A Masked Deception (8 page)

Then the apparition flirted her fan at him and began to hurry away. It could not be she, of course. But Brampton yielded to the feeling of panic he experienced as she moved away from him. He had to talk to her.

He glanced hastily across to Devin. “Dev, escort Miss Wells back to the box, please, and rejoin Lucy and Henry. I—I have to greet an acquaintance.”

And he hurried after the masked figure, who was glancing over her shoulder before turning into a different path.

Devin’s mouth was hanging open. He was bewildered. “What the devil?” he said, forgetting to suit his language to his company. “That’s Lady Bram.”

“Ohh!” Charlotte’s hand shot to her mouth and she regarded Devin with wide eyes of dismay. “Is it so obvious?”

He looked at her suspiciously. “Have the feeling there’s something fishy going on,” he said. “What’s brewing, Miss Wells?”

“It’s a long story, sir,” she replied meekly.

He took her arm and pulled it firmly through his again. “A long way back to the box,” he said sternly. “Better start talking.”

Margaret felt a firm hand on her arm soon after she had turned into a wider avenue. She turned to face him, her fan in front of her nose, her eyes sparkling above it.

“Are you?” he asked, puzzled, searching her eyes closely.

“Am I what, monsieur?” she asked, using the husky voice and the French accent that she had used on that previous occasion.

“By Jove, you are she,” he exclaimed, and putting his free hand on her other arm, he turned her to face him. The pale-blue light of a lantern gave her mask and gown an even more ethereal quality and darkened her eyes.

“Yes, monsieur,” she murmured.

They continued to gaze into each other’s eyes for several moments. Then Brampton gave himself a mental shake.

“And are you about to disappear into thin air again as you did last time?” he asked, gripping her arms more tightly.

“Ah, monsieur, I could not stay that time. I told you that I was in grave danger,
n’est-ce pas?”

“But to disappear so completely for six years! Did you know that I searched and searched for you? But you were nowhere to be found.” His voice softened and his eyes wandered to her mouth, which looked soft and inviting. “Where did you go, and where have you been ever since, my little angel?”

“That I cannot reveal, monsieur,” she said. “But you see, I am here now, and let me see”—she spread her fan and examined its dark-red surface—“I have the next six dances free. What coincidence, no?” She glanced up at him through her eyelashes and smiled dazzlingly.

“Minx!” he said, drawing one of her hands through his arm, but keeping a firm grip on it with his other hand. “Come, this is no place to talk. Let us try another path.”

He drew her along a narrower walk, not so well lit. They walked until he spotted one of the little rustic shelters that were dotted throughout the gardens. They were furnished with simply designed tables and benches for the convenience of guests who wished to eat
tête-à-tête.

Brampton ascertained that it was not occupied and drew his companion inside. He did not take with him the lantern that was hanging from a convenient tree branch outside.

He did not make use of the bench. He placed his back against one wall of the shelter and drew Margaret against him, his hands spread across her back. She drew in an unsteady breath.

“I still do not quite believe this, angel,” he said. “Is this an accidental meeting? It looked planned.”

Margaret’s brain whirled in alarm. “Monsieur,” she said, “I was with some people and I saw you—with the green lady, no? But I think the green lady was more
enchanted
with the small man. I remembered you, monsieur, and I wished to—talk to you. So I give my companions—how you say?—the slips,
n’est-ce pas?”

She could see the flash of Brampton’s grin in the dark. She lightly tossed her fan and her gloves on the table behind her and rested her hands against his chest, her fingers spread wide. The grin disappeared.

“Little one,” he said softly, “do not deny me this time. Remove your mask for me.” And he raised one hand and took off his own, sending it to join Margaret’s belongings on the table.

“Ah, do not ask it of me, monsieur,” she begged. “Truly, you must not know my identity.”

“Oh, but I must,” he coaxed, moving his head down so that only an inch of space separated their lips. “I have waited for this for six years, angel.”

“Please, monsieur, you will give me much distress if you insist,” Margaret pleaded, raising large, tear-filled eyes to his.

He sighed. “I see you mean to tease me for six more years,” he said. “But come, my little sweet, give me something by which to remember this meeting.” He did not move forward to cover that inch of space. He waited for her to do so. Margaret touched her husband’s lips hesitantly with her own, and then they both groaned as his arms clasped her tightly to him and his mouth opened and pressed demandingly down on hers.

Margaret gasped in shock. Time had softened the memory of that first kiss so that the remembered passion had lost its physical impact. Memory rushed back now as she felt the reality of his hard, muscled arms against her back, her breasts crushed against his strong chest, her thighs feeling the heat of his through the fabric of their clothing.

And she discovered again the wildly unexpected delight of his mouth, warm and moist, tasting faintly of the wine he had been drinking. Then his tongue was in her mouth, exploring the surface of her tongue, then moving lightly over the back of her teeth, and finally plunging slowly in and out in imitation of the sexual act.

Margaret felt herself grow hot all over and she became aware of a slow erotic throbbing low in her womb. One of her hands moved upward to entwine in his thick hair; the other splayed across his back, exploring the rippling muscles.

Brampton broke the seal of their mouths after a long time and his head moved down to her neck and throat, his mouth and tongue blazing a hot, moist trail over her bare flesh and down to the deep decolletage of her dress. She arched against him with a low sigh, her one hand pulling his head even closer to her.

One of his hands moved to the row of small buttons at the back of her gown. Then the other hand joined it and he began to undo the buttons until the dress was loosened to the waist. He held her away from him and gazed into her passion-heavy eyes while he slipped the bodice of her gown away from her figure. She wore nothing underneath. In the faint light that filtered through the doorway, Brampton found himself gazing at small but perfectly formed, upward-tilting breasts, the nipples already hard with desire. He cupped a hand reverently beneath each breast and teased the nipples gently with circling thumbs. The expression in her eyes became even more remote.

He lowered his head and licked lightly at each hardened tip. Margaret moaned in an agony of desire.

“My sweet little angel,” he murmured against her ear, his hands placing her breasts gently against his silk coat and then moving to her back, “I have loved you for so long. I must have you. Now. Please.”

Margaret was shocked into immobility. Not by the attempted seduction. But by the rest of what he had said. His hands were undoing the buttons below her waist. His mouth was seeking hers again.

“No, no, monsieur!” she cried, one hand going behind her back to prevent his activity there, the other hand pushing at his chest. “Please, no!”

“Oh, yes, little one, yes,” he insisted, still trying to capture her mouth with his.

“Monsieur, please!” she pleaded, in a real panic now. “Someone may come. Your people will be looking for you. My friends will have missed me!”

“Please, my angel.”

“But please, no, monsieur! ”

With a great effort Brampton forced himself to relax against the wall behind him. He held her loosely against him. Damn, but the little apparition was right. In another minute he would have had her naked on the floor beneath him, in an almost public place! He had quite taken leave of his senses.

“I am sorry, my sweet,” he said, fighting to regain control over himself. And he moved her away from him, helped her on with the bodice of her dress, and turned her around so that he could fasten the buttons again. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, kissed the back of her neck, and drew her against him.

“I am afraid to let you go, my angel,” he said softly. “You will disappear again and I shall not know where to look for you or for whom to look.”

“Are you sure that you wish to see me again?” Margaret asked, unconsciously holding her breath.

He groaned. “Now that I have found you again, I do not know how I have lived without you,” he said.

“I shall come here again one week from tonight. Will you too be here, monsieur?” she asked, slanting a provocative look back over her shoulder.

“Nothing could keep me away, angel,” he said. “But how can I be sure you will not disappear into thin air?”

“I give you my promise, monsieur,” she swore.

“Tell me who you are,” he whispered.

She took his hands in hers and unclasped them from her waist. She picked up her fan and gloves and turned to face him.

"Au revoir,
monsieur,” she said, and she tapped him lightly on one shoulder with the fan, flashed her eyes and teeth at him in a gay smile, and whisked her skirts out through the doorway. She stole a glance back over her shoulder as she sped lightly down the path to the more brightly lit avenue. He was standing in the doorway of the shelter, but was making no attempt to follow her.

She was too emotionally disturbed to be surprised when she noticed soon that Jem
was
following her, at the same respectful distance as before.

B
rampton was galloping his horse in Hyde Park as fast as safety would allow. It was too early in the day for his progress to be impeded by carriages or pedestrians, or even by many other riders. It was too early for Devin Northcott; the two men met in the park quite frequently by unspoken agreement and enjoyed a talk while their mounts cantered over the grass.

For half an hour his mind was too full for coherent thought. He gave himself up to the sensations of the ride, the cool, early-morning mist whipping a flush of color to his cheeks.

He still felt his elation from the discovery of the night before. After six years he had found his angel again, and she sparkled with as much mischief and as much passion as she had on that first meeting. Brampton realized that he had never stopped loving her. Her tiny body had fitted itself to his powerful frame as if he had held her only the day before. He thought of her lips, her mouth, the smooth white skin of her throat, her firm, perfect little breasts. He remembered the way her hips and thighs had molded themselves provocatively against his as he had touched his tongue to her nipples.

She was his! She had to be his! He realized all the absurdity of loving a woman whose face he had never seen and whose identity he did not know. Was her face ugly? Was that why she was so reluctant to show it? But no, no woman with such sparkling eyes and such seductive lips could be ugly. And he felt that he would not have cared even if her face did not prove as beautiful as promised. Her beauty lay all in the perfect little body and the life and passion that sang from it.

He loved her! He dug the spurs into his horse’s sides and increased the speed of his gallop. He must see her again. What would he do if she failed to appear the following week? He refused to consider the possibility. She must be there! And he must have somewhere to take her so that he could unclothe the tiny little form, remove the wig and the mask, and feast his eyes and his body on her beauty. To make love to her was now the one urgent goal of his life.

He had to admit to a twinge of uneasiness, though. Why had she suddenly appeared, dressed exactly as she had been six years before. He could not believe it an accident. Her story did not quite ring true. Even if she had spoken part of the truth, was it likely that she would have recognized him, masked and cloaked as he was, after six years? And what would have happened if his wife had been with him as she would have been but for the sudden headache? There was some puzzling mystery here, but Brampton found that the mystery only heightened his desire to see his angel again.

He galloped the length of the park again before admitting that something was threatening to dull his excitement. His wife! Had he turned unfaithful to her so soon after his vow to make theirs a marriage in deed? Would he be able to betray her when she performed her part of the marriage so sweetly and so uncomplainingly? Her large eyes always looked into his with a quiet trust. Would he be able to meet those eyes after last night, especially with the knowledge that he was scheming for physical union with the other woman? Would he be able to go to his wife’s bed without feeling that he was sullying her unresisting, yet sweetly warm little body?

It was only at that moment that Brampton realized the remarkable similarity between the two women in his life. So alike in body, yet so vastly different in manner!

He noticed that his horse had begun to lather. Brampton felt a pang of guilt; he usually treated his horses with unfailing consideration. He turned its head for the stables at home.