Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  Reaching the stable, he rousted out the sleeping stable boy, and after tossing the reins to him, turned to help his sister down from the rig. As they walked slowly toward the house, Deborah said sullenly, "What a dreadful evening! I have never been so bored in my life." Casting him a resentful glance as he opened the door and ushered her inside, she added peevishly, "It was all very well for you to spend the evening gambling with that old roué, but I was forced to listen to boring story after boring story about that old cow's one trip to London. The next invitation you accept, make certain it will be a lively party, or I will not go."

  Not in the best of tempers, Latimer snarled, "Shut up. I told you why it was so necessary to dine with them this evening. At least we have a thousand dollars more than we did when we started out."

  Her lovely face spiteful, Deborah snapped, "And whose fault is it that we have been brought to such straits? Fifty thousand dollars! I told you not to keep gambling. It is all your fault." Working herself into a self-pitying rage, she flounced into a nearby chair and stated viciously, "I hate this place! I detest America. I wish we had never come here. I hate it, do you hear me?"

  The blue eyes cold and furious, in two long strides Latimer was towering over her. The sound of his hand striking her cheek as he slapped her echoed in the room. Icily ignoring her cry of pain, he said, "I hear you, and I'm sure that anyone else within a mile of this place can hear you too. Now cease your whining and listen to me."

  Cradling her stinging cheek with one hand, Deborah sent him a hostile stare, all the anger and resentment she felt at his actions clear to see in her eyes. "Don't I always listen? Am I not always a dutiful little sister? Have you forgotten that I married that wretched old man because you insisted he was a better bargain than Dominic Slade?" She gave a bitter laugh. "A better bargain! By Heaven, that's amusing."

  His own face contorted with rage, Latimer snapped, "If you will stop feeling sorry for yourself, it is about Slade that I wish to talk."

  As if her anger had never been, Deborah's eyes glistened avidly, and forgetting her scarlet cheek, she dropped her hand and leaned forward eagerly. "Yes? Are you going to help me?"

  From the instant he had risen from the table at Tom Norton's house last night, Latimer had thought of little else than a way to extract revenge against Dominic. And now, twenty-four hours later, knowing why Dominic had set out to ruin him, knowing that Melissa had told her husband everything, he wanted to punish them both. It was his most fervent desire to make them both pay for what had transpired last night. To hurt Dominic, to humble him by seducing his wife and making sure that Dominic knew, seemed a fitting revenge. It would almost be worth having lost a fortune, he thought, to plant a pair of prominent horns on Slade's head and to have Melissa in his own bed. He smiled nastily. It might be only for one time, while she was still stunned and angry enough to pay Dominic back in kind, that he possessed Melissa, but that one incident would haunt man and wife for the rest of their lives.

  Looking at his sister, he said slowly, "Yes, I am going to help you get him into your bed—and just as soon as possible."

  "Oh, darling, darling brother, I knew you would not fail me." Deborah exclaimed as she leaped to her feet and brushed a light kiss on his cheek. Standing close to him, her hand resting on his shoulder, she looked up at him hopefully. "What do you plan for me to do?"

  Some of his own good humor restored, Latimer gave her an affectionate pat on the cheek he had slapped so heartlessly only moments before and said, "I'm sorry that I hit you, puss, but you do annoy me sometimes."

  Now that he was going to help her, Deborah was ready to forgive him anything, and with harmony existing between them once more, she smiled up at him and declared grandly, "You can hit me anytime, provided you get Dominic Slade into my bed."

  Latimer chuckled and turned aside to pour them both a glass of port. "Have you found the spot for your seduction of him?" he asked.

  Some of her good mood fled and petulantly, she confessed, "No. I've looked everywhere, but there is no place private and yet close enough to the house for me to use."

  Frowning , he inquired, "Must it be close to the house? Couldn't you arrange something in town?"

  Sending him a disgusted look, she replied, "That would be too obvious. Besides, if he is coming to see me, because I'm afraid of you and want him to take me away, I can't already be away, can I?"

  "Hmm, I see your point. This, er, love nest is to be the place you escape to when you wish to avoid my terrible rages—your sanctuary, the only place you feel safe from me?"

  "Exactly," Deborah said. "I considered the little summerhouse out back, but it is too open and within sight of the house. But I want the place to be nearby so that the servants don't have to cart all the necessary furnishings all over the countryside."

  Latimer paced up and down, sipping his port as he considered and discarded several places. Stopping suddenly directly in front of Deborah, he asked slowly, "What about the gazebo on the docks?"

  "That rickety old building?" she said with dismay. "Near that smelly swamp?"

  Nodding his blond head, Latimer said, "Hear me out before you dismiss the idea out of hand." And at Deborah's reluctant agreement, he continued, "The building is on the land that comes with the house, so we can do what we want with it. It is out of sight and earshot of the house. The building is secluded, even if it is old and, as you say, rickety. As for the swamp..." He smiled at her. "It isn't my understanding that it is the swamp which will command Slade's attention."

  Deborah turned the idea over in her mind. Other than the proximity of the swampy pond, the gazebo did have several things to recommend it, she finally conceded. It would take a lot of work to prepare the place as she envisioned the finished product in her head, but...

  "I'll look it over tomorrow morning, and perhaps by the end of the week we can set events in motion," she said finally.

  Latimer shook his head. "No. I want to waste no more time. Just as soon as I can get my hands on the Franklyn money, we are leaving for New Orleans. I find this place has lost its charm for me too, and if I had my way, we would both be on that packet which arrived this afternoon from New Orleans and which will be returning there on Friday morning." Taking another sip of his port, he stared at the far wall, all his thoughts and energies on getting revenge—and money.

  "Josh Manchester's party is also on Friday," he murmured reflectively. "And I already know that young Franklyn will be attending. I would have preferred another location and time for my sudden run of luck, but since last night, I no longer have the luxury of waiting for the most opportune moment. I shall have to make my move that evening. It is unfortunate that the packet is leaving a day too soon for us, or we would be on it."

  "Well, then, there is no hurry about Dominic, is there?" Deborah asked reasonably.

  Latimer smiled tightly. "I have plans of my own, but in order for my plans to be effective, yours must take place first. By this time tomorrow night, I want you to have enjoyed the pleasures you think you have missed."

  Having fantasized for many years about Dominic's lovemaking, Deborah was not loath to go along with her brother's ideas. And her vanity was such that she was quite positive that, once having lain in her arms, Dominic would want to repeat the process several more times.... Visualizing a future in which Dominic was so enamored of her charms that he deserted his wife and followed her to England, Deborah purred, "Whatever you say, dear brother."

  She was not quite so sanguine the next morning when he roused her out of bed at the unheard-of hour of seven o'clock, nor were her doubts about the suitability of the gazebo laid to rest as they walked out onto the narrow, half-rotted dock to view the building. Clinging tightly to her brother's arm, Deborah gingerly approached the formerly attractive but now timeworn and neglected structure.

  Originally this particular spot had been lovely, the sprawling, irregularly shaped pond kept fresh and clear by a small creek that had emptied into it, the creek re-forming at the opposite e
nd of the pond where a wide, shallow overflow area had been created by tightly interlaced logs. In the spring, wildflowers abounded on the banks of the pond, willow trees and birch growing right down to the water's edge in some places. The delicately latticed gazebo jutted off to one side about halfway out on the narrow dock, and it took little imagination to visualize the past with children fishing or swimming in the shallow pond while their mothers sat in the small gazebo and enjoyed a cozy gossip, sipping tall glasses of lemonade.

  But that had been many years ago, and now the pond was choked with duckweed and algae, the creek having changed its course, leaving the pond without a constant influx of fresh water. While the seasonal rains helped some, by autumn the remaining water was a murky green soup of rotting vegetation. Holding a perfume-scented lace handkerchief to her nose, Deborah exclaimed, "Oh, this will never do—such a noxious odor."

  "That can be taken care of," Latimer returned as he stepped cautiously into the gazebo. Finding the floor solid, he glanced around, noting the cobwebs and the occasional broken lattice. The place was filthy and had obviously been unused for many, many years, but he saw nothing that would preclude it from being the site of Dominic's seduction.

  Deborah, however, was of another mind. "You cannot be serious!" she shrieked, giving a shudder as her gaze took in the ramshackle interior. But it was the slightly sinister pond that disturbed her the most, and gazing at its unmoving vegetation-clouded surface, she shuddered again, thinking of all the hidden horrors she was positive lurked just underneath.

  But Latimer was not to be swayed, and despite Deborah's protestations to the contrary, he set the servants to work on the building. When she viewed it several hours later, Deborah resentfully had to admit that he had been right. No longer did the interior appear ramshackle and unused, for after a thorough sweeping and scrubbing, several costly items from the house had been installed, and the look was quite different.

  Upon the floor now lay a small green-and-cream Oriental rug, and to ensure privacy as well as to hide any unsightliness, several bolts of startling pink muslin material swathed the walls, the ends all caught together and attached to the roof to form a tentlike canopy.

  A gold damask-covered chaise had been installed, and mounds of blue satin pillows were placed nearby. Next to the chaise stood a small mahogany table, its surface nearly hidden by a silver tray which held a decanter of brandy and a pair of snifters and near the entrance had been placed a candle stand with a crystal candelabrum upon it. The scent of lilacs and roses perfumed the air, the rug and pillows having been liberally sprinkled with scented water before their installation.

  Grudgingly Deborah congratulated her brother. "This was exactly what I had in mind... except for the proximity of the water," she said as she walked around the small room, her hand idly touching the fine muslin which seemed to flow everywhere. Her eyes on the chaise, imagining herself and Dominic locked there in a torrid embrace, she smiled. "It is perfect, Julius! I shall go up to my room to write the note to Dominic and have it delivered immediately."

  A short while later, her pitiful note begging for Dominic's instant help on its way, Deborah merrily ordered a bath and then browsed happily through her overflowing wardrobe trying to decide which of her many gowns would be the most seductive... and easy to remove. Unaware of Dominic's clandestine activities last night, she could not have guessed that when her servant arrived with the message at the cottage, it would be to discover that the master of the house was still abed and that it was the mistress of the house who received her calculatingly worded little note. Nor would she have recalled that in her haste to get the message sent, she had neglected to address the envelope, merely ordering the servant to deliver the note to the Slade house.

  Long after the servant had ridden away from the cottage, Melissa stared at the blank front of the envelope, the scent Deborah always wore wafting up to her nostrils. Even if she had not recognized Deborah's perfume, the servant had identified himself as being from Lady Bowden, so she was without a doubt about who had sent the letter to her husband and, despite its lack of address, that it was for her husband!

  Seating herself on the gallery, she laid the envelope down on a nearby table, her expression pensive. Should she waken Dominic? The note could be important. But then again... Her soft mouth tightened. Then again, it could be Lady Bowden angling for an intimate tete-a-tete with her husband. As she thought of Dominic, of the way he had been sleeping so deeply when she had left him this morning, Melissa's features were suddenly tender, all thought of Deborah's motives for writing Dominic vanishing as she lost herself in the sweet memory of last night.

  Melissa had been able to occupy her time doing various feminine tasks for a few hours after Dominic and Royce had ridden away for the Latimer place, but all the while her thoughts had been on them and what they were doing. She told herself time and again that they would be safe, that there was nothing to worry about, but she still could not help being concerned and anxious for them to return. She had kept all her fears at bay, reminding herself that Dominic and Royce were capable of taking care of themselves, but it was difficult for her to be entirely at ease. Fighting her fears became even worse once she had retired for the evening, and lying alone in her bed, she berated herself for not having demanded that they take her with them. She could have acted as lookout, if nothing else. Giving up all pretense of sleep, she wandered into Dominic's room. Seated in the middle of his big bed, she settled down to wait for his return, ridiculously comforted by clutching the pillow that still bore his scent. Fears abated for the moment as she recalled the look on Dominic's face when he had said, "I adore you!" Dreamily she stared into space, the knowledge that Dominic loved her filling her with a warm glow.

  Melissa curled up in the middle of the blue satin coverlet, Dominic's pillow clasped against her slender body, and the sleep which had eluded her so far gradually crept over her. And it was thus that Dominic, exhausted but elated, found her when he returned home sometime after four o'clock in the morning.

  Hardly daring to believe his eyes, he called softly, "Melissa?"

  Melissa heard his low voice, and waking with a start, she sat bolt upright in bed, her hair tousled and her cheeks rosy from sleep. Looking like a blinking-eyed kitten, she spied Dominic's tall form approaching and exclaimed happily, "Oh, you are home. I was worried and waited up for you. I could not sleep."

  Absently unbuttoning his shirt, his smile tender, he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Oh? And what was it you were doing just now?" he teased, the gray eyes moving caressingly over her face.

  The knowledge that he loved her emboldened her, and she threw herself into his arms, laughing. "I wasn't sleeping," she murmured, "I was dreaming... about you."

  "Were you, now?" Dominic replied. Melissa's warm body pressed ardently against him, making him forget all sorts of things, such as how late it was... how little sleep he'd had in the past forty-eight hours... how tired he was.... Gathering her closer, his teeth nibbling on the lobe of her ear, he asked thickly, "And what was I doing in this dream of yours?"

  A shiver of desire snaked down Melissa's spine, and marveling at her brazenness, she rained teasingly sweet kisses across his face and throat, her fingers sliding under his half-opened shirt, exploring the warm, taut flesh that she found. "Oh, you were doing this..."she muttered as her hand rubbed his flat nipples. "And this...."

  Dominic groaned as her hands moved intimately over him, and the hungry ache that had struck him the moment he had laid eyes on her exploded in his belly. Capturing her mouth with his, he kissed her fiercely, his tongue thrusting into hers, his hands urgently running up and down her body as the rigid control he had placed on himself all these weeks was wrenched away, leaving only a powerful, elemental passion in its wake. Together they sank slowly backward onto the bed, mouths, arms and legs entwined....

  With a start Melissa brought herself back to the present, a blush on her cheeks as she became aware of her swollen nipples rubbing against the fabri
c of her gown. This would never do! she told herself severely, and looking at the letter from Deborah, she frowned. Though it was late afternoon, she knew that Dominic would not awaken for at least another hour or two. It had been dawn before they had fallen asleep in each other's arms, their bodies sated, their love for each other fully acknowledged, and although it had been nearly noon when Melissa had awakened, Dominic had not even stirred when she slipped from the bed—and she certainly was not going to wake him now to give him a message from Deborah Bowden.

  For several minutes she considered opening the envelope herself. Her conscience troubling her, but arguing that the envelope was unaddressed and so could have been meant for either of them, she took a deep breath and, not giving herself time to change her mind, quickly opened it. Swiftly reading Deborah's pitiful little plea, Melissa was struck by doubt.

  She didn't believe for one moment that Deborah's need was as desperate as claimed; on the other hand, Melissa remembered the look in Latimer's cold blue eyes, the violence she sensed within him that day in the tack room when he had first broached his ugly plan, and she wondered if there wasn't an element of truth in what Deborah had written. Perhaps Latimer had beaten her savagely. It was possible that she did fear for her life. And, knowing Dominic, she thought it was entirely possible that he had offered Deborah sanctuary. But then...

  Her eyes narrowed. It was also, she reflected, quite possible that everything in the note was a sham and that Deborah's only purpose in writing it was to bring Dominic on the run. And that, she decided firmly, was intolerable.