by Emma East
And there was a longing within Elizabeth, a powerful stream of desire to replace the woman dressed in red and be the center of an admiring flock of gentlemen. To be in her place, her mouth captured in a searing kiss, her hand curled around the nape of another gentleman’s neck. She wanted that desire, that heatwave of lust, and warmth pooled in her stomach.
“Champagne?”
“Please,” she gasped. She took it without looking at the servant and downed it in two large gulps. She wished for a basin to dunk her nearly steaming face in. She knew masquerades attracted scandal, but this was an outright... outright...
“Orgy!” she exclaimed.
“...Miss?”
Elizabeth jumped and turned. Then she gasped. “Oh. Oh, I am v-very sorry, sir - I thought you were a—I was thinking—I did not mean - Um...“
The man, his grey eyes confused above the angry judge’s mask, said, “There is no need to explain. Would you like another refreshment?”
She looked down at the glass in her hand. Then she connected the man to the flute of champagne. She blushed and stammered. “I offer my most sincere apologies, sir. I thought you were an attendant. Thank you.”
Silence. The floor did not immediately swallow her whole.
Then: “There is no call for a blood sacrifice in order to apologize.” He paused. She released a breath and then immediately inhaled when he added, “A dance would suffice.”
Chapter Four
“I should leave...”
“One dance, madam. It is all I ask as a gentleman who has been mistaken for a servant.”
He could tell her cheeks would be a pretty pink and he wished he could follow the trail of her blush as it darkened her décolletage. But she was a shy one, a nervous filly who would need a gentle hand.
The courage he had found in the brandy offered to the gentleman—along with a lack of food—had gone to his head. Reckless, his friends would say.
What is the point of my privilege if I do not allow myself to indulge once in a while? And what a pretty indulgence she is.
He had been drawn to her demure costume as soon as she stepped into the ballroom, simple and lacking the pretentiousness of the rest of the attendees.
Willoughby had sensed the change in Darcy as soon as he caught sight of her across the room. He turned his head to follow, distracted from the woman who clung to his arm and cackled at his jokes. His mouth dropped open when he caught sight of the newcomer. “Lord, what a brilliant figure!”
Darcy scowled. But he was right. Too right. Despite her thick domino falling over her shoulders, her dress clung to a pleasing, athletic figure. No willowy sprite was she, this kitten.
The kitten—his kitten, he decided—peered about the room, standing upon tiptoe to see around those in her way upon the steps into the ballroom. Obviously not finding who she was looking for, she adjusted her shoulders and strode into the crowd. Darcy could not help but follow her with his gaze.
“You look positively tongue-tied!” Willoughby howled. “My man, you must go catch the creature at once!”
“Do not be foolish,” Darcy said. The woman was looking for someone, likely her partner. The company so far had comprised uninteresting women who giggled and flirted incessantly and who contained no sense of decorum. He did not expect the newcomer to be any different.
But she did have a pleasing figure.
“—well, yes, my little milkmaid, hah... excuse me for one moment.”
Willoughby leaned toward Darcy. “If you do not go after her, then I will and leave you in this milkmaid’s not so tender hands.”
Darcy glanced to the side and blanched. The woman was an acquaintance of his, he was certain, and based on the familiar set of pearls around her neck, she was a familiar face in society. She had an unfortunate view of landowners and her father had doubled her dowry since she had turned twenty-two.
At least she does not know who I am. She need not attempt to compromise my honor again.
Forcing away the memory of an unfortunate incident in the Tunstall’s drawing room, Darcy shook his head. “You should leave her mercies regardless, W—Donkey.”
Willoughby laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “How dear you are to worry about my virtue. Meanwhile, I have inspected this kitten of yours. I think she is perfect for the night.”
Darcy had no time to object before his friend darted away into the crowd, leaving him with a dumbfounded milkmaid.
He should let Willoughby have her. Darcy did not care to take part in a dalliance with an unknown woman. The last affair he had entered had nearly been disastrous with a woman who wanted too much and offered little in return. He had sworn them off since university.
He looked into his brandy. His brandy had no response.
Swearing, he finished his glass and handed it to the milkmaid.
“What—?”
But Darcy was gone, following Willoughby as he chased after the woman. Her determination to cross the room caused her to not see Willoughby or respond to his call—likely no woman would respond to his cries of, “here, kitty cat!”
But her eyes when she rounded on Willoughby… Her gaze made Darcy pause, several steps back and out of the way of her ire. A green like the tint of the midnight sky. Her eyes were the color of the gap between the stars and Darcy hesitated, the thrum of his heart loud in his ears.
I am witless. Foolish. Too much brandy. She is just a woman.
Her sharp tongue scorned Willoughby’s poor attempt to catch her attention. Darcy was not surprised since his attempt had been insensible of decorum or niceties and he favored a drunk half-wit. But her sharp tongue, her contemptuous attitude, made him draw in a breath. Apparently some women here had a sense of discernment. Not giggling, not flirting, not advertising herself like all the common women in the room. She handled him like the naughty child he was.
“Interesting,” Willoughby told him with a laugh after the woman escaped. “Perhaps she is not as easy as I suspected.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Willoughby’s eyes twinkled at him. “This calls for a second attempt.”
Before Darcy could reply to this ridiculous idea, Willoughby was away, his coattails disappearing in the crowd.
Then he wondered… perhaps this time, Willoughby would not play the donkey his mask represented. Then the kitten—his kitten—might slip away for good. Darcy would not fight over the attention of some woman when he did not even know her background or her place in society.
Not that it matters tonight.
Darcy followed Willoughby toward the entrance to the gardens, only just letting him escape near the doors. He paused and then cursed.
And that was when the kitten called to him.
Damn the man, I should have known this was his plan, to lead me here and give me no excuse but to speak to her. Willoughby had no interest in her at all, except for my interest in her.
He didn’t know whether he wanted to scowl or laugh. Either way, he appreciated Willoughby’s ploy.
Now the kitten looked up at him with dark eyes, thick lashes trembling around her hesitant gaze.
“I… yes, thank you. A dance is in order, sir.” Then she drew her hand away when he would have grasped it and her tone lost some of its timidness as she smiled up at him. “But I must warn you that I may be a terrible dancer. I have not practiced this dance often.”
“Then we will be on an equal footing, madam.”
He led her to the line, and they arranged themselves in an open spot near the middle of the line. Darcy hoped to get lost within it. His eyes were heavy lidded as he watched his masked lady curtsy to begin the dance.
A delicate neck, framed by soft, brown curls that had escaped her updo. Her full lips curled into an inviting smile, an expression that looked familiar to those beautiful lips. A woman who smiles so much rarely attracts me—perhaps it is her eyes, within them laughter and intelligence, that fascinates me.
The eyes were, after all, the windows into the soul.
/> “I hope that my stepping on your foot just now does not lower your opinion of me.”
“I truly had not noticed.”
“Then perhaps I shall attempt to step harder next time, sir, that my actions may sink into your memory.”
He smirked at her arch tone. How very… refreshing it was to be spoken to like this, like an acquaintance or a friend, with no hint of an ulterior motive on her part. She did not know who he was, thus could not be attracted to his income or estate. No woman in his life treated him thus, and he reveled in it now.
“Is this your first time here, Miss… Kitten?”
“No. No, it isn’t.”
Good. Then he would not need to be concerned for her delicacy. She would know what activities these sorts of events had. Willoughby had assured him that there would be no fainting fits from the society women on tonight.
“Are you searching for someone? Your lover, perhaps?”
He held his breath as they danced away from one another, watching what he could see of her eyes and her mouth to decipher her expression. Nerves. Anxiety.
Have I happened upon a highly strung woman?
Then their hands met and her voice was a whisper. “Oh no. Not a lover.”
He released her hands and dropped his palms to her waist, liking the feel of her in his grasp. Her throat contracted as she stared up at him, looking for all the world like she would blow away. Her pupils were a black well. He thrilled to the touch, her slender waist beneath his grip. “Good.”
It was part of the dance, but there was no need to linger like he did. He wanted to do more than linger.
She slipped out of his grasp, flitting away back into the dance. He watched her as she turned and danced around him and he could not help but notice her shiver under his gaze.
Damn Willoughby for knowing me so well. How will I ever repay him?
Chapter Five
“Come here, kitten.”
Elizabeth found her hand within his persistent grip, her feet following his path across the ballroom. Their path took them up the steps, into the entranceway. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, her gaze unable to tear away from him. The curtains draped for the privacy of the arriving guests sealed off the front of the room, but it did not decrease from the drama of the grand stairwell situated proudly in the middle of the wood-paneled room.
Guests filled the entranceway. She had noticed nothing unusual about the guests when she initially weaved through them, looking for her sisters, but now her body was attuned to notice such things. With her hand clasped in a stranger’s, with her body still warm from their dance, she could not help but notice.
The man weaved through the people, a husky laugh sounding to their right as they passed, and brought her to the bottom of the stairs. He would have continued—to go up, to disappear with her to the first level, to sweep her away from her ordinary, modest life, but she hesitated. The champagne had left her unsteady on her feet, but she could see behind the fog in her brain.
“Kitten?”
“I…” she began.
The look in his eyes, a twinkle in his dark, penetrating gaze, stopped her. She did not know what was on her lips. Why had she told him she had been to these events before? Why should she lie? Spurred by her anonymity, her playful kitten mask, she had attempted to become a worldly woman… but she lacked the worldly nature to ascend those stairs with him.
“There you are.”
Elizabeth jumped, tearing her arm away from the mysterious man. The gentleman executioner approached, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk.
“We have been looking for you.”
“… Me?” she stammered.
The executioner gave her attendant a slow, assessing look, and she observed the man stiffen under such judgment despite his judge’s mask. He is not a man used to being appraised.
“I have found those you searched for previously. Unless you are no longer interested…?” he drew off, glancing to the side, to the stranger.
“I am,” she said excitedly. They found Lydia and Kitty. But she did not see them in the hall. Perhaps they had brought them some place private?
The executioner shook his head at her questions. “No. I am afraid someone escorted them from the property before they could advance further than the first room. They were unsuitable for the environment we attempt to cultivate here.”
“Ah. I understand. Thank you.”
That was a relief then, that her sisters had not been exposed to this place. The executioner wished her well and then retreated, his expression unreadable behind his hood.
Elizabeth looked back. “I am terribly sorry, but—”
The stranger did not allow her to finish, but bent down and captured her mouth.
Warmth. Smooth champagne. Harsh brandy. Her surprise turned into shock when his tongue touched her lip, when his arm curled behind her and pulled her close. Warmth lapped at her, twined down her spine, and Elizabeth, raised properly to be modest and protected from the desires of men, trembled in his strong arms. But his tongue persisted in inviting and teasing and, hesitantly, not knowing what she did or whether it was correct, she responded. His shoulders tightened under her hands and then relaxed, his hold on her tightening and possessive.
Slowly, he pulled away. She swallowed and swallowed again, her eyes nearly crossed as she stared up into his dark gaze.
“Now that there are no distractions,” he murmured. “Come, kitten.”
I should look for my sisters. No, I need to look for my sisters.
Why?
She drew short at the thought. But why should she focus on her sisters’ reputations when they did not care one whit for their own? At least she could be discreet—
It is only a few kisses. It will do no harm to indulge when I may never again get the chance. What if I were to never feel a man’s touch except for tonight? And he has the lightest touch.
She shivered and the man’s gaze, impossibly, darkened. “Cold? Come closer and I will warm you.”
This scenario was so preposterous she laughed. “If I come any closer, you will be carrying me!”
“Now that is an idea.”
She made a shocked noise when he bent down, his hands sliding down over her rear—
He stopped, his smirking lips a breath away from hers. “I jest, kitten,” he murmured. “But I hope to continue this… intercourse in privacy. Do you agree?”
She didn’t disagree. But how could she do that to her family? The champagne in her system did not help, pointing out to her the flecks of blue in his grey eyes, the taste of brandy on his pleasantly shaped lips.
“Yes,” she whispered.
And they went, without delay. The stranger led her up the crowded stairs, his manners all that a respectful gentleman should display. He shielded her from the more rambunctious of the guests and kept her close to his side as they reached the landing that overlooked the main entrance below. Another elegantly dressed executioner met them at the entrance to the side wing. The stranger and the executioner spoke briefly, the executioner assessing Elizabeth with seductively kohled eyes. Then the executioner brought out a book to be signed. Under a list of names—sometimes three or four to a line—they signed on one line: Judge and Kitten.
Her hand shook as she signed. But she set the pen aside and followed the stranger through the entranceway.
Once inside the assigned room—marked with a Roman numeral six—Elizabeth rethought her worldly, adventurous attitude. She trembled as the stranger bolted the door with a surprisingly loud noise. She had not expected a bed. She had thought, perhaps, that there might be one. She knew they existed, and they commonly existed in the bedrooms of private homes. But the sight of it still shook her.
The stranger approached her from behind and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Still cold, my lady?”
This may be my only chance… What a pathetic excuse to forgo my dignity and respect for! I should leave while I still have some pride left intact.
Then his
soft fingertips slid up the base of her neck and into her hair. His lips followed, and she sighed, her eyes falling closed. Was this how a married woman felt upon her wedding night? So nervous she could faint and yet eager to experience the next step in this strange, mysterious dance?
His lips were warm, tickling, and she could taste brandy on his tongue. His hands smoothed down her sides, the rasp of his touch against her dress loud in the otherwise quiet room. She pressed herself against him, thrilling to the firmness of his person under her hands.
“Sit here.”
The bed was at the back of her knees then and she had no notion of how she had gotten there. His taste still upon her tongue, her lips throbbing with the weight of his kisses, she hesitated.
I can end this here and leave with my dignity and respect. But if I sit… it will consider me lost to my family and friends if they are to ever find out. I could never marry in full faith, knowing I must keep tonight hidden from my husband.
Then she glanced behind him, to the locked door. She had been lost since the door closed behind him. There was no choice to be made, really.
“Good kitten. Lie back.”
Chapter Six
She was so wonderfully compliant under his touch. She moved at his command, her dark eyelashes quivering against her sun-kissed cheeks when she was not looking up at him with wide, amazed eyes. Her shy obedience was the finest intoxication he had ever known, and Darcy ensured that his gratitude was felt.
“Mr.—sir!” she gasped. “You should not—it is not clean… oh.”
Her dress and slip bunched at her hips, her dark curls exposed to his hungry sight, she was a vision underneath him. She was no Lilith, no well-experienced seducer, but her taste was heady and inviting nevertheless. She had kept her innocence despite her experience and her surprised sighs and tight grip on his hair encouraged him.
“Oh, sir!”
Lilting music drifted up from the party below, but it was background noise compared to her sighs and exclamations. Darcy counted himself a gentleman who took pride in ensuring his lovers’ satisfaction, but the mysterious, timid woman underneath him was unlike the experienced women he had entertained so far. She whimpered and gasped and clung to him, and Darcy could do nothing but hold on to stop her twisting herself off the mattress.