A Honeymoon Masquerade

by Victoria Vale

  A Honeymoon Masquerade:

  A Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Short Story

  Victoria Vale

  A Honeymoon Masquerade

  Victoria Vale

  Copyright 2015 by Victoria Vale

  Cover Art by PJ Friel

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, laces, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Part One: Setting the Stage

  Margaret Rycroft, Duchess of Avonleah, wafted her fan before her face. Her ineffectual attempt at cooling herself offered proof that her first fête at Avonleah House could be called a smashing success. The large ballroom off the back of the Grosvenor Square townhouse she inhabited with her husband the duke overflowed with guests. It would seem she had passed their inspection. The new duchess met with their approval.

  Gazing across the room at the man who’d stolen her heart, she decided that it didn’t matter what anyone thought. Sure, their match had been the most unexpected of the season—he’d been a rake intent on avoiding marriage, and she a young debutante in her first season. No one could have guessed that he would chose her, but he had. His love was the only thing that mattered to her—the ton could go to the devil.

  Cerulean eyes snapped up to meet hers from across the room. The candlelight caused his dark, raven black hair to gleam. His figure was shown to its best advantaged in his black and white evening clothes, and just the sight of him proved enough to turn the majority of the women in the room into blithering idiots.

  Camden Rycroft, the duke. Pride filled her as she remembered, yet again, that he was hers. Those blithering idiots could covet him all they wanted—Avonleah had eyes only for her.

  Though he conversed with an acquaintance, his attention became rapt upon her. His mask of affected boredom fell away, and a slow, sensual burn alit in his eyes. His mouth curved in a knowing smirk, causing heat to flame in her cheeks at the memory of that decadent mouth exploring every inch of her body.

  She watched him end the conversation with a politely mumbled ‘excuse me’, before circling the ballroom toward her. Giving her a fan a flick, she made her way toward him. Taking her time, she paused to greet her guests and acknowledge those vying for her attention. A baron’s daughter, she had never experienced so much close scrutiny in her life. Nor had she been familiar with this level of notoriety. Those who, barely six weeks ago, did not even know her name, now vied for her attention and notice. Noticing several pearl-encrusted bodices and lilac-colored gowns, she couldn’t help a chuckle. They even imitated her fashions, down to her favorite color and chosen adornments.

  “Has anyone ever told you how enchanting you are in that shade of lilac?”

  Her husband’s deep voice caressed up and down her spine as he came up behind her, standing as close as propriety allowed. He’d snuck up on her as she’d paused to greet a friend. Heat emanated from him, seeping as deep as her bones. His deep baritone caused her nipples to tighten inside her bodice and her stomach to quiver with longing. Heavens above, being married had turned her into the most wanton of creatures.

  No, it wasn’t marriage that had transformed her, but the man. Camden had brought her passionate nature to the surface, and now she could hardly stand to be in his presence without surrendering to the burning desire he incited.

  Difficult to deal with in a crowded ballroom, that.

  She turned to face him, lilting her fan before her face like a practiced coquette. Bringing one hand up to her throat, she caressed her pearl choker, then lower, drawing his gaze toward her daring neckline. Being a married lady had also freed her to dress as she’d always wished to. Gone was the milky debutante and in her place stood a self-assured woman. Her satin gown showed far more shoulder and bosom than she’d ever displayed in any ballroom, and the skirt clung lovingly to her curves when she moved.

  “I have been told countless times, Your Grace,” she murmured, giving him a coy grin. “So many times, in fact, that the compliment has lost its effect.”

  “Ah,” he replied, quirking one dark brow. “I’d better try harder then.”

  Extending his arm to her, he gave her a meaningful look, one she knew well. In a few moments, he would have her ensconced in a private corner of the garden, tossing her skirts. A shiver ran down her spine as she placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the open garden doors.

  “What if I said,” he whispered, lowering his head toward hers, “that the only thing more beautiful on you than lilac, is nothing at all?”

  A throb began between her legs, spreading in a deep ache through her inner thighs.

  “I’d call you an impertinent lecher,” she replied.

  He chuckled, nuzzling her ear as they cleared the doors. The cool night air immediately offered respite from the stifling heat of the ballroom.

  “What if I told you that the only thing that looked better on you than nothing, was the glow of the moonlight?”

  She closed her fan and swatted him with it. “I’d be forced to inform you that such compliments are beneath you, Your Grace. Surely you can do better.”

  Dislodging her hold on his arm, he turned to face her, a devilish smile curving his wicked mouth.

  “What if I told you, that the only thing that looks better on you than lilac, or nothing at all, or the light of the moon … was me?”

  “Oh, well done,” she murmured. “That might just warrant a reward.”

  “A reward. Well, I do like the sound of that. I intend to collect right now.”

  Glancing over his shoulder at the crowded ballroom, her eyes widened. “Here? Now?”

  Grasping her waist he propelled her toward the balcony’s stone rail, and away from the open doors. Darkness sheltered them, though anyone who exited through the doors would only need to turn in their direction and look closely to make them out.

  The thought excited her, adding to the urgency as he lifted and sat her upon the rail, hurriedly lifting her skirts.

  “Yes, now,” he said, his voice rumbling in her ear. “Is there ever a better time than right now?”

  “No,” she sighed, tilting her head back to give him access to the curve of her neck.

  His lips traced a path from there, over her collarbone and toward her breasts. One hand fumbling between them to open his breeches, he dipped his tongue into the neckline of her gown and found one pebbled nipple. She gasped, holding on tight as he released his cock from the confines of his clothes and angled it toward her waiting sheath.

  She’d already grown wet with desire, easing the way for his less-than-gentle entry. Crying out, she buried her face against his shoulder, wrapping her legs around his waist as he thrust in and out of her. Her channel gripped him tightly, and the delicious friction caused by his movements sent tremendous waves of pleasure through her. They built and swelled until she was panting, her chest heaving and swelling as she bit her lower lips and fought not to moan aloud in ecstasy. A low whimper escaped, despite her attempts at silence.

  “Now, now,” he whispered with a low chuckled, “you’re going to attract the entire ballroom out here.”

  Her fingers clenched around the lapels of his coat, holding tighter. “I can’t help it,” she groaned, digging her heels into his back and urging him on harder, faster. “You feel so good inside me.”

  He responded with a low groan, as he swiftly lowered his head to capture her mouth with his. Their tongues mated, meeting between their joined lips, tangling and parting with urgency. He reach
ed down and grasped her hips, moving her back and forth at the perfect angle and speed to meet his increasingly forceful thrusts.

  Muffling the strangled cry burning in her throat, she surrendered to the release washing over her, causing her back to arch and her insides to pulsate and throb around his rigid member. With a grunt and one last thrust, he spilled inside of her, burying his face against her neck as he shuddered and dug his fingers into her flesh, his grip tight and possessive.

  They pulled apart, both panting and fighting for composure. His eyes had taken on the satisfied, heavy-lidded quality she knew so well. He appeared a man well fucked. Accepting his handkerchief, she cleaned herself, then stood, adjusting her skirts.

  “Christ, you’re a wanton little thing,” he murmured, closing his breeches. “I can hardly walk across a ballroom without you mauling me like a lioness.”

  She scoffed in mock outrage. “Me? What about you?”

  He shrugged. “I can hardly be blamed when you insist upon seducing me at every turn.”

  “I, seduce you?” she scoffed. “How can you blame me for seduction when all I did was glance at you from across the room?”

  His hands came up to her shoulders, holding tight. He pulled her close, molding her body to his, and lowered his head for a kiss.

  “Everything you do seduces me,” he murmured. “Your gaze, your walk, your voice, the curve of your mouth when you smile … all pure seduction, love. How is a man to control his urges in the face of such overwhelming stimulation?”

  She swayed against him with a sigh.

  “Why should you control yourself? We are married now and I am yours to do with what you please.”

  He gave her another swift kiss, then released her. “Right now, nothing would please me more than to say ‘to hell with our guests’, and whisk you upstairs to our chambers, lock the door, and have my wicked way with you until the sun rises. However, duty calls. I do not think you’ve been a duchess long enough to start shocking people with your outlandish behavior. Better give it a season or two.”

  She giggled. “I suppose you are right. Besides, in a few more days we won’t have to worry about propriety. I shall have you all to myself.”

  “An ingenious invention, the honeymoon,” he mused. “What better excuse for a man to whisk his wife away and spend his every waking hour rutting between her thighs?”

  Slapping his arm playfully, she laughed. “Camden Rycroft, is that you all you intend to do during our time away?”

  Taking her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm once more, he led her back toward the ballroom doors.

  “My love, I have quite a few things planned, though all of them will inevitably end with me between those perfect legs of yours.”

  “I am intrigued,” she replied. “What sort of plans? You haven’t even told me where we’re going.”

  His blue eyes glittered mischievously in the light of the ballroom’s candles. “That, my dear, is for me to know and you to find out.”

  Part Two: The Masquerade

  Margaret studied her husband, too intrigued by his odd behavior to eat her dinner. He’d been busy all day making ‘preparations’ for their honeymoon—a trip she still knew nothing about. While she enjoyed a surprise as much as the next woman, the suspense had begun to drive her mad. Whenever she met Camden’s gaze, the light of excitement and mischief shone in the depths of his irises, filling her with the urge to take him by the lapels, shake him until his teeth rattled and demand to know what he had up his sleeve.

  He paused in eating, fork inches from his mouth.

  “Is the pheasant not to your liking, darling?” he asked, an expression of amusement crossing his face.

  He knew he’d been driving her mad in his game of secrets and intrigue.

  She forced herself to take a bite and smile. “It’s lovely. Will you be going out tonight?”

  While newlywed life had made him eager to spend most evenings with her, she did not want him to think she expected it to last forever. He was a duke with political responsibilities, which often meant schmoozing other members of the House of Lords over cards and drinks.

  A smile curved his lips—his most wicked one—and she knew he must be up to no good.

  “Oh no,” he murmured. “Tomorrow morning we set off on our trip, and tonight … well, just think of it as a prelude of things to come. I suggest you eat, darling. You’ll need your strength.”

  His declaration sent a shiver down her spine. Excitement filled her and she forgot the curiosity that had caused her stomach to rebel at the sight of food. Apparently, she wouldn’t have to wait much longer to discover what her husband had been acting so secretive about.

  Relaxing, she engaged him in meaningless chatter over course after course. When the meal had ended, he stood and extended his hand, assisting her from her chair. Bending his head to plant a kiss on her cheek, he paused, lips inches away from her ear.

  “Go to bed, Margaret.”

  She frowned, brows furrowing at his whispered command. “I beg your pardon?”

  He chuckled in her ear, brushing his lips against the shell before nuzzling the loose strands of hair at her temple.

  “If you disobey, I might be forced to punish you for being naughty. Do I need to punish you, Maggie?”

  She shivered against him, closing her eyes and remembering the sting of his hand slapping her buttocks before caressing away the sting. Heat and moisture pooled between her thighs at the thought. He almost tempted her to disobey just to experience the pleasurable pain of his palm against her arse.

  “Go to bed,” he repeated, nipping the lobe of her ear for good measure.

  Pulling away, she moved to do as he said, casting him a glance over her shoulder before she went. It took everything within her not to break into a run the moment she reached the hall—there were far too many servants around for such unseemly behavior. Instead, she held her back ramrod straight and ascended the staircase with as much dignity as she could muster. Once on the third floor, she turn and made a mad dash for her chamber, throwing the door open to find it empty.

  No ladies maid.

  Camden was definitely up to something.

  She discovered just what that ‘something’ was when she approached the bed. A wide smile broke out across her face as she gazed down at the items resting on top of the counterpane.

  Black and red satin, encrusted with beading and delicate lace transported her back to a night that had seemed so long ago, yet stood out in her memory as if it had only been yesterday. A night of mystery, dancing, and revelry. A night of masks and secrets.

  The night she and Camden had met and began the affair leading to their marriage.

  Reaching down, she ran her fingers over the embroidery along the neckline, smiling as she remembered his eyes travelling over every inch of her in the provocative gown. Next to it rested the matching slippers, gloves, and mask, as well as folded slip of paper with her name scrawled across the front.

  Lifting it, she unfolded the scrap to find Camden’s haphazard handwriting.

  Margaret,

  Before we embark upon the celebration of our nuptials tomorrow, I want to take an evening to remember the beginning. The night you changed my life forever. Shall we have another masquerade?

  All is in preparation in the ballroom. Get dressed and meet me there. I promise you a night you’ll never forget.

  Yours,

  Camden.

  P.S. – leave off the drawers.

  Giggling, she set his note aside and set about undressing. It proved a slow task without the help of a ladies maid, but for this evening he must have known she would prefer to dress in private. She took a moment to dab on Camden’s favorite rose-scented perfume before dressing, foregoing a corset, chemise, or drawers. She did, however, wear a pair of black stockings, knowing her husband liked making love to her while she wore them and nothing else.

  Giddy with excitement, she hurriedly remove
d the pins from her hair, leaving the soft waves hanging down her back. Sitting before her vanity mirror, she lined her eyes with kohl and dabbed light rogue on her lips. Finishing her ensemble with the gloves, slippers, and mask, she left her room, taking the stairs to the second floor and the ballroom. She found the halls deserted as she made her way there, and wondered if Camden hadn’t sent the servants off to bed early.

  The doors to the ballroom were closed up tight, but she detected light shining from beneath them. When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her stole her very breath away.

  A table had been placed at the center of the ballroom, surrounded by silver candelabras holding dripping tapers. The glow of the little yellow flames glinted from polished silverware, and pristine glass—a table laden with dessert and other sweets for two, as well as champagne. Bursts of red filled the space—more red roses than she could count, arranged beautifully in tall vases.

  In the midst of it all stood Camden, dashing in his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches—all in black and white. The plain, black mask he’d worn the night of the masquerade covered the upper half of his face, allowing his eyes to show through, gleaming in the candlelight like sapphires.

  Hands clasped behind his back, he approached her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “The lady arrives,” he murmured, pausing just before her. “Now we can begin.”

  Bringing one hand from behind his back, he extended a solitary rose to her. This one had petals as white as new-fallen snow.

  She accepted it, bringing the blossom up to her nose. Inhaling, she sighed as the floral scent filled her nostrils.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” she said.

  His smile faded, and he swayed closer to her, until their bodies touched. “My entire life,” he replied, reaching up to stroke the line of her jaw. “But that wait is over. I’ve found you.”

  She melted against him, his words causing her pulse to drum in her throat swiftly. “I’d wondered what you’ve been up to,” she said. “The roses, the candles … oh, Camden it’s perfect. Thank you.”