by Sahara Kelly
It was the matter of moments for Max’s firm stride to eat up the distance from his carriage to the grand portico and the impressive doors of Steenmere House, the current residence of the DuClos family. Comte Arnaud DuClos and his wife Natalia were welcoming their guests, standing amidst a profusion of exotic flowers. Their perfume was overwhelming, and Max barely managed to restrain a sneeze as he bowed over the hand of his hostess.
“Ah, Monsieur Seton-Mowbray.” Her voice was a sensual purr, her eyes glittering at him through a mask that must have held about a thousand small diamonds. “I trust you will enjoy the evening.” Her décolletage was barely decent, her breasts full and luxuriant, and he was treated to a revealing view as she breathed in deeply after her comment to him.
“Indeed, Madame. I’m sure I shall.” He smiled, allowing her to believe anything she wanted.
Her lips parted. “Très bientôt, mon ami.”
He moved on, knowing the line behind him was growing. And listening. As far as he was concerned, there would be no “very soon”, nor was he her friend. He had other prey this evening, and he wondered if she had arrived yet.
“Max, dear chap.”
The hail from behind him was not particularly welcome. He turned. “Evening, Dancey.”
“I haven’t seen much of you lately,” commented the younger man, moving alongside Max as he walked toward the ballroom.
“I’m sure we’ve both been busy.” It was a curt response, but the only one Max felt like making.
“Indeed.” Miller-James sounded hesitant. “Well then, I’ll be seeing you later, I’m sure.”
“Of such wishes are dreams made,” answered Max obscurely. He found his distaste almost palpable and wondered at himself as the other man left his side. Had he developed a conscience? Was he growing old? Shaking off the horrid notion, along with the urge to find a mirror and check for grey hairs, he found a spot at the side of the ballroom and surveyed the swirling throng.
They were waltzing, and although the dance was still regarded as rather shocking by a few, it had been wholeheartedly embraced by the many. The brilliant mêlée of colors, costumes, gems and feathers was the result, moving like the surface of some fantastical lake buffeted by a strong wind.
Since identities were concealed by masks and costumes, Max had no idea who might be clasped in who’s arms, or what husband might be holding another woman far too close—right under his wife’s nose. Many men had opted for the safe anonymity of black—as had Max. The folds of his cloak and the mask hiding his features offered the chance to enjoy a dalliance with anyone of his choosing.
But there was only one woman his gaze sought amongst the crowd. And he knew, if she was present, he would be able to distinguish her from the throng.
He’d discovered there was something about Kitty Ridlington that lifted her above the rank and file of the Ton. He was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to find out what that something was.
Several women met his initial criteria…elegant style, good dancer, right height, right hair color…but none of them tweaked that single nerve in Max’s brain. The one that said quite clearly “her”. It would appear she either had not yet arrived, or was somewhere else in the building.
Somewhat disheartened, he was about to turn away from the view when his eye was attracted to a domino that seemed to be all colors of the rainbow. He craned his head for a better look—and that little annoying nerve tingled. It was Kitty.
Her hood and cloak were purple, but it was the sort of fabric that shone in many different shades depending on the light. Rather like the breast of a full grown pigeon—one that could go from green to blue to purple as it flew down to the ground and landed.
Unique amongst the vivid throng she was easy to follow, and his eyes did just that. From one group of people to another, she moved smoothly and without pause, her head moving now and again as if she too sought someone. Max was vain enough to hope it might be him.
But he made no move to attract her attention; he was content to observe at this point.
The music changed to a more stately measure and he saw her accept the hand of a masked and bearded gentleman. Lord Standish, thought Max, recognising the pure white beard. A man of intelligence, widely regarded with favor by many in the government, and at least twice Kitty’s age.
He knew it was absurd, but he found himself heaving a sigh of relief anyway.
As he watched, he noticed Miss Hecate also engaged in the dance. His eyes narrowed as he searched for Dancey; odds were good that he was around somewhere, unless he’d foregone his previous intention of seducing her.
He cursed beneath his breath since he found he could not recall Dancey’s garb. Did he even look at the man? He didn’t think so. Now, of course, that was a damned nuisance because he could be anything from a pirate to a Harlequin to one of the many men in a simple mask and domino.
As the final measures of the dance concluded, Max gave up the task of seeking Dancey, and returned his attention to Kitty. She was now with a small group at one side of the ballroom, but her attention seemed to be on the guests rather than her companions. She frequently glanced around, tilted her head and surveyed the colourful throng.
Then her eyes found him. Max almost felt the impact as they settled on his face. She smiled a little, nodded, and then returned to her conversation. All quite casual and most proper.
And not what Max intended at all.
Chapter Five
The sight of the tall man in the black domino sent a bolt of awareness through Kitty that she had to work hard to conceal. She’d known he would attend, but a little part of her had hoped he wouldn’t. The reaction his presence caused was starting to become noticeable and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it or how to respond to it.
The tiny nod of acknowledgement she’d received after intercepting his glance—it had been enough to make her suppress a shiver. It was part excitement and part something else she had yet to define.
But as he walked toward her, ignoring those around him, she was reminded of a prince or a conqueror making his way through an irrelevant throng. His focus was on her and she could feel it…a palpable brush of invisible fingers on her neck.
His bearing was autocratic, his expression unreadable, and she found herself eagerly awaiting his arrival, just to see what his first words would be. Something along the lines of “come with me to my castle” would seem appropriate. He was so…so…dominant.
Sadly, his greeting befitted a ballroom rather than a king’s chamber. “Good evening, Miss Ridlington. I trust you are enjoying the masquerade?” His bow was elegant and faultless.
She dropped a slight curtsey, allowing her lips to curve into what she hoped was a polite smile. “I am indeed, sir. A most colourful and delightful event.”
“Speaking of colourful…” he eyed her cloak. “Stolen from a peacock or two?”
She smiled. “Now why didn’t I think of that? A peacock feather mask would have been the perfect accessory.” She took the arm he offered and allowed him to walk her around the perimeter of the room. “You have an eye for fashion, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. I am impressed.”
“I have other things even more impressive, Miss Ridlington. I would enjoy showing you.”
She noted the wicked gleam in his eyes and answered it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure you would. But would I enjoy seeing them?”
He responded in kind. “I would very much hope so. Every gentleman cherishes the wish that ladies will respond positively to such an exhibition.”
Heads turned at the burst of laughter Kitty couldn’t restrain. “Max, you are quite outrageous,” she choked. “I ought to be shocked.”
“But you’re not. Which is why you’re on my arm and we’re about to head into a darkened passageway, thus encouraging even more gossip.”
Suiting words to deeds, he led her into a dimly lit corridor and walked them both to the end where he turned to open a door.
Kitty gasped. “Oh my. How delightful.”
She was staring into a conservatory, lit only by the light of the moon as it made its way past the grime and mist clouding the glass dome. The plants around her were surprisingly lush, and she recognized ferns and a couple of small fruit trees, but most were shrouded in darkness. It smelled…green. And she said so. “This place—like being in a forest at night. It even smells right. Damp and leafy…” She touched a frond of something that draped gracefully over the path they strolled together.
“It’s quite a surprise, isn’t it? I had no idea it was here until a few years ago, before the DuClos moved in. I will admit to a fondness for it.”
She glanced at the pale patch of light that was his mouth and chin. His mask still concealed his eyes. “You’re rooted in the country, aren’t you? Your home…surrounded by land, not houses. And now this…” Unlinking her arm from his, she walked to a flowering shrub and gently touched a bloom.
“You have uncovered one of my secrets, Kitty. Now you must swear not to reveal it. Imagine how my reputation as an aloof and unattainable gentleman of fashion would suffer were it known I have a weakness for foliage.”
Kitty laughed again, this time listening as the sound echoed around the glass enclosure, to be muffled by the leaves. “It’s magic. Who could blame you for your weakness?” She wandered toward what seemed to be the center, knowing he followed.
“I have other weaknesses as well, you know.”
A tree trunk stayed her steps and she reached out to touch it. “As do we all, I’m sure.” She ran her hand over the bark. “A large trunk for a small space.”
“Yes. I have no idea what species it is, so don’t ask me.”
She turned to find him close. “I won’t, but I will confess to some curiosity in relation to your previous comment. The poised Mr. Seton-Mowbray confessing to his Achilles heel? One has to wonder…”
He came even closer, close enough that she could smell a touch of something masculine, maybe sandalwood, mixed with wool and a touch of leather. It was unique and utterly perfect for him.
He tugged off his mask and reached downward, capturing her hands and sliding his fingers to her wrists. He held them in place, his grip firm. “Are you sure you want to know my weakness, Kitty?” He freed one hand and slid her mask off as well.
She lifted her head, letting the hood of her domino fall behind her down her back. “Yes. I should very much like to know…”
“All right.”
She stilled as his grip on her wrists tightened and she found her arms rising as he lifted them, higher and higher above her head until he could press them back against the rough bark of the tree.
She was trapped in his heat, held captive by a grip of iron.
But she was not afraid. Quite the opposite. Her breath quickened as she felt his body touch hers and he leaned in to her.
“This is one of my preferences, my dear. Holding you still. Controlling you. Making sure that whatever comes next is my decision, and knowing that you will submit to whatever I desire.”
“Submit, Max?” She whispered the words, since her throat was clogged by something hot and fiery that burned low in her body and was spreading rapidly from her toes to her eyebrows.
“Yes, Kitty. Submit. To me.” He cradled her cheek in his free hand, pressed himself completely against her, and kissed her.
Thoroughly, lazily, and with great skill.
*~~*~~*
The kiss was searing enough to ignite her slippers.
Kitty found herself all at sea when Max’s lips touched hers. To her surprise, flickers of something strange lit up her body, stirring, arousing, liquefying places deep inside. She was not inexperienced when it came to kissing, but this was far beyond her expectations of such a caress.
When he didn’t stop at her lips but plunged within, taking his time to learn her with his tongue and urge her to reciprocate, she was shocked to hear a low moan coming from her throat, a sound she could not have suppressed if her life depended on it.
The strength of him, holding her hands high and immobile, excited her; the hard planes of his chest squashing her breasts intrigued her. She took a breath, only to feel her nipples abrade against her bodice. As they hardened, she became excruciatingly aware of their sensitivity.
As if he knew, Max released her cheek and slid his hand between them, finding a swollen nub through the silk of her gown.
The cry she uttered as he rolled and pinched it between his fingers was beyond her ability to control. He swallowed it, taking her breath away, continuing to kiss her until she was dizzy enough to sway in confusion. All the while his mouth was on hers, his fingers busy at her breast and his body moving slightly against her, his thigh inching between hers.
She discovered she would like that to happen and managed to part her legs for him, lost in the sensually erotic feelings Max had awoken.
His leg moved, sliding into the gap, lifting enough to trap her as he pressed hard against her body, and her most sensitive places.
Once again, she cried out, a muted gasp of need.
He released her lips. “That’s right, good girl.” He released her breast and bent down to whisk her skirts skyward. “Pleasure, Kitty. It’s all about pleasure.” His hand reached for her, and she was shocked to feel moisture, her own liquid fire, dampening the skin on her thighs as Max spread it with his fingers.
Her breath deserted her as those fingers found places—skin, folds of flesh—places that made her tremble when touched, especially in such a skillful and caressing way.
She felt stretched as he still held her hands against the trunk; she could not move them even though she yearned to touch him in return. “I want…” she sighed out the words as his fingers began a rhythm that vibrated through her, bringing the onset of an odd and needy tension.
“I know exactly what you want,” he murmured. “And I will allow you to have it tonight. Our first night, Kitty.” He flicked at one spot between her legs and she jumped, shocked at the sensation, finding it exquisitely sensitive. It almost hurt. Almost, but not quite.
Her hips moved, an unconscious thrust toward his hand. “Max,” she breathed. “Dear God, Max…I can’t…”
“Yes you can, and you will,” he answered, his voice a command not a promise. “Trust me. And let go.”
She found herself fighting now, frantic to touch him, trying to loosen her arms from his hold. But the strength of his arms pressed her wrists and hands against the tree and imprisoned her.
His hand continued to move beneath her skirts, to abrade flesh that felt on fire, a wet and fiery inferno which permeated her entire body with shimmers of sensation. It grew and expanded, tightening her muscles, arching her spine and at last…at last it exploded, and Kitty cried out, a gasping sob of ecstasy. Her body contorted against him, spasms of savage and violent release ripping through her in waves, and finally leaving her limp, lungs heaving and her knees weak.
Gently, Max settled her, smoothing down her skirts, and slowly lowering her arms to her sides. Then he simply held her, letting the tree hold her upright as he tucked her head beneath his chin and ran his hand idly up and down her arm. “Breathe, Kitty. Just breathe.”
She shivered and he gathered her close, warming her with his heat.
They stayed thus for several minutes, Kitty still stunned by what Max had done to her with a mere touch. Her brain wanted to examine every facet, but for some reason she could do nothing but rest against him, inhaling his scent and finding it deliciously comforting.
Then she blinked. “Max?”
“Mmm?”
“Something’s poking me.”
“Well, yes,” he said, humor in his tone. “That happens when a gentleman finds a woman most attractive…”
“No, not that,” she snorted, leaning back and looking at him. “On the back of my calf.” She blinked again. “Something sharp…”
Stepping back with a frown, Max pulled her away with him, only to see a large chunk of bark sticking out from the bottom of the tru
nk, along with others in the area. He bent down, putting his hand on the tree to steady himself.
Which, given the immediate creaking sound, was an unwise idea.
“Oh no,” Kitty stared. “Max, get back…” She grabbed his jacket and pulled him toward her.
As she did so, the sturdy little tree against which she had leaned while enjoying an amazingly erotic interlude, sighed, cracked, and finally fell down with a sad whispery thud.
“We killed it,” she said. “We killed a tree.”
“Only a little one, thank God,” Max blew out a breath. “If it had been any bigger, it might have taken out half the windows in here. That would not have been healthy for the plants or us.”
“Still…” She couldn’t drag her eyes away from the sight of the once upright tree, now prone on the tiled floor and surrounded by a mess of leaves and twigs.
“It paid the price for your pleasure, Kitty. A great gift.”
She gathered her wits. “Oh good Lord,” she sniffed. “Don’t be nonsensical, Max. It must have had some sort of rot around the roots.”
“I know a few people of whom I could say the same,” he answered.
She looked at him then, really looked at him, his lips curved into a wry smile, humor alight in his gaze. This was the man who had touched her so intimately, had given her pleasure like nothing she could have imagined, and yet here he was, so nonchalant, as if he’d just uttered a bon mot in front of a roomful of dowagers.
“You amaze me,” she murmured.
“You must tell me why,” he grinned, taking her arm and putting it through his own. “In great detail, of course. Don’t leave out a thing.”
