Dangerous Masquerade

by Peta Lee Rose

  Walking slowly back to the inn, he considered her puzzling actions. Her request was all the more surprising in view of his blunt invitation to have an affaire. He was not usually so direct, but the minx had put him off balance by asking if he was flirting with her. He must be losing his touch if she didn’t know. Then, to make it worse, she’d asked why.

  Was she so very unaware of her considerable attractions? Buried in the country as she was, it was possible.

  There was something about her… He would have to make damned sure she stayed in the country. He couldn’t risk any of the men in his circle seeing her. Look at Devon. Knowing full well Luc was interested, he still had taken the first available opportunity to flirt with her.

  Had she thought about his offer? When he’d greeted her today at the gunsmith’s, the look in her eyes and her faint blush suggested she’d thought of little else. He smiled in satisfaction.

  He had been very tempted to take their relationship a step further at the inn. The only thing that stopped him from at least kissing her was concern she would back out of tomorrow’s engagement. That was too good an opportunity to forego.

  However, he was uncomfortably aware he’d been celibate too long. He ached to touch more of her skin than just her hand. Luc briefly closed his eyes at the visions that flooded his mind. With a grimace, he told himself that if the shooting lessons went as planned he’d only have to wait a few days more. Though he was coming to realize his lady was more complex than he’d realized.

  He came to an abrupt halt. His lady.

  Just when had he begun to think of her in such possessive terms? It had been so gradual, he’d not realized until this moment it was happening.

  And that was another thing. He’d given up searching for Persephone since meeting Ria. Before then, that need had consumed him and driven his every action. He’d since transferred that obsession to Ria. What the hell was the matter with him?

  Which brought him back to her. He once again thought about her behavior. Did she fear for her safety? Who would try to harm her, and why?

  He didn’t know, but he knew someone who could find out and resolved to contact him immediately.

  At that moment, he heard his name called. Devon was walking toward him, a broad smile on his face. “How was luncheon with your beauteous widow?”

  Even his friend was doing it. Using the possessive. “She is not mine.”

  “Then you will not mind if I try my hand—”

  His could not help himself—the ferocious glare he gave his best friend was instinctive. It was enough to make Devon stop in midsentence, clasp his hand to his chest, and say, “If looks could wound, my friend, I’d be sending for the doctor.”

  “She’s your cousin!”

  Devon laughed. “At least fourth removed. Hardly an impediment. Though it’s interesting you should think it is. You really have a problem.” His lips twitched slightly as he added, “I’m not complaining, mind you. I hope it keeps up, seeing as you are adding to my stable quite nicely. First it was the gray for information, then the black just to stay away at luncheon. But if she is not yours, then it seems to me a bit cork-brained.”

  As they walked toward the inn’s stable, the expression in his golden-brown eyes became serious. “I’ve never seen you like this before—you’re usually more casual and relaxed about your paramours. I merely smiled at her, and you were ready to go for my throat.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  Devon shook his head, and his tawny hair lifted slightly at the movement. “You didn’t see your face. I hope you know what you are doing, my friend.”

  No, Luc hadn’t seen his face, but he did know how he felt. Just what was happening to him?

  Was he even more like his father than he feared?

  11

  Ria’s hand holding the pistol trembled. She had in her hand something designed to kill. Ruthlessly suppressing that thought, she did her best to concentrate on Luc’s instructions.

  “Stand still, slightly side on.” He reached up to adjust her waist. “That’s it.”

  His warm hand on her waist brought back the memory of when they danced together and how right it had felt.

  Just like at the masquerade, his scent reached out to her. At first there was the freshness of lemon and apple and then the enticing, warm, dark undertone of clove.

  They were so close that each time she breathed out she could see her breath turn white, coil its way around his, and then their two breaths merged in the cold air until she could no longer tell them apart.

  Shaking her head, she focused her attention on the lesson by concentrating on Luc’s voice just in time to hear him say, “Now look at the target. See the circle in the middle? That’s what you’re aiming for.”

  Ria looked at the distant target, partially obscured by the late morning mist that hadn’t completely lifted. Beyond the target were leafless silver birch trees, tall, dark skeletons swathed in white gauze.

  “Hold your arm out straight,” the earl instructed. “Think of the weapon as an extension of your arm. When you fire the gun, there will be recoil, and it will push back. I’ll stand behind you and support you this first time.”

  He moved, and Ria was conscious of his chest at her back. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

  As the warmth brought back more memories of the masquerade, her arm holding the pistol began to droop. When he reached around her to readjust her stance, he seemed to linger, his gloved fingers lightly brushing the back of her hand before dropping down to the small of her back.

  A delicious river of excitement spread from the spot where he’d touched her. It rippled up and down her spine. Ria shifted her legs restlessly, trying to relieve the pressure.

  Looking at the target, she made every effort to concentrate. This was important. It could mean the difference between life and death.

  Eyeing the circle in the center, she braced herself against the expected kick and tentatively squeezed the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand. As the smoke reached her face, she wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell.

  She wrinkled it again when she saw how bad her shot was. She hadn’t hit the target at all, let alone come anywhere near the circle!

  She listened intently to the earl’s instructions about how to reload the pistol. Once he had shown her, he made her fire the pistol and then reload it herself over and over again.

  Ria adjusted her grip and stretched her fingers. They were beginning to cramp. During the course of the lesson, she had been getting closer to the circle, but her last two shots had been as bad as those at the beginning.

  Just when she was going to ask for a rest, Luc took the gun from her nerveless fingers and placed it in the gun case. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how cold you are. We should go in.”

  Picking up the case, he led her back to the house. When he opened the door to the orangery, she reveled in the blast of warm, moist air, carrying with it the spicy, exotic scent of tropical plants and rich, damp earth.

  As she rubbed her hands, the earl carefully placed the case holding the pistol on a wrought-iron table just inside the door. He stripped off his gloves, placed them on top of the case, and then turned to her.

  To her surprise, he reached for one of her hands. Her surprise intensified when he began to remove her kid glove. As he did so he held her gaze, his movements deliberate. He reached for her other hand and slowly removed the second glove. Clasping both her hands in his, he bent his head and gently breathed on her fingers.

  Ria jumped at the tingling sensations in her hands as they came back to life.

  “Better?”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  Luc smiled and said “They still feel slightly chilled. Perhaps this will help.”

  Continuing to hold her gaze, he raised her left hand to his mouth and to her amazement sucked on one of her fingers.

  Gasping, she snatched her hands away and held them behind her back. Clearing her throat, she said, �
��Thank you.” Smiling weakly, she added, “They feel fine now.”

  He inclined his head, the trace of a small knowing smile on his lips. “I shall see you tomorrow at the same time.”

  Once again doubting the wisdom of what she was doing, she started to say it wasn’t necessary, but before she could, he added firmly, “It is important to continue the lessons until you are confident.”

  It was the look in his green eyes that gave her pause. Moments ago they had been warm and seductive—now they were intent and perhaps a little concerned.

  Much as she would have liked to say no and stop the lessons, he was right. In her panic at his behavior and her own intense response, she had forgotten why she had suggested this in the first place. She shivered at the reminder that she might be in danger. As cold as she’d been outside, it was nothing to the chill that now seeped into her.

  She tried to ignore it and think rationally. If she did persevere with the lessons, she’d be in a different sort of danger. Luc was the last person she should have asked to teach her, but then she’d not been clearheaded at the time.

  Ria straightened her shoulders. After today, she knew she didn’t like guns. She was, in fact, slightly scared of them. However, she had to do this. She must learn how to protect herself and the ladies. And she must learn how to do it properly.

  Mutely she nodded at him, agreeing to their meeting the next day. After all, another lesson wouldn’t hurt.

  Would it?

  Though today was not as cold as the past few days, Ria still breathed a sigh of relief as the warm air in the orangery encircled her and settled like a woolen shawl.

  In what had become an after-lesson ritual, Luc led her down the central aisle of the orangery until they reached a secluded clearing at the end. It was one of her favorite places in the house—a private oasis surrounded by tall plants with a wrought-iron table and chairs holding deep plush cushions. The aunts and cousins didn’t use the orangery—preferring the library—and over time this space had become hers. Her sanctuary. Even the servants didn’t disturb her here.

  He reached for her hands. “Are you cold?”

  Mutely she nodded.

  His smile was dangerous. “Then I should warm you.”

  Anticipation gripped her when he began to slowly remove her left kid glove. Holding her gaze, he raised her hand to his mouth and sucked on her index finger, then her third finger, the next one, and then the next.

  She drew in her breath as the strong sensations swept over her. It was such a simple thing, but the rhythmic motion combined with the swirling of his tongue was answered by a pulsing between her legs and a growing dampness.

  She stood completely still when he lightly stroked her cheek then tenderly kissed her. At first it was a nibble, but gradually the pressure of his lips intensified.

  This kiss was sweeter than those he had given her at the masquerade. Ria closed her eyes. To her surprise the pleasure seemed to intensify. Tentatively she brushed his lip with her tongue. At her touch, he groaned and pulled her close so that her breasts just brushed against his chest.

  Their breaths mingled as he deepened his kiss and she savored his taste.

  His arm pulled her closer, and she became aware of the bulge between his legs. At each move and gesture, it seemed to grow larger.

  As though reading her mind, he clasped one of her hands in his and placed it over him. Luc groaned deeply, then said, echoing some of the words and phrases he had used during their shooting lesson, “It’s important to take your time. Squeeze gently”—at this he placed his hand over hers and showed her the movement—“don’t rush things.”

  Enthralled by how responsive he was to her touch, Ria slowed her pace.

  “Expect recoil.” As he spoke, the bulge jumped and grew larger.

  “Feel the vibration through your body.” He bent and kissed her deeply, sending an intense pulse throughout her body.

  In a daze, she barely noticed that he’d lifted her onto the table and pushed up her skirts. But then he lightly touched her between her legs. Ria whimpered as his nimble fingers circled, tickled, and teased her, until finally he inserted a finger in her.

  Unable to contain herself, she moaned. Bending, he kissed her, then slipped another finger into her. As the pulsing reached a crescendo, his kiss swallowed her small scream.

  Moving away from her, he stood still for a moment, shuddering, then to her bemusement helped her off the table and rearranged her dress.

  Breathing heavily, he said goodbye, his voice deeper and huskier than normal.

  Dazed and unable to respond, she weakly smiled as he walked away. As the pulsing inside her died down and she was capable of coherent thought, Ria wondered what he would teach her tomorrow.

  With a shaking hand, she adjusted her skirt. Perhaps she should call off the lessons. If they continued, there was only one possible conclusion.

  Could she take the risk? Where was the harm?

  Ria entered the morning room where Aunt Charity was embroidering and sat beside her on the elegant Grecian sofa.

  Aunt Charity showed her the almost-completed embroidery piece and asked, “What do you see?”

  Puzzled, Ria looked at the design, “Two people walking past each other in an orchard.”

  “Do they know each other?”

  Frowning at the odd question, she examined the embroidery more closely. “It’s impossible to tell… No, wait. Maybe they do.” As Aunt Charity looked at her, clearly expecting more, she added with more certainty, “They are flirting, so yes they do.”

  Now she was studying the piece closely, she realized the clues were subtle but there if you looked carefully. The woman was slightly turned away from the man, but there was a small smile on her lips, a faint hint of pink on her cheeks. The gentleman was holding an apple, his gaze intent.

  “You are a true artist, Aunt Charity, to be able to convey such detail in an embroidered piece.”

  “Perhaps it’s less to do with art and more to do with experience.”

  Ria looked at Charity expectantly and waited for her to expand on her cryptic statement, but Aunt Charity instead changed the subject.

  “You saw the earl today?”

  “Yes, he is giving me shooting lessons.”

  “I imagine you will be seeing him again?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  As Aunt Charity smiled at her, Ria felt herself tensing. Unable to sit still, she leapt to her feet and walked over to the fireplace. Bending, she picked up the poker and stirred the coals to encourage more flame.

  She wasn’t sure what the ladies thought of the earl or his pursuit of her. They must know what he was up to but hadn’t said anything, and she didn’t know how to broach the subject with them.

  Turning back to face Aunt Charity, she said, “He says it is important to become truly proficient and intends to come every day for…” She shrugged. “Well, he didn’t say how long.”

  “I imagine it depends on how quickly you learn and on his definition of proficient. It could take a while,” Aunt Charity said.

  There was an expression in her eyes Ria couldn’t quite define… She thought back to her encounters with Luc in the orangery. Surely they hadn’t been seen?

  Tentatively, unsure if they were still talking about shooting lessons, she replied, “Yes, it could.” And then she added, “I guess a question to ask is how long I want it to continue.”

  She should stop the lessons. She really should. Though perhaps another day wouldn’t hurt. Or a week, she thought wistfully. “I need to become expert, which could take time.”

  Aunt Charity nodded, “Yes, indeed.” She placed a few more delicate stitches into her embroidery and then asked Ria, “Did I ever tell you about Michael Lynmore?”

  Confused by this second apparent change in topic, but suspecting there was a connection, Ria patiently replied, “No, but please do.”

  “He was the love of my life. I was madly, passionately in love with him. He wanted to have an affaire as
we couldn’t marry. It doesn’t matter why. What does matter is I deeply regret not saying yes.”

  Speechless, Ria could only watch as Aunt Charity folded her embroidery into her tapestry bag. Once finished, she looked at Ria and made one last comment before leaving. “I think I’ll embroider another piece, one showing the progression of their relationship. What do you think it should be, my dear? Should the next one show them as polite acquaintances or as lovers?”

  As she stared at her, Aunt Charity smiled slightly and left the room without waiting for an answer.

  Ria collapsed on the sofa, gazing into space. Unless she was sadly mistaken, elderly Aunt Charity had just given her carte blanche to have an affaire.

  But then, Aunt Charity didn’t know just what was at stake.

  12

  Later in the day, still undecided, Ria walked into the estate office. She didn’t have to make up her mind right now, and in the meantime there was work to do, and Blackwell was waiting for her.

  She was half listening to her estate agent, thinking more about Aunt Charity’s surprising behavior, when one particular comment Blackwell made caught her full attention. She would never forget the list of so-called estate improvements Geoffrey had dropped on the floor of the drawing room. Now here was her agent making some of the same suggestions. Not only that but using the exact same words.

  She tried to quash the tiny seed of suspicion. But with his next comment, which also echoed what was written, the planted seed resisted her efforts and began to germinate.

  She watched him carefully, the pen she had just been about to write with forgotten, suspended in midair, and asked him directly, “Have you discussed any of these issues with Mr. Danielson?”

  At her unexpected question, Blackwell looked taken aback. “Of course not, Mrs. St. James. Why would you think such a thing?”