Abducted By A Fiery Lady (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  It cannot be! Look at him.

  She turned and studied him covertly as he leaned next to her on the rail.

  The collected, self-contained posture seemed familiar, but that was where all similarity stopped. This figure was flamboyantly dressed in a brocaded coat with wide cuffs, elaborately bedecked with gold trim, and he had a black velvet mask across his eyes – almost like hers – and wide brown breeches and leather boots with wide legs and brass buckles. He had a tricorne hat, and to top off the appearance of a roguish sea-traveler, he had a pencil mustache on his upper lip.

  It can’t possibly be Luke.

  Trying to convince her beating heart, she leaned further on the railing, gripping her elbows with her finger-tips.

  “I see you sought the quiet, too, milady,” he said. His voice, soft and gentle, tore at her heart. She hadn’t realized what a strong impression his voice had made on her.

  It could be Luke. There was that same tender quality to his words. But, wasn’t Luke less tall? She couldn’t recall.

  She cleared her throat, feeling confused. “I did.”

  “Too noisy in there,” he agreed. “For me, too.”

  “Yes.” Emilia nodded. “I don’t much like big crowds.”

  “I can imagine not.”

  She turned and looked at him. Inscrutably behind the black mask, eyes darkened by nightfall studied her. In certain lights, she could have sworn they were gray.

  It must be Luke! But, how can it be…and how could he have found me, so early-on?

  It made no real sense. She leaned back on the railing, looking out at the skyline of London, a wavering gilt-edged line against the blue dark.

  “You came for the dancing?” Luke asked.

  “I’m not usually much of a one for dancing,” Emilia confessed.

  “Nor am I.”

  He grinned at her. They shared a sort of conspiratorial moment.

  “Well, then,” Emilia said, challenging him. “It’s a wonder that you came to the ball, then.”

  He laughed. “I came only because certain of my circle were,” he said. “One or two I know well, and one I longed to meet.”

  His voice stroked her skin. She shivered as if she had been lightly brushed with feathers. She swallowed hard, then turned and looked up at him, teasingly.

  “I wonder, then, at your being alone.”

  “But I’m not alone!” He laughed, low in his throat. “I’m here with a lovely woman. And one whom – if I may be so bold – I would like to invite to join me in a waltz.”

  Emilia felt her face flush beet-red. She was glad of the mask, which at least covered the top parts of her cheeks and nose. She cleared her throat, which had gone tight.

  “You are a captain of the ship,” she said, with an admirably-level voice, given the circumstances. “I wonder if I can do aught but obey your orders?”

  “It was no order, but a humble request,” he said softly. “I would never, ever order you to do anything.”

  His eyes looked into hers. The level gaze was sincere, and trusting.

  Emilia felt her throat go dry. She hadn’t realized how much the duke’s demands, her father’s needs, society’s requirements – had all weighed her down. This, though, was not an order, but an offering.

  “I accept.”

  “May I say that you honor me?”

  “May I say that you flatter me?”

  They both grinned. She saw a strange flash of surprise cross his face, and wondered what the look had meant. Had he been surprised by the sauciness of her retort? She didn’t think so, though – it had seemed a look of pleasure, not one of affront.

  “Well, then,” he said, sounding very happy. “I suggest we go together to the hall. It sounds as if the dances are about to begin. This way, milady.”

  Emilia drew a deep breath as he stepped out of her way, letting her enter ahead of him. They took up their positions on the marble checkerboard dance-floor.

  As the music started, Emilia took steady, deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She couldn’t quite believe she was really here. She was in a beautiful ball-gown, in a masked ball in an enchantingly-lovely room, dancing with a man she thought might be Luke Preston. It seemed utterly impossible.

  And yet, dreams do come true. Why else do people dream them?

  The music started. Slow, languorous, it was the best choice for the first dance. Emilia felt the stirring chords move through her, and she lifted her hand to take the handsome captain’s. His hand fitted onto her waist, and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the sweet intimacy of the touch.

  As the introduction melted sweetly into the opening chords, they stepped forward together, into the dancing.

  Emilia shut her eyes a moment. The whole world seemed to be moving too fast, everything too lovely, too impossible. She had to get away from the insistent glare of the candles, the seductive voice of the music.

  “We can go outside a while after,” the captain’s low voice said. “I understand if it’s too warm here.”

  “It’s alright,” Emilia replied, clearing her throat, which had become abruptly too tight once more.

  They danced in silence for a while. He was, Emilia noticed with fond surprise, a skilled dancer. He moved across the floor with smooth grace, the steps all smoothly following one another, as if dancing was as natural as walking. She felt herself able to let go, to push his skill just a little further.

  Let’s see how well you can turn.

  She squeezed his hand lightly, and led them into a swirl around the corner.

  “Neatly done,” he murmured, as they swooped around the other pairs, neatly as an oiled mechanism. She felt her heart thump with pride.

  “You did well, too,” she whispered.

  He just beamed. He had surprisingly-white teeth, she noticed; they were straight and even.

  I wonder if it is him. In so many ways, it seems as if it may be. But…

  “You come here often?” she asked.

  “Not really,” he murmured, as they executed another smooth turn around the perimeter of the ballroom. “I am not a particular acquaintance of the baron.”

  “Nor am I, really.” Emilia grinned. “I came because my cousin invited me.”

  “I see,” he said. “So, you have a cousin.”

  “Have you a cousin?” she asked, interested. If this was Luke, she had never had an opportunity to discuss matters like his family before. They’d talked about hers, but not his. “Any siblings?”

  “I have a cousin, yes,” he said. “But it’s only me – no sister, no brother.”

  “Me, too,” Emilia admitted. “It’s very lonely.”

  “It can be,” the captain agreed. “But don’t feel too sorry for me. Here I am, dancing with a lovely woman. And one whom, I may add, dances most exquisitely.”

  “It’s all flattery,” she said carefully. “You don’t mean it.”

  The dance came to an end. He stopped, then stared at her.

  “Milady,” he said, low-voice. “It was a pleasure.”

  She felt herself shiver, and wondered if it had been wise to test him thus. If it was Luke – the real Luke – then mayhap he would know it was her, hearing the words she’d said those days ago when they’d talked, and she had cried, and then he’d left. But then, if it was not Luke, she’d just spoken nonsense.

  “Mayhap, we should go outside again,” she suggested carefully. “I feel over-warm.”

  He bowed low. “Yes,” he agreed. “Mayhap that’s a wise plan.”

  Together, they headed outside onto the terrace.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Identity Revealed

  Luke walked out of the ballroom through the terrace-doors, sweating. It wasn’t just the heat. He felt more strongly about this woman than he ever had before.

  It is Emilia. I know it is.

  He was shaken. The words she’d said to him – he’d recognize them anywhere – rang through his thoughts.

  It’s just flattery. You don’t m
ean a word of it.

  He shook his head at himself, standing back to let her walk ahead of him. How could she have guessed, so early-on, that it was him?

  She was testing me, like I was testing her. She is as sharp as a scribbling-ring!

  He bit back a grin. That was exactly what she was like – a sharp-edged diamond, used for inscribing words on glass. The same wit, the same incisive quality. He loved the way she always said what she meant.

  I would have to go far to meet another like her.

  He looked at her, where she leaned again on the terrace-rail, where, minutes ago, they’d met. He had thought it was her when he’d seen her and her friend arrive: something about the height, the hair, the way she moved.

  Luke stared at her, the way she was positioned against the railing, one hand under her chin, lovely face bent in thought, contemplating the gardens. He drew in a deep breath, wishing he could stay right here forever, staring at her loveliness. With her curling hair against her pale skin, her lovely, curvaceous figure leaning on the rail, she was as beautiful as anything he’d seen.

  “You are enjoying the dances?” he asked.

  She turned to face him, smiling at him. “I enjoyed the first dance,” she said lightly.

  He felt himself shiver at the praise. “Thank you, milady,” he said. “You flatter me.”

  “I don’t.”

  He chuckled. “I believe that.” He leaned on the railing beside her, just looking appreciatively.

  “You stare, sir,” she murmured, twisting round to look up at him playfully. “You are very bold, you know.”

  “I stare because you are very beautiful.”

  She looked at him askance. “I wonder at your forthrightness,” she mused. “It seems you take liberties, almost as though we have met somewhere before.”

  He raised a brow. “I would say the same, except I think you are always forthright.”

  She smiled, then turned her back to him again and looked over the garden. “I suppose that’s true, yes.”

  Luke leaned on the rail, feeling his heart thump with excitement. It was her! He knew it was! She suspects it, too.

  He leaned on the railing for a long moment, trying to work up the courage to make his next move. What could he say?

  “You seem, like me, to prefer time in nature?” he asked carefully.

  She looked up at him. “Yes. In parks, for example.”

  He felt warmth tingle through him. She’s guessed. I know she has!

  Clearing his throat – which had tightened up with nervousness – he nodded. “Well, then?” he tried to make himself sound lighthearted. “I suggest we inspect the baron’s gardens.”

  She looked at him in surprise. He saw her hand move up, as if she contemplated taking off her mask. By rights, that would be something done at midnight. After a long moment, during which her eyes held his, she shrugged, offhand.

  “I don’t suppose it is so terrible a thing to contemplate.”

  He smiled. “I think we will not be alone in doing so.”

  He leaned on the rail beside her and she craned her neck, seeing what he had already noted – that, as he suspected, couples were peeling away in discreet pairs, walking through the darkened gardens.

  “Milady?” He bent his arm at the elbow, an invitation for her to join him. She slipped her hand into his crooked arm for support. “Shall we go, together?”

  Emilia – he was sure it was Emilia, now, or almost certain – looked up at him questioningly.

  “If you wish,” she said.

  “Again, it is no order. Only a sincere request.”

  “In that case, I accept. Shall we go?”

  He swallowed hard, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. With her slim hand gripping his arm, they walked down the steps together, into the garden.

  Emilia shivered in the cool air. Luke noticed it, acutely aware of her presence, from the way she walked – as graceful as a dance – to the little pulsing of blood in the vein at her temple. It was a summery evening, but after the stifling warmth of so many bodies packed into a hall, even the mild weather seemed cool.

  “Are you cold?” Luke asked.

  “I am.”

  “Would you like my coat?” he offered gallantly.

  The lady, who was probably Emilia, eyed it suspiciously. He grinned.

  “It doesn’t look very comfortable, does it?” he agreed. “But I assure you, it is warm. Perhaps a little too warm, for the evening.”

  “I’ll manage,” she said. “If you hold my hand.”

  Luke swallowed hard. It was the first physical contact she had suggested. He nodded.

  “I would be honored,” he managed to say.

  Her fingers were so slight and cool, slipping into his. Yet, they were surprisingly strong. He noticed their grip, and the way the tips were cooler than her palms. His heart started to drum hard.

  “You play the pianoforte?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. He could hear the query in her voice. He wished he could see her eyes properly, without the mask. Why was it not yet midnight? He ached for her to show him he was right – to show him she was truly Emilia! “How’d you guess?”

  He grinned. “Your fingers are strong,” he explained. “And you have an affinity for music.”

  “Thank you.” She sounded pleased. He loved the warm tones of her voice. “I didn’t know it showed in my hands.”

  “Hands show so many things,” he said slowly. “Activities, warmth and openness. Like when you shake hands with somebody, and they grip your hand so readily. You know, then, that you’ve found a good friend.”

  She stared at him. He saw her eyes widen behind the mask. With some pleasure, he saw her mouth make that small “o” shape he had noticed from the first. He held his breath, and held back his smile.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Somebody who is aching to find out the same information, from you,” he said, casually. “I suspect we may have met before?”

  She swallowed hard. “We may have done,” she said. “Through no fault of our own. Or, not of yours,” she added. She looked down at her feet, seemingly upset.

  He coughed. She looked up. “There’s naught to forgive. In all of this was the first time I met you. Why would I regret any of that?”

  Emilia stared as he repeated the words from that moment in the attic, when he had first told her how glad he was to have met her, and she’d refused to believe his honesty. Now, she gasped and her throat worked as she swallowed hard.

  After a long moment, he saw her arm come up, reaching for her mask. He leaned forward, and his lips brushed hers, as they had those many days before.

  This time, eyes closed, one hand reaching for his face, she pressed her lips to his. He drew in a breath of surprise, then tenderly held her to him while his own lips gently brushed hers. He sighed. He couldn’t believe how soft they were, how warm! They felt like warm silk under his touch, so moist and full and tender.

  Pressing himself closer to her, he drew her against him, gently probing her lips with his tongue. She gave a little gasp, and to his utter surprise, let him kiss her, his lips parting hers, his tongue, exploratory, moving into the warm softness of her mouth.

  When she went stiff in his arms, he gently let her go again. She looked up at him. Wordlessly, at the same moment, they reached for their masks.

  He pulled his aside and stared into her blue-green eyes. She looked up at him with astonishment.

  “Luke!”

  “Emilia!”

  They both laughed, breathlessly. He held out his hands to her and she took them. Wordless, they stood and looked at each other for a long moment. She stared into his eyes, and then they both spoke at the same time.

  “I thought I…”

  “When I saw…”

  They both laughed. He saw her brush away a tear from the corner of her eye. He waited, overcome, for her to say something first.

  “I thought I knew you, when I saw you come out
onto the terrace. Something about the way you move, so confidently…”

  “Am I confident?” He was surprised.

  Emilia just stared at him. They both burst out laughing.

  “Lord Westmore!” she said. “You cannot be unaware of how confident you are? From the moment that I met you, I noticed that.”