaving."

  He took a half-step, as if to block her path. His outline remained a blur; a tall, powerful blur. "You've had your say, sweet Gaia. Now it is my turn."

  This near, she could smell the sweet starch of his thick cravat and a bit of spice. Her heart beat so loudly. Could he hear it?

  He drew a thumb down her cheek. "Pretty lady, your eyes are red. Your cheeks are swollen. What made you cry so hard? And why didn't you find me?"

  Something was different about the tone of his hushed voice. There was pain in it. Did he hurt because Gaia had? Could she have discounted the possibility of Elliot returning affections too quickly?

  Something dark and formidable drew her to him like never before. "How could I find you? I didn't know you cared, not until this moment."

  His arms went about her, and he cradled her against his side. His fingers lighted in her bun. "I'm fascinated with the curl and color of your hair."

  Too many thoughts pressed as a familiar tarragon scent tightened its grip about her heart. "Not course or common—"

  His lips met her forehead. His hot breath made her shiver and lean more into him. "Never; that's what I've been trying to tell you."

  Heady, and a little intoxicated by the feel of his palms on her waist, she released her mask. It fluttered to the floor. Its pole drummed then went silent on the wood floor. She dropped her lids and raised her chin. "I guess this is when you kiss me. Know the lips of someone who esteems you, not your means or connections."

  "A lass as beautiful as you needn't ask or wait for a buffoon to find you alone in a library." His arm tightened about her, and he pulled her beneath his cape. The heat of him made her swoon, dipping her head against his broad chest. He tugged
a strand of her curls, forcing her chignon to unravel and trail her back. "Now you look the part of a fairy, an all-knowing auburn-haired Gypsy."

  He lifted her chin and pressed his mouth against her sealed lips. However, with less than a few seconds of rapture, he relented and released her shoulders.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck and wouldn't release him. "I'm horrible. This is my first kiss. I'm sorry." She buried her face against his waistcoat.

  His quickened breath warmed her cheek. "Then it should be memorable." His head dipped forward, with the point of his mask, the delicate paper nose, trailing her brows, nudging her face to his. Slowly drawing a finger across her lips, his smooth nail, the feel of his rough warm skin, made them vibrate, relax, then part. "Trust me, Gaia."

  She wanted to nod her consent, but didn't dare move from his sensuous touch.

  "Let a real kiss come from a man who covets your friendship, who thinks you are beautiful." He dropped his domino to the floor.

  His bare face came into focus seconds before his mouth claimed her. It wasn't Elliot melting every bone in her body. It wasn't Elliot she linked her arms about, holding him tighter until their hearts beat as one. The duke hauled her higher into his embrace.

  She willed her limp arms to cling to his shoulders.

  His fingers wandered the length of her back, encouraging her to surrender, but to what; a moment of passion, or love?

  Too much thinking. She stopped trying to discern what this meant, or the consequences, and held on to him. He was solid, not a fantasy. And he was here. Head spinning, she allowed him to kiss her more deeply. A hunger burst inside. She wanted everything he could offer in this embrace.

  Cheshire, the first man she could tease; the one who saved her at her first ball, the first to send her flowers, and now, the first, the only, to send a tremble down her spine.

  When no air could possibly remain in her lungs, he relented, and she caught a boyish grin on his countenance before he stepped out of focus. "There, that's one to remember. I won't forget it, my dear fairy."

  Overwhelmed and dizzy, she staggered, and the duke scooped her up, holding her against his firm chest. A feeling of safety washed over her, as it did when he saved her from a tumble on the stairs.

  Her arms were about his neck again, and he seemed hesitant to put her down.

  Releasing a breath, he lowered her to the settee. "You really should wear your glasses to avoid kissing the wrong man."

  Not knowing what to say, she sat up and drew her knees to her chin. "I don't know if it was the wrong man." She bit her puffy lip. "What you must think of me; professing love to one, but kissing another."

  He shrugged. "It is I who is in the wrong. I must apologize."

  How could he apologize for a kiss like that? Plays should be written of it, but would it be a tragedy or a comedy? She reached for his hand and leaned close to see his face. "You did say you'd find me. What does this mean?"

  The door swung wide. "Sorry I'm late, but.... Miss Telfair, are you well?"

  That voice. Elliot's? Her face fevered, she released Cheshire's palm.

  "The young lady seemed a bit out of sorts, so I kept her company until her senses returned. My dear, we must finish this conversation. I will visit you tomorrow."

  Unable to speak, and fighting the heat of shame, she nodded.

  Side by side, the hazy figure stood. The duke's outline appeared thicker, more muscular than Elliot's did, and his overshadowed the scholar's by an inch. She dipped her head. She should've known the difference, but ignorance brought bliss.

  She drew her fingers to her mouth. Cheshire must think her a tart, just like Mr. Telfair said, just like her mother. Yet, if she weren't a tart, why did she long to be back in his arms, feeling his heart thumping in her ear, his lips caressing hers, over and over again?

  The duke scooped up his domino, then took out a handkerchief and tapped his lips. "Miss Gaia, feel better. I will call upon you at noon. We'll go for a drive.'Til tomorrow."

  He left, whistling.

  No words filtered into her mind. She pulled her arms tight about her. She'd vowed to kiss only Elliot, the man she hoped to marry, but her lips still tingled from meeting the duke's. What was she going to do?

  Elliot pulled a chair near. "Such a serious look on your face, but I assume that the duke took the first dance. What is left for me?"

  Nothing. She'd just given her fancy speech and her kiss to the duke. "I am not well. Can you help me to my carriage? I need to leave."

  His face held a frown, but he wasn't the man of Gaia's concern. No, the duke could now claim sole possession of it. And what would happen when a man so high in peerage discovered he'd kissed a mulatto?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Consequences of a Kiss

  WILLIAM HELD HIS breath and ducked into the shadows of the pollen-dusted portico of the Masked Ball. Restringing his domino, he watched Mr. Whimple escort Gaia to a carriage. She clutched her shimmering mask, and the moonlight reflecting from it made her glow.

  Whimple handed her into the carriage, without attempting anything untoward. The young man seemed an honorable lot, and didn't try to take advantage of the confused woman.

  Not as William had. He pounded his skull, slightly cracking his stiff papier-mâché mask. Knowing that the lass was bewildered didn't stop him from kissing her. His lips still pulsed with the taste of her, and his palms remained warm in the chilly air. The memory of holding her, of feeling her soft curves melting in his arms, would last long into the night. What happened to his bachelor calling? If Stelford knew, he'd chide him so.

  The sleek onyx carriage slipped down the lane. He almost wished she’d peek out the sleek rear window, but who would she seek? Whimple, no doubt. A sigh left William as he slunk back inside the hall.

  The musician played a jaunty tune, but it was absorbed by the fabric-draped walls and the throng of costumed people.

  A woman clothed as a milkmaid approached. "Do I know you?"

  "No, you do not. Excuse me," he bowed and stalked away to stand by the long refreshment table. The half-empty brass bowl of Negus sat dangerously near the edge. The picked-over cuts of meat on the earthen platter looked even less appetizing.

  Another lady came his way, and he waved her off. He'd already danced with six girls, all Gaia's height, wearing dark dominos. Who knew he'd find the right lass in ivory and sheers in a salon?

  How much time had he wasted on Stelford's fowled bribe? The Telfair's cook said Gaia had worked for days on a black satin domino. Of the girls fitting the demure build and attire, only Miss Julia Telfair made for a pleasant waltz.

  The sister spun past him, again in the arms of a sleek shepherd. Draped in burlap and hoisting a crooked staff, the fellow turned her with great ease. This would make four dances. How many had they taken while he visited with his fairy?

  At first, the sight of them piqued his ire. He'd assumed it was Gaia and Whimple. It was neither. Now William's brows rose in concern. Though society's rules loosened at a masked ball, out in the open, a young miss should take care.

  He sighed as another wave of guilt washed over him, nearly drowning him. William was hardly one to make judgments. He'd just risked Miss Gaia's reputation, kissing her like an unthinking schoolboy. If they'd been discovered, he'd have to marry her to protect her. A smile curled beneath his mask, then faded. It would be a disaster to marry another woman who loved someone else.

  Yet would she kiss William if her love for Whimple held strength? After announcing himself, did she not lock her arms about his neck? For a moment, he allowed his lonely heart to remember Gaia's softness, the warmth of her touch. The fever she created within stirred anew. Part of him wanted Gaia Telfair for his own.

  A tap on his shoulder made him turn.

  Stelford stood near. "I don't think the curvy Telfair came. Sorry, old man."

  What! Stelford didn't have new intelligence. William chuckled, "She was here, and now she's gone."

  Adjusting his mas
k about his face, Stelford grunted, then stretched. His domino fluttered with the swings of his arms. "Well, did you convince her to forgive you?"

  Oh, he hoped she didn't kiss like that if she were angry with him. Well, maybe that would be a fun result to an argument. He rubbed his chin. "I'm to visit the Telfairs tomorrow."

  The man started to chuckle and slapped William on the back. "I knew you just needed to find her. Ah, there's the one I've been looking for. Excuse me."

  Stelford moved away after a princess dressed in silver. A flock of admirers followed in her wake. Pretty, but nothing could compare to his fairy.

  Humph. He'd never seen Stelford take an interest in anyone since he'd lost his great love, some mysterious woman from his youth. Hopefully, the princess was unattached.

  But what of William's masked fairy and her love for Mr. Whimple? William backed into the corner to lean against a column, and resisted bashing his skull against the cold marble.

  How did Gaia guess his real fear wasn't the exposure of Elizabeth's infidelity, but his daughter's paternity? Was it Mary's ears, or had he given her a clue to the dilemma? Had the gossip reached his beloved Devonshire?

  He shook his head. Legally, she was his daughter, born during their wedlock. It wouldn't change his love for the girl, but it would take away all illusion of his marriage. Then he'd know Elizabeth never loved him. That would be a stab to his gut.

  Why had Gaia been crying, and what of this business of her father wanting to make her a governess? Something other than unrequited feelings had hurt her deeply, and that made his blood boil again.

  "Cousin, you must dance with me," Deborah curtsied before him.

  He took her lace-draped hand and escorted her to start a reel. She didn't look so awful, with an ivory mask covering her face, and the noise of the crowds drowning the high pitch of her voice.

  She tapped her snowy fan on his shoulder. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

  He spun her and moved apart as the dance required. This was good, because he couldn't decide how to respond. Jealous. Lost. Unsure.

  She swayed back to him. Her salmon domino swished like a fish tail.