Masque of Desire

by Amy Ruttan

  She pulled away. She rolled to her side, her back to him. What was she doing? How could she go to work on Monday and face him at the board meeting? He won’t know it’s you, the hair extensions for this ridiculous getup will be gone and you’ll be safe behind your pinstriped business suit.

  “Ma chere, what is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  “Hmmm, I think something is wrong. You pulled away so quickly.” He cuddled up behind her, his warm body spooning her. “Tell me you’re not finished with me yet. The night is still young.”

  “Well, I have busy day on Monday.”

  “Monday, that is two days away. It is not even midnight yet. The masquerade still continues, listen, they still dance below.”

  Miranda could hear the weak strains of a minuet wafting up through the floor. She could almost see the dancers in their mantuas and powdered wigs dancing in the stifling heat. This whole thing was a fantasy. A fantasy she had enjoyed but now it was time to get back to the real world.

  “I should go,” she said, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. He frowned under his black mask.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I told you why. Besides, I’m tired.”

  “You promised me that for tonight you would obey me,” he said fiercely and it freaked Miranda out.

  “So I did.”

  “A contract is binding, is it not?”

  Her heart beat faster. Damn, he knows who I am. Why would he suggest I would know about legal contracts if he didn’t know I was a freaking lawyer?

  “I guess it is,” she said quietly. “What do you want me to do?”

  He smiled. “Well, for starters you could release my legs from the bindings.”

  After she released him from his bonds she rubbed his ankles. He stood up and pulled his pants and a billowy linen shirt on.

  All those romance novels had it right—a man looked good in a billowy pirate shirt. She chuckled to herself.

  “What is so funny?” he asked, buttoning up his shirt.

  “Nothing, nothing at all.” She wandered over to where her mantua lay in pieces and cringed at the thought of having to trap herself in its bindings again.

  “No, ma chere,” he said, taking the heavy skirts from her hands. He opened up the armoire and pulled out a silk gown. A simple shift that was definitely not historically accurate by the presence of the zipper and designer label.

  “Uh, they didn’t wear these in the eighteenth century.”

  “I know, I thought it would be more comfortable for you.”

  “Thanks,” Miranda said relieved, slipping the cool fabric over her head. She presented her back to him. “Zip me up.”

  He did and his hands lingered on her shoulder. “Would you do me the honor of walking the grounds with me? There are things we should talk about, things that I need to tell you.”

  “Of course,” Miranda agreed. She hoped that it would not take too long. She wanted to leave, to forget about this night of passion. She had to concentrate on her job. She didn’t want him to think less of her because she had spread her legs for him. She was a businesswoman, she was a killer in the courtroom and that’s the way their business relationship should stay.

  He led her out of the room and down a back staircase. More chambers lined the hall and from each chamber she could hear the sounds of people acting out their fantasies.

  Down the narrow staircase he led her into a dark summer kitchen and they wandered out onto the back part of the property. The dew from the night air was wet but after the sweltering crush of bodies inside Violet Hall she welcomed the refreshing feel beneath her feet.

  He took her arm and said nothing as they wandered the grounds of what must have been a vast and profitable plantation in its heyday. She could almost hear the past calling to her in the stillness of the night.

  If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the fields of cotton and tobacco. She could hear the sounds of carriages clattering up the gravel drive and she could hear the faint lull of a gypsy violin.

  “Do you know the history of Violet Hall?” he asked suddenly, banishing the ghosts that had been slowly sneaking up on them.

  “Only what your doorman told me. About the curse of the owner, the myth that he comes back every Halloween looking for his true love.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “No,” she said. “Why would I? Your doorman said a body was found inside the crypt.”

  “Oui, there was a body but who is to say that it was the cursed plantation owner?”

  “I guess one just assumes,” Miranda said as a chill ran down her spine.

  “Shall I tell you the whole story?”

  “Would you like to tell me?” she asked.

  He stopped and looked deep into her eyes. “I would, I would like to tell you everything and I hope at the end you believe.”

  “Doubtful, but do tell.”

  He seemed bothered by her response. “What do you mean by ‘doubtful’?”

  “I just don’t believe in curses or myths or anything like that,” she said and she regretted her words as soon as she said them. He looked bothered, angered by her response. Call it a night. You had some mind-blowing sex with him, that’s what you wanted. Leave. “Look, maybe I should go.” She turned to leave again but he latched onto her arm.

  “You will stay and listen,” he said sternly. “And at the end you shall let your heart, not your head, decide what is true.”

  “I don’t think—” Miranda sputtered.

  “That’s it, ma chere, don’t think.”

  “All right,” she acquiesced. “I’ll listen and I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

  He smiled warmly at her. She leaned in and kissed his sensuous mouth. He chuckled and pushed her away gently.

  “May I continue?”

  “Of course.” She could feel herself blushing. Her cheeks grew hot. What had brought on that impulsive kiss? she wondered. She was doing so many things that contradicted her nature. Having great sex with a stranger, putting a man in control of her actions, it was so unlike her. Tonight is Halloween, Mira. A time for deceit, a time to wear different masks and to be someone different.

  “The family that built this plantation was Valquet.”

  Aha, so I was right. “Go on.”

  “You know this name?” he asked.

  “I’ve heard of it, continue,” she said smugly, pleased that her guess of her lover’s identity was correct.

  “Bonne,” he said pleased. “The Valquets came here in the late 1600s, looking for new opportunities. Europe was becoming too crowded for their tastes. Monsieur Valquet at first came to the West Indies, to Haiti, where he met his bride. She was a Russian princess. Their first son was born here, on this land. They called him Aleksandr.”

  “Very Russian name for New Orleans.”

  “Ma chere, even then New Orleans was a melting pot of cultures. It did not matter.”

  “So, is Aleksandr the man of the curse?” Miranda whispered seductively, leaning into the crook of his arm.

  “Yes, he was the man of the curse. Alek grew up on the land of Violet Hall. His bride was a French lady whose father owned land abutting Violet Hall plantation. So Alek married to increase the plantation’s land. Such was the way of things.”

  “Smart man,” Miranda said.

  “You think so, ma chere?”

  “No one married for love back then,” she replied. “He probably knew this.”

  “Well, then I concur, business-wise he was smart to marry his French lady and increase his property, but as with all loveless marriages he began to wander. He grew tired of waiting for his French wife to have his heir. They were married for over ten years and no heir was forthcoming. So instead Alek wandered and he fell in love with a Russian gypsy by the name of Mira.”

  Miranda almost choked. It was almost too coincidental. Almost set up. Valquet, Alek or Alex and Mira. It was as if Monsieur Valquet was fabricating this whole web of lies to add
to the seduction. She wanted to slug him and tell him to be straight up with her. He didn’t need these lies and stories about some ancient curse to lure her into his bed, he had already done that. What was the point?

  “I’m listening,” Miranda said cautiously.

  “Mira and Alek fell deeply in love. They met every night in a small cottage deep in the bayou. He kept her there, safe and in comfort. His wife found out and she was not pleased. She was not as it seemed, she knew a bit of black magic, or voodoo, from her slaves.

  “Mira became pregnant, with a long-desired heir and this enraged Alek’s legitimate wife. She would not let a Russian gypsy’s bastard take over Violet Hall.”

  “So she killed them.”

  “In a way, yes.”

  Miranda chuckled. “What do you mean, in a way yes? Either she did or she didn’t. You can’t sort of kill a person.”

  He kissed her hand and sent electric tingles up her arm. “You are thinking with your head again, ma chere.”

  “Sorry, go on.”

  “She sent their souls into limbo. The unborn child and Mira’s soul disappeared. Alek’s French wife cursed them into oblivion and they were to return in two hundred and fifty years. Alek was crushed, for no man was immortal. He knew that he would never see his true love again.”

  “What happened to his wife?”

  “She met her end, at the end of the gallows. She was charged as a witch and she was charged by Alek. Her slaves were quick to offer up proof of her black ways for their freedom.”

  “Wow, the poor guy. Did he every remarry?”

  “Non, ma chere. Mira’s grandmother gave him a gift. She was a powerful sage and she gave him the gift of immortality. He would live for two hundred and fifty years or until his true love returned. When Mira and the soul of their unborn child returned to Earth then he would be free again. Free to love, his soul would no longer be bound to the earth. He would live out his life with his love and his child as he should have done.”

  “And after two hundred and fifty years?” Miranda asked, feeling a sense of dread.

  “If she is not found then Alek’s soul and Mira’s soul will remain forever in limbo. Never finding peace again.”

  “So where did he go?” she asked. “I mean, this place has been in disrepair as long as I can remember. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  “I know, ma chere, I know.”

  A tingle ran down her spine as she found herself standing in front of Aleksandr Valquet’s crypt. The bust of Alek staring down into her, as if looking into her soul, it terrified her and thrilled her. The wind picked up and she wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly she had the strangest feeling that she had been here before, standing in this spot before.

  A vision washed over her and suddenly she found herself standing back in time when Violet Hall was first built and she was standing in front of Aleksandr. Alek who was on the ground holding a lifeless body in his arms, weeping. She approached him and saw the face on the body was hers. Her lifeless eyes stared up into the sky. She cried out and saw Alek’s wife with red eyes standing behind her, laughing, her black hair swirling in the wind. She wanted to scream, to run and do some serious harm to that French bitch but she felt her lover’s arms go around her and she was brought back to present time. The ghosts of the past evaporated into the mist that had begun to roll across Violet Hall’s grounds.

  “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” she whispered.

  “Oui, ma cherie. Welcome home.”

  Miranda backed away, terrified at the thought that just came to her. She knew it to be true, deep down she knew what he had been telling her had been real.

  “Mira, don’t be afraid of me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You do not know me?” he asked, confused.

  “You can’t be Alek, he’s dead.”

  “No,” he said, coming closer toward her. “I am not dead. I am here.”

  “No, you’re not. Why would Alek allow Violet Hall to rot away into nothing? He wouldn’t, he loved this land too much.”

  “I had to leave it, Mira. When that witch sent your soul away, I couldn’t stay here. I loved you. I returned every Halloween, just hoping you’d find your way home early.”

  “You’re crazy!” she screamed, backing up against the crypt. “You can’t be Aleksandr and I’m losing my mind.”

  He came closer and took her hand. He stroked it with his fingers. “I am Alek and you are Mira, my Mira.” He kissed her hand.

  She began to cry. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m going crazy. She found herself again, back in the past. In a beautiful cottage deep in the bayou, making love to Alek under the light of the moon, in a large hammock strung between two juniper trees, wrapped in each other’s arms, watching the sun rise over the water.

  A clock chimed midnight from inside the plantation house. Miranda could hear the clapping and the cheering as everyone celebrated the end of Halloween.

  “Unmask, unmask, the midnight hour is here. Unmask!” someone from inside shouted.

  “Shall we then, Mira? Shall we unmask?”

  Miranda didn’t say anything. She just stared as he untied the black fabric of his mask. She watched as he pulled it from his face and watched as it fluttered to the ground.

  She slowly looked into his eyes and saw his face. Saw the same face that was on the marble bust. Aleksandr Valquet stared back at her, his eyes, warm and full of longing.

  “Will you unmask?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “Please, it will all become clear to you. I promise. Unmask, Mira, please.”

  Miranda nodded and slowly pulled the mask from her face. The elastic snagged in the tendrils of her strawberry-blonde hair. She let it drop to the ground and slowly raised her eyes to meet his.

  Her heart lurched in her chest, as she recognized him and she suddenly remembered who she was. She had never believed in anything like reincarnation, or magic. Yet, standing here, with him, she knew him. She remembered him and she remembered that she had loved him.

  “Mira?” he asked cautiously.

  “I really don’t know. I don’t know what to believe, my name is Miranda.”

  “Yes, I know. I hired the services of your law firm when I saw you. You were the spitting image of Mira. I knew I would have to be patient before your memories returned.”

  “I never met you at the firm.”

  “I know, I had to hide until tonight when I knew the spell would be broken.”

  “You knew all along.”

  “I set everything up this night to remind you of who you were,” he said earnestly.

  “Alek, I’m scared,” she whispered. For the first time in her life, she felt terrified of what might lie in the future. “Hold me.”

  He came to her instantly and wrapped her in his strong arms. Whispering to her in Russian and she understood every word that he said.

  He promised her that she would never be harmed again, that they would never be apart again.

  Suddenly he was kissing her feverishly. All over her face and down her neck. She melted, pressing her body against him.

  “Don’t ever leave me again,” Alek whispered in her ear.

  “I won’t, I promise.” She felt the cool air against her thighs as he lifted her skirt above her waist. She eagerly unbuttoned his trousers and welcomed his cock into her warm, waiting depths.

  She cried out and wrapped her legs around his waist and he plunged into her, fucking her hard and fast against the cold marble of the crypt. She felt her orgasm build and her eyes became blurry as if Alek was disappearing as her pleasure increased.

  “Alek, don’t leave me,” she cried out.

  “I’m here, Mira. I won’t leave you,” he replied as he came deep within in her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself go around him. She cried out as the pleasure washed over her.

  “I love you, Alek,” she whispered before her eyes closed and dark
ness washed over her.

  * * * * *

  Miranda stretched and felt the warm sun beaming on her face. She rolled over and let her hand wander but the bed beside her was empty. She opened her eyes and gasped. She was in her bed, in her Snoopy pajamas. The sun was filtering through her white gauze drapes and her window was open, letting in a cool autumn zephyr.

  She bolted straight up in bed. She rubbed her head as her eyes adjusted to the daylight. She saw her Halloween costume, the mantua that Deanna made, hanging on the hanger on her closet door.

  Was it all a dream? She ran her fingers through her hair. What the heck happened?

  “Well, if it was, it was the best frigging erotic dream I’ve ever had,” she mumbled to herself.

  She heard the sounds of Deanna clattering around in the kitchen. She clambered out of bed. She stormed into the kitchen and Deanna chuckled when she looked over her shoulder at her.

  “Wild night?” she asked as she continued to scramble eggs.

  “I don’t know.”

  Deanna chuckled. “If you don’t know then it must have been a wild masquerade ball.”

  “So I did go to the ball?”

  Deanna gave her a strange look as she poured a coffee. “Of course you went to the ball, Miranda,” she said knowingly, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “Oh.” Miranda sat down at the kitchen table. Deanna placed a black coffee in front of her and she gladly took it and sipped the caffeine slowly, savoring it. “What time did I get in last night?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, after midnight, I think.” Deanna gave her a querulous look. “Did you come home with a man by any chance?”

  “No, I don’t know, why?” Miranda asked quickly.

  “I thought I heard you come home with someone,” she teased again.

  A shiver ran down her spine. It was real, it was all real. She took a sip of her coffee letting it all sink in. Then she remembered it all, she was Mira Romanov, a Russian gypsy, reborn. She remembered who her parents were, she remembered her life wandering in a caravan. Nights of music and dancing around a bonfire. She remembered the first night that she met Alek, the night he wandered into their gypsy camp.

  She was dancing—it was her first night dancing. The provocative sway of the music, the violin and tambourine causing her pulse to quicken as she danced and twirled. While she danced she could feel Alek’s eyes on her, watching her from the other side of the bonfire. She knew she could make easy money if she slept with him, she didn’t know that she would fall in love with the man who took her virginity.