Masquerading the Marquess

by Anne Mallory

  He gave her a sharp look. "We aren’t home yet."

  She grabbed the small gun and looked around, but the tired horses carried them the short distance to James’s townhouse without further incident.

  A small army of servants appeared and carried off Jenkins. Finn mumbled under his breath about his employer taking off without him.

  "Finn, take care of Jenkins, post guards and get someone to rub down the horses." He pointed at Calliope. "Follow me."

  Calliope shadowed him to the study. "What about your wound?"

  "It’s merely a nick. Bullet passed through."

  Templeton appeared in the doorway, anxiety on his usually calm face.

  Calliope inspected James’s blood-soaked shirt for the second time that day. "Templeton, please get us hot water, towels and bandages."

  Templeton, who was staring at his master’s shirt, didn’t question her right to attend his master or give directives. He ran from the room.

  "Damn it, I said it’s just a nick. And give me that gun before you shoot yourself."

  "I know what you said," she said soothingly, and placed the gun on the table. "Now please remove your shirt so I can attend to the scratch."

  His brows drew together in a fierce scowl but he said nothing.

  Templeton returned so quickly that Calliope wondered where he hid the bandages. She took the supplies from the butler and thanked him.

  James sat, eyes closed. He crossed his arms and pain flashed across his brow. She put her hands on her hips. "Honestly, you’re acting like a child. Now take off your shirt."

  He glared at her as she moved toward him. If he wasn’t going to take it off, then she would.

  Calliope could have sworn he growled at her, but he acceded to her command and removed the blood-soaked shirt. She carefully checked his torso for other wounds, even peering under the patch covering the stab wound. She had seen his chest earlier in the day, but the intimacy of the act still moved her.

  She snapped to attention, concentrating on the task at hand. Dipping a towel in water, she cleansed the colorful mess on his arm. The bullet had taken a fair chunk out of the side. A nick indeed!

  After she bandaged the wound, she sat back on her heels.

  Templeton, who had been anxiously hovering during the entire ordeal, relaxed. "I will be in the kitchen, ma’am. Please pull the cord if you or my lord require anything." He exited the study and closed the door behind him.

  Calliope studied James as he stared at the ceiling. His eyes were dark and remote. What was he thinking? She had prodded the wound and knew it had hurt, but as earlier, he remained detached and distant.

  "Are you all right?"

  He refocused on her, an intense look on his face. "What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, climbing out of the coach?"

  "I--I--I thought I could help." His stormy look had reduced her to stammering.

  "It would have helped if you had stayed inside the carriage."

  Her chin went up a notch. "Jenkins might’ve died."

  "Yes, and so might’ve you." He heaved a breath and leaned back against the sofa. "As it so happens I would not have pulled that maneuver had you been inside the carriage."

  She brightened perceptibly.

  "But don’t ever do it again." His aristocratic mien was back in place and she wanted to smack him. She balled her hands into fists instead.

  "You can’t return home tonight," he said.

  "I know."

  He nodded and closed his eyes.

  A wave of pent-up emotion washed through Calliope and she fought a hysterical giggle. She lost. One eye peeked open and he looked at her. He repeated her earlier question. "Are you all right?"

  Another shrill giggle bubbled out and this time his other eye snapped open.

  Hysteria whipped through her and it must have shown, because he swept her onto his lap, disregarding any pain in his left arm.

  "You’re safe. Let it go."

  His gentle words were her undoing. She buried her head against his neck and let the tremors sweep through her. The fear uncoiled within and she held on to him tightly, tears running down her cheeks unheeded. The stress that had been building since the beginning of the masquerade burst forth, as if waiting for just this moment to be released.

  James ran his fingers down her back and stroked her hair with his left hand, comforting her as if she were a child, and whispering soft, incoherent words against her hair. He was using his injured arm to comfort her and that made her cry even harder.

  Calliope couldn’t seem to stop. James was murmuring about stressful campaigns, battle-hardened men reduced to tears, her needing this release.

  Calliope finally reached the sniffling stage, feeling infinitely better than she had in a long time. And safe. Nothing harmful could happen as long as he continued to hold her this way. James pulled her head back and smoothed her hair away from her face. She knew her eyes were bloodshot and her face was mottled, but James’s eyes were the same mesmerizing black velvet as the night of the Killroys’ and Pettigrew’s balls. Energy sparked between them and it sent a shiver down her spine.

  James twirled a ringlet of her hair around his finger, then curved his hand gently around the back of her head, slowly drawing her toward him, allowing her time to settle back against his shoulder or pull away. The gentle caress and the intensity in his eyes were her undoing. She lifted her left hand and traced a path from his cheek to his silk collar. She heard his sudden intake of breath and her eyes searched and held his for a long moment. This man had somehow lodged himself into her being. His eyes mirrored her own need and a rush of excitement pulsed through her veins.

  His lips touched hers like a feather. Then another mere brush. The gentle pressure on her head ceased and he looked into her eyes once more. He was allowing her time to make her decision, and once made, there would be no interruptions. Her heart made the choice. She relinquished her rigid control, shed all guises and gave in to the dream.

  "Make me whole, James."

  Her words loosened a dam within him, as he stroked the back of her neck and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. Calliope felt a sunburst in her stomach and she kissed him back with a longing she didn’t know she possessed.

  It was heavenly, his spicy cologne, the feel of his lips against hers. He leaned into her and laid her against the sofa’s armrest.

  He kissed her over and over like a starving man who hadn’t eaten a meal in days. Calliope felt the same way. Her hands delved beneath the edges of his white broadcloth, stroking the heated skin and exploring the hard-muscled planes she had observed earlier. He groaned.

  Suddenly her shirt was unbuttoned and his hands slipped inside her chemise. He didn’t stop kissing her as he lightly rubbed his thumb over her left nipple. Everything blurred and little red and gold lights burst in her vision. She leaned her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck, over her breasts to her stomach. Her breeches had somehow come undone. Then they were gone. His hands and mouth were everywhere. Dear lord, his mouth was everywhere.

  She gave in to the pleasure and arched on the sofa as her body reveled in the new sensations he stirred. He quickly removed the rest of her clothes and his. She gasped when she looked at him naked before her, all hard muscles and strong taut planes. Gone was the aristocrat, and in his place was her fantasy. And for one night he was hers.

  His eyes seared her as he touched her with his hands. The inferno raged as he stroked her again and again, reaching his head down to pull first one nipple and then the other between his lips. Half the staff could have appeared beside the couch and she wouldn’t have cared. The pleasure was so intense she thought she might explode.

  His eyes were molten and she wondered how she could have ever thought him cold. He continued the assault on her senses until she was damp and aching. She needed him to fill the missing piece.

  "You’re beautiful. Beyond my wildest imaginings." He suddenly changed course and kissed her lips again, deeply, at the same time lifti
ng her hips. She gripped the back of his head and kissed him hard, whispering against his mouth for him to hurry. She couldn’t remember ever needing anything so badly. He eased inside her and discomfort overrode the pleasure as she tried to adjust to the foreign sensation. He looked into her eyes, a question appearing in their depths, but she gave a tentative wiggle and they darkened. He continued to gaze at her, stroking her between their bodies until her wiggles became frenzied and the discomfort was forgotten.

  Then he began to move. She lost all rational thought as the room lit on fire. A crescendo was building inside her unlike anything she’d experienced. Her body moved with a will of its own, pulling James closer, and matching him eagerly stroke for stroke. She cried out his name and heard hers echoed before losing all thought to the overwhelming waves of passion.

  The grandfather clock in the hall struck three. He had been stabbed and shot, and he was feeling better than he could remember. James almost smiled.

  What was it about her that made him feel? Feel everything: anger, passion, tenderness, jealousy. Vulnerability.

  She was lying on top of him, long legs akimbo. James lifted a lock of honeyed hair off his chest and rubbed it beneath his nose and over his lips. The silky strands were a pleasant tickle. Lilacs. She always smelled so good. He replaced the lock and smoothed her hair from her face. Calliope sighed and snuggled closer. An overwhelming protectiveness stirred within him. It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way around her, but the enormity of it rocked him.

  They had much to discuss. She had a number of questions to answer. But the pleasant lethargy was too nice to spoil, so he lay staring at the ceiling, allowing his mind to connect the pieces of the puzzle. Calliope wiggled into a more comfortable position and settled in for a lengthy doze.

  No woman had spent the night in the townhouse since his father’s death. But Calliope looked right. There was no place he would rather have her be.

  There would be plenty of time to talk in the morning.

  * * *

  Calliope woke feeling better than she could remember. She was more than a little tired. James had awakened her twice during the night. Once to carry her up to bed and the other time to . . . She couldn’t stop the blush staining her cheeks. The heavy red and navy curtains above her were plush and exotic. Like something brought back from the Crusades long ago. Calliope looked around at the mahogany furniture and rich dark colors. They suited their owner. The pillow next to hers carried a deep indentation that indicated it hadn’t been abandoned much earlier. However, James was nowhere to be seen.

  She rose and searched for her clothes. Spotting only a deep violet gown lying across an armchair, she picked it up, running her lingers down the silk. A surge of jealousy swept through her. Whose gown was it? It was designed in an older, classic style.

  Having no desire to walk unclothed through his household, she reluctantly put it on. Thankfully it was an easy gown to fasten, and she was able to do it without assistance.

  On the dresser lay a beautiful silver brush set, which she used to comb her hair into some semblance of order. A matching violet ribbon lay next to the brush.

  Negotiating the hallway, she found a staircase leading to the first floor. She headed for the study, made a wrong turn into the drawing room and then backtracked to find Templeton standing in the hall.

  "I heard you come down, miss. His lordship is in his study. Please follow me, it’s right this way."

  There was a deferential note in Templeton’s voice. And if she didn’t know better, she would say there was a more engaging manner in the way he addressed her.

  He led her to the study, bowed and took his leave. She could have sworn there was a lighter hitch to his step.

  Calliope entered the firelit room and found James staring at a ledger on his desk, his glasses perched on his nose. He stood when he heard her enter and removed the glasses. The heated look in his eyes warmed her to her toes as he approached.

  "I hope you don’t mind wearing my mother’s old gown. Even though it is a bit outdated, I thought it might be a bit more fashionable and comfortable than your breeches."

  His mother’s gown? Calliope felt her cheeks heat and cast her eyes downward. "Thank you." She suddenly felt shy.

  He led her to the sofa and chairs that were grouped near the blazing fire. The same sofa that . . .

  "Would you care for some tea? Biscuits? Something more substantial?"

  Calliope shook her head and sat next to him on the sofa. He waved off Templeton, who shut the door behind him.

  "Well, then, I have a question for you. How did a virgin become a courtesan and manage to remain a virgin?"

  Panic flowed through her and she looked to the door for escape.

  "What game were you and Stephen playing?"

  Calliope pulled herself together and stammered an answer. "W-we were just waiting. He was giving me time to adjust."

  James looked unconvinced.

  She tried again. "You know what a gentleman Stephen is."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Can’t say that I do."

  "Well, he is. He was allowing me to adjust to my new role." Calliope panicked and forced herself to continue the charade. It wasn’t time to tell him. Not yet, not when he was looking at her with such heat.

  "Well, I’m not Stephen. And I want you."

  "I, uh, that is--"

  "Money, protection, security for life. I can give you all you desire."

  The look he gave her promised just that. It made her sizzle, but visions of her mother anxiously waiting for Salisbury to appear each night danced through her head. There had always been the uncertainty and sometimes the disappointment.

  "I am quite sure you don’t know what I desire."

  "I know enough." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let his hand trail down the back of her neck.

  The room was getting warmer by the minute and if she wasn’t careful she’d find herself blissfully entwined and begging for all he offered. Time to change the subject. "How shall we proceed today, my lord? Do you know who was chasing us last night?"

  "Back to ‘my lord’ and business, are we? Pity. I could think of plenty of stimulating things we could do with the day. I suppose what I have in mind will have to wait until this evening."

  Calliope tried to breathe normally and ignore his comments, even as her traitorous body responded to the look in his eyes.

  "My men have been out all night making inquiries. We’ll have an answer soon. Meanwhile, we’ll stop by your townhouse so you can change."

  His eyes turned mischievous. "Then we can take some air. You are looking a trifle overset."

  James bundled her into his coach and they set off for Stephen’s townhouse. She hid beneath a large bonnet, another piece from his mother’s closet, in case they encountered anyone while entering or exiting the coach. They reached the residence and James talked to his two men while she changed.

  The violet dress winked at her as she set it down. It was only then that she remembered her forgotten breeches and shirt. Throwing on a light tan day dress, her wig and makeup, she rushed downstairs as quickly as possible. She could hear the men talking.

  "Two blokes tried entering last night. One man stood in the shadows watching the whole time. Couldn’t make out any features but he set my teeth on edge. We got the two lackwits but weren’t able to nab the third man."

  "Good work. I’ll talk to them later. Stay here just in case."

  "Right-o."

  James caught sight of Calliope and walked toward her. The two men bowed awkwardly and left the room.

  ·

  "Are you ready? I thought we might drive by Holt’s and then walk down the Strand, since we didn’t bring the curricle."

  Calliope nodded. A walk sounded good. Brisk fresh air, lots of people, limited personal conversation.

  They got into the coach and drove briskly until Holt’s house came into view. It looked empty. Oddly, there appeared to be no activity inside or out.

&
nbsp; "Let’s continue. I’ll make a social call later and see what he’s about. I sent Finn to Ternberry’s to talk to the servants. Hopefully we can piece this mess together."

  They reached the Strand, parked and exited the coach. The driver would rendezvous with them on the other side.

  "It’s a beautiful day to be out. I have frequently wondered how the pasty ladies get by without being in the sun."

  She relaxed into his small talk and soon found herself enjoying the gorgeous day and being with him.

  A man sullenly walked by and Calliope instantly recognized him as George Cruikshank, Robert’s brother. George was also a caricaturist. He was a staunch moralist, the opposite of Robert in personality and decorum. George knew nothing of Thomas Landes’s identity, of whom he would disapprove mightily. The two brothers were as different as night and day.