by Amy Jarecki
His biggest problem?
Aiden hadn’t yet perfected the art of being a rake.
According to every officer he knew, Aiden should have established his reputation in every port in Britain. Unfortunately, thus far he’d failed miserably. Of course he blamed the Royal Mary’s ridiculously long stints at sea. How in God’s name was a sailor supposed to gain experience in the boudoir when aboard a ship full of foulmouthed, smelly men?
“Jesus, I’ve died and have gone to heaven.” MacPherson’s jaw dropped like a simpleton’s while he gaped at the dancers.
Aiden followed his friend’s line of sight. He inhaled sharply, and his fist tightened around his tankard’s handle. The woman dancing a reel smiled as if a dozen torches formed an archway around her. She wore a shimmering blue gown, and her fair tresses curled down the back of a slender neck, secured by a plume of feathers. Though a bejeweled mask hid part of her face, by the smile on her rosy lips, Aiden could tell the lass was bonny—possibly the bonniest woman in the gallery. In an instant his breathing turned ragged, his curiosity sizzled. If only he could slip behind her and untie the mask’s bow and reveal all of her face. Was her porcelain skin completely flawless?
She skipped and twirled like a nymph. Above the drum and fiddle, Aiden caught her laughter. Not high-pitched like a silly gel’s, but sultry, stirring a base desire that had become familiar.
His heart practically leaped out of his chest.
MacPherson gave him a nudge. “I saw her first.”
Aiden arched an eyebrow. “Stand down. That’s an order.” Being a senior officer did have its merits, and before the braggart could make a move, Aiden strode straight to the line of dancers. He tapped the lady’s partner on the shoulder. “Cutting in.”
The man gave a haughty cough. “I beg your pardon? Have you officers forgotten your manners whilst at sea?”
“Forgive me, sir. I meant no impertinence, ’tis just that the ship sets sail at dawn and I haven’t much time.” Perhaps the rake in him had finally come to call. Aiden handed the man his tankard of ale, then stared directly at the lady, who stood aghast with her hands on her hips while the other dancers skipped in a circle. He bowed slowly and politely. The last thing he needed was to ruin his chances before he even kent the lassie’s name. “Forgive me, m’lady. Regrettably, poor sailors must make merry when the opportunity arises. Have mercy on a young lieutenant. On the morrow I’ll be back at sea for months on end, leagues away from civilization.” And such sweet visions as this lass.
Gripping the tankard with white knuckles, the man didn’t budge. “Do you approve, my dear?”
The beauty gave Aiden a look from head to toe. “Very well. After all, you told me to ensure the officers enjoy the merriment this eve.”
Aiden sized up the man. Far older, he was nearly as tall and broad shouldered as Aiden. He wore finely tailored velvet and sported a periwig that had not a hair out of place. Recognizing nobility, Aiden again bowed. “I thank you, m’lord.”
The lass resumed the reel, regarding Aiden with an enormous pair of blue eyes peeping through her mask—blues as enchanting as shimmering crystals.
He quickly joined the men’s line, thanking his mother for her interminable enforced hours of dreary dancing lessons.
“You’re light on your feet for a sailor,” the lass said as they moved together and joined elbows. Heavens, her voice sounded alluring, like nothing he’d before heard.
“Thank you.” A subtle grin played across his lips. “But my polish is nothing compared to your grace.”
She actually laughed out loud—quite audacious for a lady. Nonetheless her laughter tickled him on the inside. “Do not tell a soul, but this is the first time I’ve danced with anyone besides my frumpy old guard.”
He threw his thumb over his shoulder. “That man was your guard?”
“Nay.” A delightful laugh pealed through her lips. “He doesn’t count.”
Aiden liked that even better—it sounded as if she had even less experience than he. At least he’d stolen a kiss or two in his youth. Perhaps he’d steal another this night. He grasped her hands and sashayed through the two lines, a line of men facing a line of women. “Then I am even more impressed.”
“Which is your ship?” she asked, her fair eyebrows arching above her mask.
“The Royal Mary.”
“It must be exciting to see exotic places.”
A frigate, the Royal Mary mainly patrolled the waters of Scotland, and now England. Not exactly exotic. “Aye, but ’tisn’t much fun when you’re under cannon fire.”
Those blues grew rounder beneath her mask. “Cannons?”
“Aye, we are at war, miss.” His shoulders fell when the dance commanded he take a place in the men’s line and wait for the next couple to sashay through. Across the aisle the young lady seemed enlivened by their separation, smiling and clapping. Though poised like a queen, she had a warmer, more common quality about her. Possibly it was that she actually looked as if she was having a good time rather than donning aristocratic airs and pretending she merely endured the dance.
The tune ended and Aiden dipped into a bow.
“Mind if I step in?” asked Fraser MacPherson from behind.
“Yes, I do mind,” Aiden said in a strained whisper, careful of his language given the present company.
The lovely masked lady across the aisle clasped her hands together. “My father said there wouldn’t be enough partners for the officers and encouraged me to dance with any gentleman who asked.”
The only problem was that MacPherson was no gentleman. He’d spirit her to some dingy cellar and seduce her with charm until he had her skirts hiked up around her thighs. The innocent lass would succumb to the rogue’s wiles before she realized what was happening.
Aiden groaned. Throwing a fist was out of the question.
She wanted to take a turn with the beak-masked ugly varlet? Holy crosses, MacPherson was shorter than she by a half inch at least. But Aiden bowed. No use causing a stir over a silly reel—though he’d be watching his cabinmate closely. “As you wish, m’lady.”
When he turned, slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. Cool fingers softer than brushed doe leather. “Thank you, sir.” Oh yes, and a voice smoother than melted butter.
Heaven help him, Aiden couldn’t stay irritated when a smile as radiant as hers lit up the entire hall. “Perhaps another turn anon?” he asked.
“I’d be honored,” the lass said as the piper launched into another country dance.
Fraser nudged him out of the line. “Go on and assuage your thirst.”
“And you watch your manners.” A little lighter on his feet, Aiden took a goblet of wine from a passing servant and surveyed the hall. Indeed, the men outnumbered the women by at least two to one. But what could a sailor expect so far north, with two ships in port? True, several other lassies danced gaily, though there was only one from whom Aiden could not pull his gaze.
Sipping, he watched the nymph from behind his goblet. Though her eyes were shadowed behind her mask, he thought she glanced his way.
His heart thrummed when she met his stare a second time—a direct meeting of the eyes for certain.
He straightened his neckerchief, wishing he’d spent a bit more time in front of the dingy looking glass he shared with MacPherson—the same toad with whom the lady still danced.
With his next blink, Aiden’s gut clamped hard as a rock. Heat flared across his nape as he took a step toward the dancers.
Had Fraser’s hand nearly skimmed her breast? It happened so fast he couldn’t be sure, but those thick fingers came awfully close.
Grumbling under his breath, Aiden took a healthy swig of wine. If the lieutenant made any move aside from kicking up his heels for a sashay, Aiden would bury his fist in the bastard’s beak, and not the one on his mask.
Aboard ship the braggart had gloated plenty about his conquests. That might be acceptable talk around dockyards and at sea, but MacPherson had best
keep his kilt hanging down around his knees when it came to courting ladies. Besides, the man was merely a chieftain’s third son.
“The maid is quite lovely, is she not?” The gentleman who had been dancing with the lass earlier stood beside Aiden. His black mask appeared menacing under the curl of his periwig, and he maintained a tilt to his chin as if he held a position of great importance.
Given the present company, Aiden didn’t doubt the man’s exalted rank, though he was starting to abhor masquerade balls. He preferred to know to whom he spoke. By the lines etched around the nobleman’s mouth, he appeared older, but before another word was said, a question had to be asked. “Have you spoken for her?”
“Hardly.” The lord laughed, relaxing his stance. “Let us just say I have a vested interest in the maid’s welfare.”
Hell, that could mean anything. Worse, the words vested interest added layers of complexity to Aiden’s simple desire to dance with the lass and prevent his mate from raising her skirts. “Forgive me, m’lord, but may I ask your name?”
A wry grin played across the man’s lips. “Och, this is a masque, son.”
“Right—perhaps it is not the best of ideas to invite a parcel of naval officers to a masquerade. Mind you, these officers have been a month at sea without setting eyes on a woman.” Aiden leaned in. “And I can tell you right now the beaked mask dancing with your vested interest is looking for more than a wee turn on the dance floor this eve.”
Periwig-Nobleman stroked his fingers down his aristocratic chin. “You are outspoken for such a young fellow.”
Aiden raised his goblet. “I was brought up to speak my mind.”
“Well then, if you must ken, I am your host.”
Good God, he’d just launched into a war of words with an earl, telling him his gathering was a bad idea? Could he jam his shoe any farther into his throat? Lord knew the square toe was about to end up in his own arse. Aiden bowed. “Forgive me, m’lord. I spoke out of turn.”
“Honestly, I’ve thought the same myself. I was young once and I’d recognize a licentious pup from a hundred paces. Why, that fellow Maddie is dancing with had best slip his tongue back in his mouth and pay a mind to his footwork.”
Aiden swiped his hand across his lips to ensure his tongue was in its proper place.
Maddie? Is she a Matilda? Madeline? Mary?
“’Tis why I’m watching him, m’lord… ah, to ensure his hands and his tongue remain where they belong.” Aiden wouldn’t tell the earl that when it came to women, he didn’t trust Fraser MacPherson any further than his nose, but he certainly could pledge to keep an eye on the rake.
The earl’s gaze narrowed. “Pray, what is your name… ah… Lieutenant, is it?”
“Aye, first lieutenant and master of the watch, Lord Aiden Murray.” Sliding his foot forward, he bowed.
“Atholl’s son?”
“Second son, m’lord.”
“And the man dancing with my… um… vested interest?”
“Third Lieutenant Fraser MacPherson. His da’s a chieftain.”
“Is he the heir?”
“Third son, m’lord.”
“Hmm.” The earl clapped Aiden on the shoulder. “I do believe the maid looks a tad flushed. Might I suggest you offer her refreshment?”
An awkward flurry spread through Aiden’s stomach. “It would be an honor… if I can pull her away from the dance floor?”
“Leave that to me.” The earl started off, then turned. “And keep her away from that MacPherson fellow. If his choice in masks is any indication, I’d prefer it if the lass had no more interaction with him.”
No sooner had the music stopped than the crowd all but swallowed up the officer in the beaked mask. Maddie breathed a sigh of relief. The man had gripped her waist with a heavy hand and tugged her much too close during the promenade. He reminded her of an overly anxious, drooling deerhound.
“Would you care for a refreshment?” a deep voice asked. Though low, it was clearly audible, as if a man had come up from behind and pressed his lips to her ear. Maddie turned. Gooseflesh pebbled over her skin. Goodness, the tall, slender officer with a bandit’s mask grinned as he held out a goblet. “’Tis watered wine.”
“My thanks.” She took the offering and sipped, happy he hadn’t tried to give her something more potent.
He stared at her for a moment, as if watching her drink was a most interesting occupation. Then his teeth grazed his bottom lip—such a slight gesture, but one that made her breath catch.
A flutter tickled her insides.
Was he feeling as awkward as she?
At least when dancing, she had something to keep her mind occupied.
Heavens, there were so many masked people and she did feel out of sorts. Maddie hadn’t ever been invited to a large gathering—at least not since her father had married Lady Mary so very long ago.
The dashing tall man grinned. White teeth. Dimples. Perhaps the dimples made him a wee bit boyish—but endearingly so. Maddie looked closer. Goodness, his eyes were the most expressive shade of moss.
“This is my first masquerade.” He rolled his r’s with a Highland burr for certain, but there was something more precise in his enunciation. In fact, he spoke similarly to her da.
And he looks to be young—not wrinkled and crusty like many of the other gentlemen here.
“Mine, too,” she admitted.
“Are you having a good time?”
“Of sorts.” She sipped. “’Tis fun to dance, but I would prefer to see people’s faces.”
“I’d prefer to see your face, m’lady.” Though his words were cheeky, his expression remained quite sober.
Gracious, her face burned. “You are brash, sir.”
“Forgive me.” He dipped his chin in apology. “I meant that I would be blessed to gaze upon your entire countenance, for I am quite convinced it is bonnier than your lovely mask.”
She snapped open her fan and fanned her face. “Now I’m quite certain you’ve made me blush right to my toes.”
“Such color would become you, m’lady.” He again bowed his head. “Now I’ve experienced one, I’d say a masque is a wee bit sinister.”
She laughed. In fact, she’d thought the very same thing, especially when dancing with Beak-Mask. “Aye—it seems hiding one’s face allows for more groping.”
Those vivid green eyes narrowed with flash of ire. “Has someone touched you inappropriately?” His tone had a growl to it, as if he might fight for her virtue right then and there.
Maddie quickly shook her head. “’Twas nothing I shouldn’t allow to pass.” She glanced around the hall. People congregated in groups, and her father stood by the hearth, apparently talking to the beak-masked officer, Da’s man-at-arms in tow. That didn’t bode well for her former dance partner.
She again regarded the officer who’d offered her refreshment. He stood at a respectable distance while he sipped his wine. A pleasant countenance—what she could see of it. His lips were thinnish, though the bottom lip fuller, and beneath the black cloth his nose suited his face—straight and angular, somewhat like his sturdy jaw. Her fingers twitched. What would he look like if she removed the mask?
Wigless, he wore his walnut-colored locks pulled back and tied with a bow at his nape. The torchlight flickered, bringing out auburn highlights. If only she could finger a lock and hold it to a candle. “What color is your hair?” she asked, leaning in.
“Brown.” He flicked one of her curls with the tip of his finger. “Dull compared to yours.” He took a step closer and eyed her intently. “I’d call your coloring burnt honey.”
“Oh, would you now?” As a matter of fact, her serving maid, Agnes, oft used that very term.
“’Tis lovely.” He lifted a lock to his nose. “And bears the scent of lilacs in spring.”
She leaned back far enough for her tresses to slip from his fingers. “How much wine have you consumed, sir?”
He grinned—an infectious smile that made her w
ant to laugh. “Not enough by far.”
Maddie strolled toward the wall so they wouldn’t appear as conspicuous as when standing in the center of the gallery. “Forgive me for not asking earlier, but have you found the masque to be a pleasant diversion from your shipboard duties?” She tapped her lips. “Ah, regardless of the clandestine nature of these affairs.”
He chuckled—a deep roll, sounding a wee bit devilish. “I would attend a masque every night if it meant avoiding my mundane life aboard ship. Though I do prefer smaller gatherings than this.”
“As do I.”
The officer leaned against the wall and finished his goblet before placing it on a passing servant’s tray. “Would you be missed if we took a stroll atop the wall-walk?”
Honestly, that sounded like the best idea she’d heard in sennights. “In the cold?” What would Da say if she allowed a strange masked man to accompany her on a turn around the battlements? At least there was a guard posted at every corner, so this sailor couldn’t try to take advantage—could he? Jitters flitted about her skin. She’d seen many a woman who had been abused by a savage redcoat, but this gentleman had the manners of an earl and wore neither red nor a saber in his belt.
“Forgive me.” He cringed while deep dimples formed at the corners of his mouth. “At sea it seems there’s always a cold wind blowing a gale with rain spitting in your face. If a man doesn’t grow impervious to it, he’s in for a miserable cruise.”
How could she resist such a grin—and those expressive green eyes? Aye, he seemed delightfully chivalrous. “Perhaps if I donned my cloak.” She glanced to her father, who was still talking to Beak-Mask. “Mayhap we need a guard to chaperone?”
Mr. Moss-Green Eyes bowed. “I could perform as both chaperone and companion. Besides, I’m the officer of the watch aboard the Royal Mary, skilled in all manner of defense.”
