Once Upon a Masquerade (Entangled Scandalous)

by Tamara Hughes

  He opened one eye as she snatched the pins from her hair. Its length spilled down her shoulders. What an inconsiderate lout. Tomorrow, she would insist they speak of a plan to help her father, or else he could take her home so she could handle the situation herself. Fully clothed, she slipped under the covers and tried to will herself to sleep.

  The fitted bodice of her gown bit into the sensitive skin beneath her breasts. She attempted to adjust it, tugging the tight material down to ease the chafing. Her breasts threatened to pop out the top, and she yanked the wayward fabric back into place.

  Rolling to her side proved fruitless as well. Not only was it difficult to turn over with the volume of satin about her, but the gown shifted, straining in spots it hadn’t before. With her gown now twisted around her, she didn’t bother turning to her stomach or she might very well be wrung like a wet towel.

  She flopped to her back once more and glanced at Christopher. His eyes stared into hers, his irritation unmistakable.

  “My gown wasn’t made to be slept in. It’s rather uncomfortable,” she bit out.

  “You’ve already slept in it most of the night.”

  “I know. It didn’t chafe as much before.”

  “I wonder why.”

  What had she seen in this infuriating man? “Like it or not, I can’t sleep in this gown now. Take me back to my room, and I’ll fetch my nightgown. Then we can both get some much needed rest.” When he remained silent, she lost her patience entirely. “Unless you have a better idea. I could strip naked or wear your clothing…or drink more wine.”

  “Fine. That sounds good to me. Go to it and let me get some sleep,” he grumbled, turning his back to her.

  “You’d like me to strip naked?”

  “You can borrow a shirt.”

  Of course. What had she been thinking? In any case, it was pretty much the same as stripping naked as she wore no chemise or corset due to the structure of her gown and Mary’s insistence.

  Her gaze wandered over the ceiling, the light of the candle dancing over its raised designs. She could go back to her room herself, snatch her night rail, and hurry back. No, she was afraid to go alone, and Christopher would stop her anyway.

  She could insist on it, but Christopher’s mood was already surly. Heaven forbid she make it any worse, although…the thought of her earlier brazenness brought a smile to her lips.

  Hoping Christopher had fallen asleep, she crept from the bed and seized the shirt he’d worn earlier, which lay tossed over the trunk.

  No dressing screen in sight, she slipped back to her side of the bed where Christopher’s back was turned. After a moment’s hesitation, she began to unfasten the back of her gown, struggling with the tiny clasps. No matter how she squirmed and wriggled, she could neither reach the last few buttons nor push the gown up over her chest. “All gowns, no matter how fancy, should be made with the clasps in front,” she muttered.

  At her wit’s end, she grasped the edges held tight by the small fasteners and pulled, ready to pop the fine buttons off rather than ask for help. The darned things didn’t give. She rested a moment, and tried again, straining her shoulders to free herself.

  Goodness, this dress was made well. It was no use. The gown didn’t want to come off.

  She glanced at the bed. Christopher had rolled over to his back, and his eyes crinkled with laughter. “Need some help?”

  Foolish pride demanded she decline his offer, while her desire to be rid of this infernal dress superseded all else. She dropped onto the bed’s edge and ignored his amusement as he unfastened the remaining closures with ease. When she twisted about to murmur her reluctant thanks, he’d already turned away, offering her a bit of privacy. She slipped the gown off and donned the shirt.

  Her skin tingled as the fabric caressed her naked body, his essence clinging to its folds. The shirt offered almost as much coverage as her night rail. Still, the thought of wearing something that belonged to him, something he’d only just worn, that smelled warm and masculine like him…seemed intimate, sensual.

  Sliding under the covers, she felt much more comfortable than before. Even so, sleep evaded her. With Christopher so near, she couldn’t make herself relax.

  She wanted to stay angry with him, to harden herself. Instead she found herself relieved he’d been there when she needed him.

  Her thoughts wandered back to her bizarre dream. Christopher had been both the person she’d run from and the one she was drawn to. Even her dreams warned her to stay away from him or risk a heartbreak so devastating she might never recover. But as in the dream, she found it impossible to resist his allure. She was doomed.

  …

  Christopher couldn’t relax. Rebecca was, to say the least, a restless sleeper, although that had little to do with his lack of rest. With Rebecca curled next to him, soft and warm, he fought the urge to touch her.

  It was almost dawn. She’d fallen asleep some time ago and now lay on her back beside him. The bed covers had slipped down to her hips, and the shirt twisted around her until its bottom edge rested on her torso. He enjoyed an unobstructed view of her stomach’s creamy skin and the shadow of her bare navel in the dim glow of the nearly-spent candle. The brief glimpse inflamed his senses, knowing she lay nude beneath the blankets.

  Whether she’d been attacked or not preyed on his mind. He’d brought her to the country so she’d be safe. While a recently lit candle wasn’t enough proof in his eyes, the possibility that he’d made faulty assumptions regarding her safety… Damn. How could he be so careless?

  Come morning, he’d alert Spence to the events of last evening. He would take no more chances.

  His gaze wandered over her relaxed features, and the graceful line of her neck. Last night outside her door, he could have sworn she’d told him she loved him. The notion had both warmed him and set him on edge. When he’d requested she repeat herself, she’d asked him to stay. Christopher shook his head. Either he’d been mistaken or she’d regretted her words. She’d been drinking. Who knew what she’d intended to say? Still, the possibility…

  His eyes strayed back to her bare midriff. What had possessed him to place her in his bed, wearing only his shirt? Obviously, he enjoyed torturing himself.

  He debated moving to the chair across the room. At least that might cool his lust. But damn him, he didn’t want to leave the bed. Instead he turned to his side, resting his head on one arm. His every nerve thrummed with anticipation.

  Streaks of daylight streamed in through the window, and Rebecca’s skin came to life. Her tousled hair glowed with reddish highlights from the sun’s rays. In its twisted state, the shirt’s collar parted aslant, displaying the rise of one pale breast. Yet that smooth expanse of abdomen enticed him most.

  As if it had a mind of its own, his hand reached out and skimmed across the velvet of her exposed skin. She sighed and shifted to face him. His pulse beat faster. He should stop. But the feel of her beneath his hand…

  His fingertips smoothed over her perfect hip and onward beneath the light blanket to a slender thigh. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck. The smell of her hair…that faint spicy scent. If his ear hadn’t been so close to her mouth when she sighed again, he might not have caught the sweet sound of his name on her lips. That slight whisper was his undoing. He brushed her lips with his own as his hand slid further inside the shirt to her bare back, stroking along her shoulder blades.

  She arched into him, her lips caressing his, weakly at first, but as his mouth became more ardent hers followed suit.

  Her arm came around to knead his shoulder and neck, and his gaze lifted to meet her green eyes, glassy with desire. A moan escaped her lips, and sooty lashes hid those sparkling gems.

  Her hands slid over his chest, neck, and head, urging him into action, drugging his body with sweeping sensations, and his groin tightened. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d tugged the rumpled shirt over her head and run his hands along the womanly contours of her chest before cradlin
g her face between his hands. Her silken hair entwined through his fingers as their mouths and tongues melded together.

  He skimmed his hand down her side and massaged one tantalizing round cheek. She arched into him again, pulling his shoulders down to hers.

  With a whimper, she pressed against his back and raised her hips to his. Any trace of cognizant thought fled his mind.

  He unbuttoned his trousers. A jolt of excitement coursed through him as Rebecca’s hand clasped around his member, testing its full length before urging his hips lower. He groaned and eased the sensitive tip into her tight softness. Only once before had he so completely succumbed to the pleasures of a woman’s body, letting his primal instincts take over as the molten heat flowed through his veins. Only this one intoxicating woman had this effect on him.

  Her arms locked around his neck, she met each of his thrusts with equal fervor, her breasts pressing sensually against his chest. As the heat in his loins reached a fevered pitch, he heard her breath catch and felt her body tense with pleasure. He moaned as her small spasms gripped him, pushing him over the edge of control. Waves of ecstasy washed over him as he throbbed inside of her.

  When his senses returned, he propped himself onto his elbows and stared into the clear depths of her eyes. He swept back a stray lock of hair that hid her delicate features. Did she have any idea what she did to him? Something inside melted a little bit more each time they shared moments like this.

  The problem was, he wasn’t sure he wanted that ice to melt. It protected him.

  His lucky coin hung askew about her neck. The night he’d given it to her he’d discovered she’d lied about who she was—a maid.

  What was he thinking? They held no trust between them. She’d told him so many lies he didn’t know what to believe anymore. For God’s sake, she was a suspect in a murder case.

  Rebecca’s brows knitted. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. How could he trust her? With self-disgust, he closed his eyes and turned his face away. He shouldn’t have touched her, and this time he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been weak.

  Her body stiffened. “You can get off me now.”

  He’d hurt her, and it ripped him up inside. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m so relieved. Now get off.” She pushed at his shoulders. He didn’t move. He wanted to say something, anything to take away the hurt she tried so valiantly to hide from him.

  “I shouldn’t have started anything. You weren’t at fault in the least.” He cursed himself for his less-than-reassuring words. No doubt, she wanted to hear words of endearment, of lasting love. He refused to lie to her. A relationship based on lies was doomed to fail.

  Her struggles to rise stopped. “I understand. Now, please move.” Her calm, lifeless voice troubled him far more than her anger.

  “I don’t think you do. I never meant to hurt you. You’re just so damned tempting,” he admitted.

  “If I’m so damned tempting, why do you pull away from me after you’ve had your fun, like I was some whore bought and paid for? Am I so despicable? Good enough for the occasional romp and nothing more?”

  He winced at the raw emotion in her voice. “That’s not what I think of you.”

  “Still, you’d never consider marrying me, would you?” She dared him to deny it.

  He couldn’t lie. Given all that stood between them, he couldn’t consider the idea and probably never would. “No.”

  “Let me up.” She pushed past him and scooted to the edge of the bed. As she pulled the stiff red gown over her nakedness, he watched with fascination. Already the powerful urge to pull her back to bed called to him. He drew close as she wrestled with the buttons of the dress. She backed away from him as if he would assault her. “I don’t need your help, not with this dress and not with my father. Take me home.”

  “No.” He was being unreasonable, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t throw her into the lion’s den and leave her. Out of the question.

  Her gown half-buttoned and her hair in disarray around her shoulders, she spun about. “You can’t keep me prisoner here.”

  He would if he had to. He enjoyed the spark that had returned to her eyes and the flush to her cheeks. “Let’s discuss a plan of action today, and then we can return together.”

  “We’ll discuss it this morning, early.”

  “Very well.”

  With a stiff nod, she strode to the door and peered into the hallway. Once assured no one was about, she raised her chin a notch and flew across the hall to her room.

  Closing the door, he combed a hand through his hair as something in his chest lurched. How had that stubborn, willful, and wonderfully plucky woman penetrated his defenses?

  Chapter Fourteen

  IN THE EMPTY HALLWAY, Christopher stared at Rebecca’s door, cursing himself for the hundredth time for being so damn weak when it came to her. Something about her made him do the most idiotic things, and it seemed there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

  Last night, from the moment he’d seen her descending the staircase wearing that fitted red gown that accentuated her soft curves and smooth, porcelain skin, she’d ensnared his attention. With her hair bound up in an elegant bow, she’d been the package he’d longed to unwrap. He’d struggled to resist her charms all evening, retreating to the poker tables when his will weakened to the point of nonexistence. Even then he couldn’t stop himself from glancing to where she stood. She’d called to him like a mystical siren, beckoning him with her song. Worse, it wasn’t just her beauty that drew him in. He honestly enjoyed time spent with her. Unpredictable and infuriating at times, she had the uncanny ability to make him laugh, to challenge him in so many ways. So different from other women he’d known. Different from Adele.

  Leaning back against the wall just outside his door, he studied a scuff mark on his black boot. When Adele had stopped by the poker tables, he hadn’t wanted to talk to her. They hadn’t spoken since she’d ended their engagement. She’d sought to put the past to rest, to begin anew. She wanted him back and would do anything to make it so. Unbelievable. A year ago, he might have agreed to her offer, when his affection for her still ran high. But now, he had no interest. While she was as winsome and gentle as last he remembered, she couldn’t compare to the one who’d bewitched him with her exuberance and pluck, a woman like no one he’d known before.

  The low squeak of a doorknob turning drew him from his musings, and he straightened.

  Rebecca opened her door and paused. Her full lips bowed into a frown he wished he could kiss away. Her skin still glowed from their lovemaking, only a few shades lighter than the warm peach hue of her demure day dress. With her mass of curly hair pulled back in a simple ribbon, she’d never looked more beautiful. He ached to run his hand along the delicate curve of her cheek and taste those lips again.

  Silence hung like an invisible curtain between them. For a full minute, they stared at one another. Her eyes, now back to their usual luster, never left his. They held an accusatory glint that disturbed him.

  “Rebecca, I’m sorry.”

  She closed the door and strode past him. “That’s a lie.”

  He caught up to her. “A lie? You can hardly know what I feel.”

  “I think I’m coming to know you very well.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “How ironic. You announce our betrothal to Philip to protect me from his advances, when all along you don’t see me fit to be a wife.” He ground his teeth as a fresh wave of guilt gnawed at his conscience. “I…” What could he say? He had no denials, only regrets.

  She swallowed and studied the carpeted floor. “How do you plan to end our supposed engagement? If Philip has mentioned it to anyone else…maybe if you talk to him—”

  “I’ll worry about that later.” Although breaking an engagement was considered bad form, he didn’t care what society thought of him.

  “You could say I cried of
f.”

  Such a magnanimous offer when she had no reputation to protect, not really. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been through this before.” He’d survived the gossips’ prattle then, and he’d survive it now. Besides, this was his fault. He’d acted impulsively, and now he had to pay the price.

  For now he’d focus on what was important. Once this mess of an investigation was over—once she was safe—they wouldn’t have to see each other ever again. Until then, they had no choice. “Don’t go anywhere alone today. If you’re not with a large group, stay near me.”

  “Why such concern?” she scoffed. Any softening she’d shown toward him had vanished in a blink. “I don’t believe for a minute you think I was attacked last night. Besides, that shouldn’t be a problem, since today we’ll be finalizing a plan to save my father before we travel back to the city.”

  “Fair enough.” Her attitude annoyed him. He’d stalled yesterday, hoping to buy some time to figure out how she fit into Nathan’s murder and why she would masquerade as an heiress. But last evening, when he’d mentioned his work on the case, her reaction had said it all. She’d acted surprised, not the least nervous or suspicious of his confession. Either she could hide her emotions well, or she was innocent.

  As far as he was concerned she’d never been an accomplished liar. She couldn’t be the cold-blooded killer he was looking for.

  They’d risen so early breakfast wouldn’t be served for several hours. A generous host, Spence provided for the whims of his guests, even those who rose with the sun. A light repast was served in the library. Christopher sent a message to Spence, detailing the events of the prior night before he joined Rebecca at the small table. They ate in stilted silence until Christopher gave in to the guilt that nagged him. “Rebecca, about this morning…”

  Her porcelain cup clinked against its saucer when she set it down. “You’re not going to ask me if I’m expecting again, are you?”