Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  It was the most unsettling night of his life. Everything he had ever wanted had come to him easily. His charm, his handsome face and form, his powerfully connected family and his fortune had made few things beyond his grasp, and now to discover that a woman he found enchanting, if exasperating, was indifferent to him was a devastating blow.

  Over and over again, he reviewed those moments in Melissa's bed, remembering her every reaction to his touch, trying desperately to prove to himself that she had lied to him, that she had not been unmoved by his caresses. She must be lying, he muttered to himself. Lying through those honey-sweet lips of hers. The problem with that line of thought was that he could think of no reason, other than sheer perversity, for her to do so. And while he wouldn't discount just such a reason for her actions, he finally decided gloomily that she must have meant every word she had hurled at him.

  But he could not accept that notion, telling himself that her responses to him had been too eager, too natural and uninhibited to have been calculated. Though he tried to convince himself of the soundness of his reasoning, he found little comfort in his musings.

  Leaving Melissa's room, he dragged on a shirt and a pair of breeches, and finding a pair of boots put them on. Downstairs and outside on the gallery of the cottage, he paced back and forth, oblivious to the warm, magnolia-scented air that wafted around him.

  What a devilish tangle! Married to one of the most infuriating yet beguiling women he had ever met in his life, and she was, or claimed to be, totally indifferent to him. His pride was stung and his faith in his own physical prowess was shaken. His expression grim, he continued to stalk back and forth along the gallery, trying to make sense of what had happened tonight, and why—since he was positive she wielded no power over his heart—Melissa's rejection of him should matter so very much.

  It wasn't as if he hadn't had his advances rebuffed before; granted they had been few and far between, but there had been those rare women in his life who had spurned the lures that he had thrown out to catch their attention. It had never disturbed him in the least—he had simply shrugged his shoulders and gone on to find another who caught his fancy. Except for his brief and mad involvement with Deborah, he had never given those instances much thought, no one woman ever touching his finer emotions... until he had laid eyes on the aggravating, enraging and wholly enchanting Miss Melissa Seymour.

  His ambulations brought him to one end of the gallery where a few chairs and a small, square table were situated. Conveniently there was a slim case filled with the thin black cheroots that he smoked upon occasion, and he selected one. Lighting it, he began his restless pacing once more, a tobacco-scented cloud of blue smoke following him about the gallery.

  While Dominic was willing to admit to several things, such as his inability to deal rationally with the amber-eyed, tawny-haired witch who was no doubt sleeping dreamlessly in her bed upstairs, he was not about to admit to himself or anybody else that he had fallen into the same trap that had snared his brother Morgan. He would not, he swore with his teeth clamped tightly around the black cigar, fall in love with Melissa. He would not allow himself to become so besotted with any female that his life revolved around her and that there was an emptiness without her at his side. And he was most definitely not in love with the infuriating little baggage he had just married this afternoon!

  Having convinced himself that he was untouched by Melissa's advent into his hitherto well-ordered existence, he proceeded to find logical reasons for his actions these past few months. His physical response to her, he was positive, was simply because he had been a long time without a woman and she was desirable—why, he'd wager that he would have responded to any personable young woman. As for offering that ridiculous sum of money for half a horse, well, that was explained too—it had been merely an act of kindness; the Seymours had been in desperate straits and he'd seen a way to help them. That philanthropy had never before figured high on his list of pleasures, he ignored; besides, in addition to helping them, there had been the wicked enjoyment of being confident that he was also thwarting Latimer. But it didn't really matter why he'd done it—the money was a paltry sum to him anyway, and if he wished to throw it away, it was no one's business but his own. The marriage itself was not so remarkable to understand—marrying her had been the only honorable thing he could have done considering the circumstances. He closed his mind to the knowledge that had it been a female other than Melissa he'd found in his room that night at the inn, he would not have been willing to offer himself as hostage for honor.

  Satisfied that he had explained his eccentric behavior of late, Dominic was in a much better frame of mind. But as his thoughts drifted back to tonight's debacle, his hard-won satisfaction fled and a scowl darkened his fine brow.

  Usually, Dominic was able to see the humor in most situations, but he was finding it devilish hard to see anything amusing about being found wanting by one's wife. He was not a vain man, although he did have a good opinion of himself, but he found it impossible to believe that Melissa had been as indifferent as she claimed. He'd made love to too many women not to know when he had given them satisfaction, and he was affronted by the notion that he was such an inept lover that he could not bring pleasure to his own wife. Time and again he relived those sweet moments of passion that he had shared with her, and to his utmost disgust, his body instantly hardened, the desire to seek her out and prove her words lies nearly overpowering.

  The first pink-and-gold signs of dawn were streaking across the horizon when Dominic came to several discomforting conclusions. For whatever reason, his wife of mere hours had taken it into her lovely head to repulse his attempts to make their marriage real and, worse than that, he was going to have to tread lightly if he ever hoped to share her bed again. He could force his attentions upon her and the law would be on his side, but he found such an idea distasteful—rape had never appealed to him. More importantly, he had remembered something that he should never have forgotten: Melissa had trapped him into marriage and her reasons for marrying him had nothing to do with the finer emotions; she had seen the opportunity to snare a rich husband and she had not hesitated to strike. He must take partial blame for her success—if he had not been so blinded by her beauty and the baser promptings of his body, he would not be in this situation right now.

  A thoughtful expression upon his handsome face, Dominic lit another cheroot and stared out at the dawn-gilded oak and magnolia trees that dotted the view in front of him. If there were certain things, such as a wife, that he knew he hadn't wanted, having committed himself to this marriage he knew there were other things that he also didn't want, and one of those things was the cold and empty relationship he had seen amongst several acquaintances who had married for money and position. Melissa might have married him for just those motives, but he saw no reason that he couldn't change her mind.

  He wasn't certain what it was that he wanted from his marriage—having rejected Morgan's brand of marriage and the silken bonds of love—but while he might not be willing to risk his happiness in the hands of one woman, he did not want the sort of marriage that Melissa envisioned for them, a frigid, passionless existence in which they both lived their lives separately, joined only by a name and a fortune. Or a horse, he thought ruefully, an irrepressible grin suddenly breaking across his face. By God! he swore softly, he wasn't about to let Melissa condemn them to a barren fate devoid of warmth and laughter... and passion. There was passion between them—even if she chose to deny it—and he had no intention of letting her pretend it didn't exist, or worse, trying to extinguish it. No, he thought with narrowed eyes, he wasn't going to be shut out of her life, her room or her bed. For a while, perhaps, but in time...

  Unaware of her husband's midnight musings, apathetically Melissa allowed Anna to dress her that morning. Despite all her rationalizing of the previous night, she was nagged by guilt at the way she'd acted—both her responses to his caresses and then the way she had sent him from her bed. But since it was not
her nature to spend a great deal of time repining over fate, she straightened her slender shoulders, lifted her chin and ignoring the inward quaking of her spirit, left the sanctuary of her bedroom.

  She was not yet familiar with the house, but since it was small, she found her way down the stairs and into a sunny little breakfast room, the bay window that curved across one end of the area overlooking a rose garden. Crisp white muslin curtains adorned the windows and contrasted nicely with the pale apricot color of the walls. Because of its size, the room was sparsely furnished; a small oak sideboard and a spindle-legged table of the same wood with four simply designed chairs were its only furnishings. A painted canvas rug in shades of russet and green lay on the floor, and an oblong gilt mirror hung above the sideboard.

  But Melissa was only vaguely aware of her surroundings, a flush stealing into her cheeks the moment her eyes met those of the man sitting in one of the chairs apparently enjoying a cup of coffee. Wishing her heart would not jump so wildly in her breast at the mere sight of him, Melissa kept her expression neutral and said woodenly, "Good morning, Mr. Slade."

  One of Dominic's thick black brows shot upward and a mocking smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he murmured, "Mr. Slade? So formal, my dear... and after last night?"

  The flush deepened, but Melissa refused to drop the course she had decided upon, and stiffly she asked, "What should I call you, then?" The instant the words left her mouth she knew she had made a mistake, the gleam that entered Dominic's eyes making her wish she had bitten off her tongue.

  Rising belatedly from the table, he walked over to where she stood just inside the doorway of the small room. Running a caressing finger down her hot cheek, he offered, "Lover? Darling? Sweetheart? You choose, my dear."

  He was irresistible, the imp of mischief dancing in those gray eyes calling to her own sense of amusement, and for just a second she nearly abandoned her stance, but then, remembering that he was an expert at wooing the unwary, she pursed her lips and muttered, "You're not my lover!"

  "Oh? I'm certain that you are wrong. I distinctly remember last night...."

  Laughter brimmed in his eyes and Melissa nearly stamped her foot with vexation. How could one resist him? Especially looking as he did this morning, the dove-gray broadcloth jacket fitting smoothly across his broad shoulders and the dark blue breeches clearly defining the long length of firmly muscled legs? The black hair was carelessly brushed and waved near his temples; the white cravat was neatly tied and made the skin of his freshly shaved jaw look bronzed. But it was the teasing expression in those long-lashed gray eyes that disturbed her the most, and she decided with an unexpected lift of her spirits that if he could treat what had happened last night so mockingly, then she could too.

  Demurely lowering her eyes to hide the sudden glint of amusement stirring in their amber-gold depths, she said breathlessly, "A—a—a considerate l-l-lover would not embarrass me so."

  His teasing behavior vanished, and with a keen look at her lovely features enchantingly framed by the curling mass of tawny hair, he asked huskily, "Is that what you want, Melissa? A considerate lover?"

  This was hardly the way she had expected their first meeting to progress. With her blood thudding so loudly in her veins she was positive that he could hear it, she got out, "I—I—I th-th-think that this is not the time to discuss such things." She didn't really know what she was saying. Dominic's manner as well as his nearness had her feeling dizzy and confused.

  Not wishing to start an argument after such a promising beginning, Dominic retreated, saying as he led her to the table, "It is most inconsiderate of me to pounce on you before you have even had a chance to drink your coffee... or would you prefer some chocolate?"

  "Oh, no, coffee will be fine," she answered, dreading the enforced intimacy of the small breakfast room. Despite having known him as a lover, she was shy and uncertain in his presence, and though they were now married, since their engagement they had spent very little time in each other's company. They were strangers to each other, strangers who had been compelled by reasons other than love to marry, and Melissa was conscious of that fact.

  She watched as he poured her cup of dark, steaming coffee from a tall silver pot, wondering what she should talk about to him. Not about last night, she thought with a half-hysterical urge to giggle.

  Dominic did nothing to ease the situation, but then he was struggling with his own unruly thoughts, paramount among them the strong urge to kiss that sweet, tempting mouth of hers. He had been taken aback at the thrill that had shot through him when he had glanced up and seen her hovering in the doorway. She looked, he decided utterly bewitching in a high-waisted gown of rose-colored jaconet. Blond Mechlin lace trimmed the modest neckline, and the elbow-length sleeves were also lavishly adorned with the same lace. Dominic was pleased to see that the gown was as attractive on her as he had imagined it would be when he had selected it from the many color plates shown to him by the expensive modiste patronized by Sally Manchester. His gaze riveted by the rhythmic rise and fall of her delectable little bosom, he also recalled the negligee of gossamer satin he had chosen at the same time, and his chest grew tight at the image of the filmy material resting where his eyes did now.

  An uncomfortable silence stretched out, each of them lost in thought yet unbearably aware of the other. With an effort Dominic tore his attention away from the erotic fantasy he had been enjoying, and clearing his throat, he said, "Since our wedding was so hastily arranged, and considering that it is not a healthy time of the year to do much traveling, I'm afraid that I did not make plans for us to go on any sort of honeymoon. If you like, once the fever season is over, perhaps we shall go to New Orleans for a month or so. In the meantime, you'll have the pleasure of fitting out your new home at Thousand Oaks to occupy your time." He would have preferred to have taken her to London, but with the damned war dragging on, it was impossible. Someday, he thought, I'll take her to England.... A smile flitted across his face. Knowing his bride, he was confident he would spend more time visiting the various excellent Thoroughbred stud farms to be found there than he would the salons and soirees that would have appealed to a more conventional wife. And that, he admitted to his surprise, suited him perfectly.

  Since the circumstances of their wedding had been anything but romantic, Melissa had not thought a great deal about her honeymoon, but she had harbored the feint hope that they would go away together for even a short time to some place that would offer several pleasant distractions from the enforced intimacy being married engendered. Time spent together in the congenial company of others, with the days spent in enjoying entertaining pursuits as they gradually became more familiar with each other, would surely have lessened the strain between them and would have given them a chance to become better acquainted. She hadn't realized how much she longed to learn more about her new husband in less confining surroundings until Dominic dismissed the idea of going anywhere. She wondered briefly if he was ashamed of her and if, now that they were married and the marriage consummated, he would bury her in the wilds of upper Louisiana for the rest of her life. With a droop to her normally laughing mouth, she admitted forlornly to herself that after last night that was probably exactly what he wanted to do with her—that, or strangle her. Feeling even more guilty about her actions the previous night, she confessed to herself that she wouldn't blame him in the least if he did exile her indefinitely in the country—what else did one do with a recalcitrant wife?

  Dominic noted the disconsolate curve of her lips and an unpleasant idea occurred to him. Of course, he mused cynically, I should have been prepared for this—no doubt she has been expecting an elaborate and expensive honeymoon. How could I forget that she did marry me for money, and now I've already failed to live up to her expectations. A harsh note in his voice, he said, "Don't look so downcast, sweetling. I'm sure that if you are very good to me, and naturally if you change your mind about enduring my caresses, I shall make up for your disappointment in not having
an extravagant wedding trip."

  It was an ugly thing to have said, but then Dominic was in an ugly mood, all sorts of unpalatable notions suddenly running rampant through his mind. Throwing down his linen napkin, he rose from the table. "I'm going for a ride. I find myself in need of fresh air."

  Astonished, Melissa stared after him as he strode from the room, her pretty mouth forming an O of surprise. But as his words sank in, a frown curved her brow. He had been insulting, she thought with growing anger, all guilt about their previous parting vanishing, but along with her anger there was a strong sense of bewilderment. He couldn't possibly believe...? Oh, surely not! she told herself uneasily. He couldn't believe that she was only interested in what he could give her. Or could he?

  He had certainly reacted like a man faced with a money-grubbing little slut whose favors were easily bought by the highest bidder, she acknowledged with increasing agitation. And her behavior last night... She swallowed uncomfortably.

  Miserable and uncertain, Melissa stared down at her china cup, the thoughts going through her brain distressful. Josh had indicated that Dominic was a bounder when it came to women, and Latimer's letter had confirmed the fact that her new husband was a notorious womanizer and was not to be trusted in affairs of the heart. And yet, she admitted to herself, Dominic had never shown her anything but kindness... and, she confessed, a great deal of patience, all things considered.

  There were so many wonderful qualities about him, aside from his handsome face and charming personality, Melissa thought painfully. He had been very kind to Zachary; he had been overwhelmingly generous in connection with the purchase of Folly—and he had done the honorable thing and married her under circumstances that did not cast her in the best light. She sighed wistfully. Could Josh have been wrong about him? And Latimer? Couldn't Latimer's accusations have been motivated solely by spite? Had she entirely misjudged Dominic? Cast him as an unfeeling monster when he was actually a more-than-considerate gentleman?