Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  His sense of humor, which had deserted him since the argument with Melissa this morning, came forth and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Lord, Royce and Morgan would tease him unrelentingly if they ever found out—which, he admitted wryly, was the least of his problems.

  He could not blame Melissa for being upset about the scene with Deborah, and he acknowledged fairly that she had behaved far better than he would have if he had come upon such a seeming tryst. But the very fact that she had handled it so well depressed him—not even the hopeful suspicion that she had been jealous comforted him at the moment. If she cared even just a tiny bit for him, could she have acted so coolly? If he had found her in such a compromising position, there would have been little doubt about his reaction—he would have challenged the other man to a duel and then taken his errant wife home and made love to her so fully that she would never stray again.

  Though the facts stared him straight in the face, he could not believe that Melissa had married him solely for money. Whether it was his pride or instinct, he did not believe that she could respond so freely to him and yet have no feeling at all for him. It could be simple lust that motivated her, but again Dominic could not believe that it was solely lust that had her warm and pliant in his arms. Lust was an emotion with which he was quite familiar; he had felt it for several women during his lifetime and had satisfied it on more occasions than he cared to think about, and he was quite certain that what Melissa and he had shared had not been mere lust. He would not name it, though, unwilling to look deeper into his heart, only willing for the moment to blame everything on Melissa's unpredictable, wayward willfulness.

  When dawn came, his thoughts were no more ordered or clear than they had been when he had first lain down, and with a groan, he sat up, running a hand through his hair. Well, he could not delay his return home any longer, and as he rose to his feet and ripped off his crumpled cravat, he decided that with his unshaven jaw and straw-covered, wrinkled clothing, Melissa was sure to think that he had spent the night in a drunken stupor somewhere. At least, he thought with a cynical smile, she can't possibly believe that I spent the night in the arms of another woman.

  If the servants thought it strange that the master of the house, a bridegroom of less than forty-eight hours, should return home in such a bedraggled condition, there was no sign of it; not by as much as a lifted eyebrow did the new butler who opened the door, nor the upstairs maid Dominic passed on the stairs, betray surprise as he entered the house and made his way to his room. Even his valet, Bartholomew, who had been with him for years, did not venture a comment as he helped Dominic undress a few minutes later.

  His long, sallow face expressionless, Bartholomew asked with suspect meekness, "And will you require a bath now, sir?"

  Dominic sent him a wry look. The two men had been together since Morgan, on Dominic's twenty-second birthday, had decided that it was time his younger brother gained his own gentleman's gentleman. Dominic had been dubious about the idea, especially when it turned out that Bartholomew was a nephew of Morgan's own valet, Litchefield. And since Litchefield inspired a sensation close to terror in young Dominic, he had been less than pleased to have one of his relatives foisted off on him—especially in the guise of a present. Despite his misgivings, the arrangement had worked well; Bartholomew, his melancholy features aside, proved to be an amusing fellow and, more importantly, one who was able to gauge his master's moods with an uncanny accuracy.

  Bartholomew was tall and thin. He kept his dark hair neatly clubbed, and his one vanity was a slim, impeccably trimmed black mustache. He affected a suit of plain, unrelieved black clothing which did nothing for his sallow complexion. His eyes were dark and knowing, but they also held warmth and amusement, and those qualities far more typified Bartholomew than any others.

  The two men were close and enjoyed more than a master-servant relationship. A fact that was obvious when Bartholomew twitched his long nose and answered his own question by murmuring, "Ah, yes, I can smell that you do." With a measured tread he left the room to oversee the preparations as were needed for the master's bath.

  Watching him leave the room, Dominic grinned. It was good to have Bartholomew in residence again, and he wondered what would have happened that night at the tavern if Bartholomew had been traveling with him rather than tending to odds and ends in New Orleans.

  Kicking off his boots, Dominic relaxed back on the bed, relishing the thought of his bath.

  It was some hours later that Dominic had his bath. When Bartholomew returned, he found his master asleep, and noting the dark circles under the eyes and the haggard lines which had only recently appeared, he quietly withdrew. But with that uncanny ability of his, Dominic had barely awakened from sleep when Bartholomew appeared at the side of his bed and said, "Your bath is ready, sir."

  When Melissa and Dominic finally faced each other again, Dominic was feeling rejuvenated, which couldn't be said for Melissa. While he had been sleeping in his room, she had been pacing the floor, trying to gather her waning courage before confronting her husband and telling him that she saw nothing wrong with their seeking separate pleasures.

  She wasn't happy with her course of action, but she could see no other that she could take. And there was the frail hope that if he saw her paying attention to another man, it might arouse a possessive spark within him. Yet she hesitated to put her plan in action. She had made so many mistakes in dealing with Dominic that she was terrified of making another one, one that could drive a final wedge between them. If only she had not sent him from her bed. What did it matter if he didn't love her—at least it would be her bed in which he slept! And why, she wondered wretchedly, couldn't I have let him know that I had changed my mind?

  She pulled a face. She knew the answer to that question—pride and a strong sense of ill-usage. She could hardly have capitulated and agreed to share his bed again moments after finding him with another woman—particularly since he'd made it clear it didn't matter to him one way or another. But ultimately, Melissa knew that she had complicated the problem between them, and she was sickly aware that she had placed herself on a very high horse with no acceptable way of climbing down. No way, that is, except surrender, and she had not come to that point yet.

  From Anna she had learned of Dominic's return and the information that he was sleeping in his room. For one wild moment, she considered going to his room and joining him in bed, letting her eager young body say what her lips could not. But then she turned away from their connecting doors ; after enjoying the charms of the beauteous Deborah all night, he wouldn't want her....

  A surge of jealousy shot through her at the idea of Dominic in Deborah's bed, and her despondent mood vanished. By Heaven, she would show them that she was no meek little mouse to be treated this way.

  The topaz eyes flashing, she walked over to the armoire filled with the lovely gowns which Dominic had purchased for her. But with images of Deborah kissing Dominic searing across her brain, Melissa was hardly aware of what she was doing. Certainly she was not full of gratitude at this further sign of Dominic's unfailing generosity. Did he think that costly silks and laces could make up for an adulterous husband? she fumed as she scanned the expensive garments. Was he fool enough to believe that mere objects could console her?

  A magnitude of emotions churned in her breast as she finally selected a gown, but mostly she was simply miserable. Trying to push away the lowering knowledge that much of her predicament was her own fault, she spent an inordinate amount of time on her toilet, letting Anna fuss over her, needing the added confidence of knowing that she looked her best when she finally faced Dominic. But even dawdling with her hair and attire, she found herself pacing the floor, wondering what she would say to him when they met. And although she was resolved to stick to her plan, doubts about the wisdom of it crept into her thoughts. By the time Dominic joined her in the small sitting room at the front of the house, she was wavering between a desire to denounce him for his behavior and an
equally strong desire to seek a peace between them, all the pitfalls and foolishness of her plans to make him jealous having presented themselves to her—vividly.

  Unfortunately, Dominic seemed intent upon playing the role of an unrepentant husband, and strolling into the sitting room, he said, "Ah, there you are, my dear. I must apologize for having allowed you to spend so much time by yourself, but I'm afraid that last night's, er, activities expended all my energy." With interest, he watched her small bosom swell with indignation, missing the stricken expression in her lovely eyes.

  His words sealed his fate, and turning away to hide her hurt and jealousy, she said airily, "Oh, it doesn't matter. I am used to amusing myself—our marriage won't change that!"

  That wasn't the reaction Dominic wanted, and he was conscious of a compelling urge to cross the short distance that separated them and kiss her so thoroughly that she'd never treat him with indifference again. With an effort he restrained himself, deciding that when he was through kissing her, he might very well throttle her for the havoc she had created in his hitherto well-ordered life. Almost resentfully, he glared at her, wishing that even now, with the suspicion that she had married him for his money tearing at his gut, he didn't find her so damnably attractive.

  Melissa did look very lovely this evening, the high-waisted gown of pale lilac sarcenet, trimmed with black satin ribbon, complimenting her tawny coloring, giving her complexion a pearlescent glow, intensifying the contrast of those startling black lashes against the jeweled hue of her golden-brown eyes. Even her hair seemed brighter in color, the tawny strands arranged stylishly in loose curls, divided by a tortoiseshell comb. But it was the gown which held Dominic's attention, or rather the sweet body it clothed, and appreciatively his gaze ran over the lovely expanse of shoulder and back that the low cut of the garment revealed. The flared skirt gave little indication of the slim hips and slender legs beneath its soft folds, but too well for his peace of mind could Dominic remember them.

  There was an awkward pause, but Dominic recovered himself first, and deciding to test just how far her indifference went, he drawled, "How very accommodating of you, sweetheart. There are few brides who would be so understanding. I'm pleased that you are not going to be a jealous wife."

  But I am jealous, Melissa thought furiously. I am so jealous I want to scratch out Deborah's eyes and make you oblivious to all other women except me! Concealing her inner turmoil with an effort, Melissa swung around to face him, and forcing her lips a semblance of a smile, she murmured, "I trust that since I have proved to be most obliging in this matter, you will grant me the same prerogatives."

  Melissa had not been able to hide every trace of her unhappiness, and Dominic, watching her closely, had known a second of hope when she had turned to look at him, the jealousy she was fighting to hide evident in the angry sparkle of the topaz eyes. Well, well, he had mused cheerfully, she is not as detached and disinterested in the possibility of my having spent the night in the arms of another woman as she would pretend. But he had barely been able to savor this encouraging discovery when Melissa's words sent an icy trickle down his spine. Did she mean what he thought she meant?

  His face unreadable, the gray eyes hard, he stared at his wife. "And what," he asked in a dangerously soft voice, "do you mean by that?"

  Melissa swallowed, thinking that it was all very well to consider beating him at his own game and quite another to actually do it. Forcing herself to act nonchalantly, she shrugged and replied, "Why, just exactly what it sounded like. We are both adults, and I see no reason for us to pretend that this marriage was what either of us wanted. And since our marriage was not by choice, I see nothing wrong in each of us seeking his or her own, er, companionship."

  "Companionship!" Dominic spat, the expression on his handsome face making Melissa waver between fear and delight. He crossed the short distance between them, and grasping her shoulders, gave her an ungentle shake. "You're my wife, you little fool, and if you think that I am going to let you ride roughshod over me and plant a pair of horns on my head, you have badly mistaken your man!"

  Her heart beating fast as much from his violent action as from the powerful surge of hope that thudded through her at his words, she asked innocently, "Let me see if I understand you correctly—it is perfectly acceptable for you to seek the company of others, but it is not acceptable if I do the same?"

  Acutely aware of the pit opening under his feet, Dominic smothered a curse. The little witch! How cleverly she had twisted his words! She also, he thought wryly, had him neatly trapped. Either he could confess that nothing had happened between him and Deborah and that he had spent the night sleeping alone in his own hay pile, or... He hesitated. Or he could tell her that she was driving him mad and that even the mere thought of another man touching her was intolerable to him. He would have liked to be able to do both, but Melissa's previous actions made it difficult for him. She had not been encouraging, and the fact that she had hinted at a desire to seek her pleasures where she might did not engender feelings of trust or optimism within him. He was not at all inclined to leave himself open to ridicule and what he suspected might be a fatal blow to his uncertain heart by admitting that she had no cause to be jealous... that there was no other woman he wanted but the one in his arms right now....

  His grip lessened, and there was a caressing quality to his fingers as they kneaded her silken shoulders. The delicate moss-rose scent of her perfume drifted into his nostrils and he was tormentingly conscious of the warmth and nearness of her soft body. Memories of her nakedness pressed against him flooded him and he could feel his body quickening with desire. He smiled mirthlessly. She was indeed a witch—in the middle of a disagreement, she could arouse him.

  Both his hesitation and his smile made Melissa's heart sink. She had prayed for a sharp denial, but as the seconds passed and he remained silent, she felt something shriveling inside her. He was considering giving her license to pursue other men. she thought incredulously. She didn't want to believe he was that amoral, but as the silence stretched out and he continued to stare at her, she could think of no other reason to explain his behavior. She came close to hating him in that moment and she fought the urge to slap his arrogant face and to scream at him that she was not inclined to act the part of a promiscuous slut—even if her husband chose to be a whoremonger.

  To her utter fury, not only did it appear that he was contemplating making a mockery of their marriage vows, but aware of the change in Dominic's touch, of the sensuous gleam she detected in the gray eyes, she realized that he was attempting to seduce her! Disgusted, she jerked away from him and muttered, "Didn't Deborah satisfy your lusts last night? Must you subject me to more of your unwanted attentions?"

  Dominic stiffened, the warm light in his eyes dying. "Forgive me!" he snarled. "I had forgotten how distasteful you find my touch. A pity you didn't have such scruples that night at the inn!"

  Fighting back angry tears, Melissa glared at him. "At least I didn't commit adultery within twenty-four hours of becoming your wife!"

  Her words cut through him like a knife, and the sight of her tears killed his own anger. Words of denial hovering on his lips, he took a step forward, his arms reaching out for her, but Melissa avoided him, dancing nimbly away.

  Dashing away the humiliating signs of her distress, she said in a low, scathing tone, "Don't touch me! I never want you to touch me again—especially not after you have just come from another woman!"

  Although the situation was not to be made light of, he could not help the faint smile which tugged at his lips, and some imp of mischief drove him to murmur, "Just? But I assure you, my dear, that I have just come from the hands of my valet. If you wish to question him, I promise you that I shall make no objections."

  Melissa stared at him, unable to believe that he could tease about something this vital. It only confirmed her darkest fears—he had no feelings whatsoever for her. She meant nothing to him. Recovering herself, she closed her mouth with a sna
p. Through gritted teeth she got out, "I am pleased that you find this situation so amusing. I hope that you will continue to do so when I am the one who has spent the night in the arms of a lover!"

  Even enraged as she was, Dominic found her enchanting and he noted admiringly the furious gleam in the amber-gold eyes and the telltale flush that made roses bloom in her cheeks. But the notion of her taking a lover was not to be tolerated. His smile disappearing, he said unwisely, "There is only one lover you will ever find in your bed, sweetheart... and you are looking at him right this minute."

  "Oh!" Melissa burst out indignantly, suppressing the foolish urge to tell him that he was the only lover she had ever wanted or would ever want. He looked so appealing as he stood there in front of her, the dark, curly hair carelessly brushed and waving over his forehead, the expertly tailored dark blue jacket fitting his powerful shoulders admirably and the form-clinging black knee breeches hugging the smooth muscles of his thighs. With his patrician features, laughing eyes, arrogant nose and mobile mouth, he was the embodiment of a maiden's dream. Unfortunately, Melissa decided bitterly, his handsome features hid a black heart, and she snapped, "You are arrogant and abominable! I wish that I had never laid eyes on you!"

  "If it had been only your eyes that, er, laid on me," Dominic said dryly, "we wouldn't have found ourselves in this position."

  Her temper soaring, hands on her hips, Melissa flashed him a scorching glance. In a voice of dangerous calm, she demanded, "Are you blaming me for this disaster?"

  He lifted a thick dark brow. "You did come to my room that night at the inn and you did accept my advances. Encouraged them, as a matter of fact." His mouth twisted. "Something that you seem to have changed your mind about now that we are married."

  It was the opening that once Melissa would have seized upon eagerly. While she could not explain her presence at the inn that fateful evening, she could have made amends for her rash words of last night, but in view of his intrigue with Deborah and his un-remorsefulness, the words died stillborn on her lips. She would rather die than explain anything to him! Regally, she said, "I see that we will gain nothing by continuing this discussion. I should like you to know that I do not intend to sit by watching your antics with that—that woman! Since you have made it clear that you feel free to indulge yourself in such pastimes, I feel it is only fair that I have the same liberties."