Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  Chapter 21

  The words hung on the night air and then, both men aware that their thoughts had been following the same path, laughter erupted between them. Shaking his dark head, Morgan remarked, "Jason's ears must be burning, and I can hardly wait for Leonie to divulge to Catherine all that has transpired. Then he'll be the one banished!"

  Good humor restored, they sipped their brandies in relative quiet until Dominic began to tell Morgan what he had learned from Deborah this evening. Morgan listened, whistling softly when Roxbury's name was mentioned. "That old fox!" he said. "I had never considered his fine hand in the scheme of things, but I am not surprised and I doubt that Jason will be when he hears that his wiley old uncle is behind Latimer's trip to America." His face thoughtful, he added, "I'm surprised, though, that Roxbury chose a rascal like Latimer—usually his tools are men of character."

  Dominic grinned. "Like you and Jason?"

  Morgan smiled. "My point exactly."

  They continued to discuss the matter for several more minutes, but eventually, having exhausted the subject, and neither in a particularly jovial mood, they sought out their lonely beds, each wishing he were somewhere else—in the warm, welcoming embrace of his wife, to be precise.

  If Melissa found it strange to be greeted by her brother-in-law in the morning, when she could clearly remember bidding both Morgan and Leonie good-bye and watching them disappear down the carriageway together, she gave no sign. She smiled and did all the things that a good hostess would do. As for her husband... well, she treated him in the same impersonal manner.

  And no one, least of all Morgan, was a bit surprised when Leonie, a half-defiant, half-contrite smile on her lips, drove up just as they finished breakfast and were enjoying a cup of rich black coffee on the gallery. Graciously allowing her husband to help her from the buggy, she murmured, "Ah, good, you are all awake. I did not want to arrive too early and rouse the household."

  Shooting a skittish glance at her husband and being met with a bland smile that, after years of marriage, she knew promised retaliation for last night's prank, Leonie sat down in a chair next to Melissa's. Leaning across, she patted Melissa's hand and asked brightly, "And how are you this morning, my dear? Worn out from your first party?"

  Ignoring the gentlemen, the two women proceeded to spend the next half hour in a moment-by-moment dissection of last night's party. Aware that he was still in his wife's black books, but tired of her antics, Morgan said, "Leonie, I'm sure that you and Melissa will have other times in which to discuss this fascinating subject, but I for one would like to leave." Sending her a look that brooked no argument, he explained, "As you can see, I am still in last night's clothing, and before the day is much older I should very much like to be wearing something else."

  It was a subdued Leonie who sat beside her husband as they waved good-bye once again to Dominic and Melissa. They rode in silence for several moments until Leonie asked, "Are you very angry with me?"

  "Should I be?" Morgan asked.

  Leonie gave it some thought. "Probably," she finally admitted. "But you must admit that I had just cause. It is despicable what you and Jason are doing to Dominic's marriage." Growing incensed once more, she crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, "And I am not sorry for what I did either. No matter what you do to me."

  Morgan pulled the horse to a stop and turned to face his wife. At the slightly apprehensive expression that crossed her face even as she raised her chin defiantly, Morgan burst out laughing. "I should beat you, you little witch! But since I adore you and would not harm one hair on your head, I suppose that I shall have to simply love you to death."

  The sea-green eyes dark with emotion, Leonie threw her arms around Morgan's neck and kissed him soundly. "Oh, Morgan, mon amour, it was so lonely without you last night... I very nearly came back after you."

  Chuckling, one arm securely around his wife's waist, his chin resting on the honey-colored curls beneath his chin, Morgan slapped the reins on the horse. It was a very slow trip back to Oak Hollow.

  While Morgan and Leonie might have resolved their differences, the same could not be said for Dominic and Melissa. And as the day passed and Melissa continued to treat him with the cool courtesy of a hostess called upon to entertain a less-than-welcome guest, Dominic's sense of umbrage grew.

  It didn't help that Melissa was in particularly glowing looks this day either. There was a faint flush to her cheeks and her eyes were unusually bright, and the gown that she had selected to wear just happened to be, of all the gowns he had ordered for her, the one he liked best. It was a frivolous confection of apple-green silk trimmed lavishly with laces and flounces, and even as unjustly treated as he felt, he couldn't help admiring how lovely she appeared. Nor could he help noticing the way her tawny hair curled about her shoulders, the glowing strands brushing across her cheeks and tumbling about her neck... precisely in the places he would have liked to put his mouth.

  Annoyed with the train of his thoughts, he forced himself to dwell blackly on her unfair behavior to him. She wouldn't even listen to him—if he had been at liberty to explain things to her. That was a subject he and Morgan had touched on last night, and they had come to the conclusion that the less said the better, Morgan pointing out with a great deal of indignation Leonie's reaction to his explanation—and they had been married for almost ten years! Melissa's ability or inability to keep her mouth shut was an unknown factor and while Dominic didn't think that she was a gossip, they couldn't take any chances. All in all, Dominic was thoroughly disgusted with the entire situation, the prospect of ever sharing an even remotely normal marriage with Melissa fading with every passing moment.

  That he wanted a normal marriage was quite an admission for him. And it wasn't just the normalcy of sharing his wife's bed that he wanted; to his dismay and horror, he very much feared that he wanted precisely what his brother Morgan had—a marriage filled with love and trust.

  After Morgan and Leonie had departed, Dominic had moodily watched Melissa as she flitted about the small house, suddenly seeming to suffer an attack of housewifely zeal. She and Mrs. Meeks spent an inordinate amount of time discussing and reviewing the work of the new housemaids and making certain that all signs of last night's festivities were erased and the household back on a more normal schedule. Seeing that the house and grounds were in immaculate order appeared to absorb Melissa's complete interest, and Dominic considered tracking in a trail of horse manure just to get her attention.

  But he soon gave up such petty thoughts and amused himself by staring at his wife, taking sardonic pleasure when she became aware of his unblinking gaze and lost her thread of conversation with Mrs. Meeks. With interest he watched the blush in her cheeks deepen and travel down her throat and chest, and he caught himself wondering how far the scarlet color went... to her breasts? Was their creamy hue now faintly pink? Did her berry-sweet nipples darken in color too? A sensuous smile played across his mobile mouth, and this time when his thoughts strayed into forbidden territory he made no attempt to stop them.

  Melissa might have appeared indifferent to his presence, but that was far from the truth. To her chagrin, she was unbearably conscious of his tall, lean body sprawled so nonchalantly in one of the chairs in the salon. He was dressed today with an attractive casualness, his white shirt partially undone, his buff breeches, an old pair, fitting his long legs superbly. The black hair was tousled, curling rebelliously near the collar of his open shirt, and Melissa was unhappily aware that she had never seen a man she found half as devastatingly handsome as she did her despicable husband.

  Deciding that she could concentrate better without Dominic's disturbing presence, she suggested to Mrs. Meeks that they move into the breakfast room to continue their absorbing discussion of whether it was time to apply another coat of beeswax to the banister which led upstairs or if they should wait a week or two. Dominic, for some unfathomable reason, followed them, and Melissa was all too aware of him as he leaned negligently against
the doorjamb, apparently interested in their conversation. And so it went all day, no matter how she tried to ignore him or escape from him, he was always there watching her, listening to her, making her exceedingly nervous hour by hour. And if she could have known of the erotic images that chased themselves through his brain, her nervousness would have increased tenfold.

  It didn't help that as the day progressed, Dominic consumed large quantities of brandy, his speech slightly slurred by the time darkness fell. Risking a covert glance at him as they supped in the cozy dining room at the rear of the house, Melissa was amazed at the few signs of intoxication he showed, only that slight slur to his words and the extraordinarily precise manner in which he moved giving any indication that he was more than just a little foxed.

  The meal was quiet, the only sounds the clink of silverware against china and the faint tinkle of crystal as Dominic refilled his snifter with brandy time and again. Suddenly their eyes met, and smiling mockingly, Dominic asked, "Would you care to join me in a snifter? I am told that brandy is an excellent sleeping draught."

  Melissa sent him a haughty glance where he sat at the other end of the table, his chair turned sideways, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "I believe," she said stiffly, "that you might find a clear conscience a far more effective anodyne."

  "A clear conscience?" he drawled, the gray eyes glittering in his dark face. "Now why should you think I have a guilty conscience? I have done nothing to be ashamed. As a matter of fact, I believe that most people would think that I have acted quite nobly considering the circumstances." His mouth twisted. "I did marry you, after all."

  Incensed, Melissa jumped to her feet, and throwing down her white linen napkin, swept around the table. "Well, thank you very much!" she said furiously. "It's a pity that your nobility didn't last longer than it took you to say your vows!"

  Fascinated by the rise and fall of her chest, Dominic couldn't tear his eyes away from the soft flesh so temptingly near, and without conscious thought he reached up and pulled her into his arms and onto his lap. Blindly he buried his face between her sweet-scented breasts, his mouth pressing hotly against the yielding flesh. "Is it a noble husband that you want, Lissa? A noble man, full of fine thoughts and virtuous works?" he muttered thickly.

  Lifting his head, he stared into her stunned features and then, taking advantage of her astonishment, he shifted her until she lay in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her legs dangling from the floor. His mouth inches from hers, he demanded huskily, "If I were to seek to do worthy deeds in your name... would it soften your cold heart? Would noble works be the key that would unlock and release all that wild passion we shared on our wedding night? Would it?"

  Breathless, her skin tingling from the touch of his mouth, her body all too aware of the warmth and hardness of his, Melissa could think of nothing to say. Every instinct urged her to embrace him, to wind her arms around his neck, to kiss those pleasure-giving lips so near to her own, but the memory of Deborah's smug smile last night floated nastily through her brain, and in one violent movement she disentangled herself and leaped to her feet. Unshed tears gleamed in her golden eyes, and more in sadness than in anger, she cried, "Stop it! Don't toy with me this way. I cannot bear it." And with that she fled the room, her silken skirts flying behind her.

  His expression utterly stupefied, Dominic stared in the direction in which she had disappeared. Toy with her? The woman was mad! She had done nothing but turn his world upside down and inside out; had trapped him into marriage; had taken his poor, unsuspecting heart and torn it from his breast, trampled it cruelly beneath her feet—and she dared to accuse him of toying with her!

  He sat there in brooding silence for some time, nursing his grievances, hardly aware of the advent of the butler into the room until that gentleman coughed delicately and asked, "May I begin to clear, sir?"

  Absently Dominic stared at the man. "Oh, of course," he replied after a moment and stood up. The impact of all the brandy he had been drinking hit him, and feeling fuzzy, he added, "Have a large pot of coffee sent out to the gallery. I believe that I shall sit there for a while before bed."

  Several cups of strong black coffee later, Dominic was more himself, although there were still enough brandy fumes swirling through his brain for his thoughts to be less than rational. Actually, they were quite irrational, an unrelenting desire to prove to his wife that he was not toying with her taking strong hold of his senses. He hadn't been the one to banish her from the bedroom; he hadn't been the one who had broken off their promising embrace last night, nor had he been the one who flaunted an irresistible body in front of the other. Oh, no, it wasn't he who advanced so tantalizingly and then at the last moment retreated. And, by God, he wasn't going to put up with it any longer.

  A stubborn set to his chin, he went inside and ran up the stairs two at a time. In his bedroom, he stripped and swiftly sluiced his body with the tepid water waiting on the washstand.

  He hesitated in front of the door that connected their bedrooms, the faint light spilling beneath the door revealing that Melissa had not retired for the night. Was she in there longing for him? he wondered. Or was she thinking of some other man? Latimer?

  Giving an angry shake to his dark head, he dispelled that ugly image. He would not consider the possibility that his wife wanted another man—he didn't want another woman, so how could she want another man? That his logic was twisted did not occur to him, nor did it seem to dawn on him that with the situation between them, his wife was not likely to look kindly on his appearance in her room. But none of that bothered him. In the brief time that he and Melissa had been married, he had done nothing but rack his brains trying to understand what had happened between them, baffled by her incomprehensible decision to deny them both the pleasures of the marriage bed. But no longer. His reasons for doing what he intended to do weren't even clear to him. It wasn't just the need to relieve the hungry passion her mere presence aroused within him; it was something much deeper, more elemental. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Latimer had looked at her last night, the way she had responded to the other man's attention. Or it might have to do with the need to show her with his body what he had not yet fully admitted to himself—that he loved her and wanted her in all the ways that a man wants the woman he loves. Mayhap in his confused thinking he wanted to show her that by making love to her, no other woman held any allure to him; that while he might seem to flirt and encourage another woman, she was the one in whose arms he wished to lie; it was her kisses he wanted, her body he claimed. Only hers. And last of all, perhaps he wanted to prove once and for all that every time she spurned his advances, every time she scorned his touch, she lied....

  He dared not let himself dwell on what might happen if he was wrong, if all that sweet fire and desire was not for him. Driven by the dictates of his own body as well as by the demons in his brain, he opened the door and in naked splendor walked into her bedroom.

  The room was bathed in the glow of candlelight, and he stalked over to her bed and pulled aside the gauzy curtains that draped the large bed.

  Lost in her unhappy musings, Melissa had not heard either the door opening or his approach, and the sudden movement of the bed-curtains startled her. Eyes wide, she stared at him, and then, as the fact that he was naked impinged upon her, her breath caught in her throat.

  Dominic was magnificent as he stood before her, not at all perturbed by his state of undress, his gray eyes fixed on the soft flesh that rose and fell beneath the filmy scrap of a garment that Melissa had worn to bed. The garment was of spun silk, ivory in color and trimmed with fine lace; it was both provocative and modest, the translucent material revealing as much as it hid, the full, flowing sleeves and gently rounded neckline giving it a virginal appearance.

  Melissa had been sitting on the lavender coverlet, a pile of silken pillows at her back, and Dominic thought he had never seen anything lovelier as she sat there, her legs tucked beneath her, her glorious
hair tumbling about her shoulders, her mouth half parted in surprise. Unable to help himself, he bent over and claimed those half-parted lips, his kiss oddly gentle.

  Heart hammering in her chest, Melissa didn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed when he lifted his head a second later. Trying desperately to still the wild excitement that clamored in her veins, she kept her gaze averted from his naked body and asked breathlessly, "What are you doing here?"

  It was a stupid question and they both knew it. Melissa could have bitten her tongue when she saw the mocking little smile that quirked at the corners of Dominic's mouth. Looking everywhere but at him, she muttered inanely, "It isn't... it isn't seemly to wander around naked."

  "My body displeases you?" he asked.

  "Oh, no! I think it is wonderful!" Melissa said in a rush; then, realizing what she had admitted, she clamped her lips together, a blush staining her cheeks.

  Dominic smiled with all the understandable smugness of a man who knows his woman appreciates his physical attributes. His gaze roaming possessively over the soft curves of her body, he murmured, "And I find yours utterly delectable!"

  Her eyes clung to his as she tried to gauge the sincerity of his words. The warm expression in his gray eyes made Melissa's pulse jump, but then, recalling that he was a practiced womanizer, she said dully, "Mine and that of any other woman who catches your fancy!"

  His hands clamped around her upper arms and he dragged her less than gently up against him. "No," he said harshly. "No other woman but you." His mouth swooped and trapped hers in a demanding kiss, one hand sliding behind her head to hold her captive as he searched her mouth with frank pleasure. "Only you," he muttered when he lifted his lips from hers.

  Wanting to believe him, so very weary of fighting him as well as the demands of her own body, Melissa made no attempt to escape from his grasp. Did it really matter that he didn't love her? Once she had foolishly banished him from her bed and she had bitterly regretted it ever since, so why not take what he offered? She wanted him. He was her husband. She loved him; how could she not accept this second chance?