A Masked Deception

by Mary Balogh

  Then he raised himself on his forearms, his body a little away from hers, so that he could withdraw himself almost entirely from her before thrusting deeply inside again. Margaret wrapped her legs around his and fit herself to his rhythm as she had in a different way when they had danced earlier. Soon he was driving passionately into her while her desire tightened and tightened and, ultimately, became more and more frightening. She dared not let go. She might lose herself forever.

  Brampton felt her inability to climax. He imposed an iron hold on his own almost uncontrollable need to release into her. He slowed his rhythm, let his weight down onto her again, and eased his hands beneath her body.

  "What is it, little one?" he murmured.

  "I can't. I can't," she gasped, panic-stricken.

  "Let me take care of you, angel," he soothed. "I shall hold you safe. Like this, you see? Trust me, sweet. I shall not hurt you."

  He coaxed her with deep, slow strokes until she knew she must allow him into the center of her world and she would never be free again.

  "I want all of you, angel. Everything you have to give. As I give you my all," he said in a new, harsher, more urgent tone of voice. "Now, darling. Now!"

  And he was coming and coming and did not stop coming. Margaret opened the final barrier and exploded against him with shudder after shudder. She was not aware either of her own abandoned cry or of his groan of fulfillment as he followed her into a world of shattering release.

  Brampton drew himself out of her and moved his weight away almost immediately, but his arms locked behind her back and took her with him, so that the comforting rock-hardness of his body held her secure for the several minutes during which she could not stop from shaking.

  "It was good for you, little one," he said finally, his voice husky with emotion, "as I intended it to be. Sleep now. I shall hold you safe."

  Margaret obediently slipped into a sleep of total, delicious relaxation, heedless of the need for caution or the need to leave before dawn should make her face visible.

  Brampton lay holding her awhile, before drifting into sleep himself. Now that passion was satisfied, he delighted in the feel of her lovely, firm little body in his arms. Her hair was thick and silky over his arm and against his chest. He wished he could see it, know its color. It reached to her waist.

  He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. God, but he wanted this little angel for his own. He had never known such joy as he had just experienced in her arms and still felt in his satiety.

  He had had one of his earlier questions answered, at any rate. She was no coquette. He had noticed as soon as he entered her that she was not a virgin. But she certainly lacked experience. Her body had hummed with passion and she had wanted him every bit as much as he had wanted her, but she had made no attempt to make love to him. She had kept her hands to herself, and though she had returned his kisses, she had not initiated any of her own. And at the end she had been terrified of her own response. Obviously, no man had ever taken her to a climax before.

  Brampton was glad of that. He had felt momentarily disappointed that she was not a virgin. He would have liked to be her first-and only-man. But that was absurd, of course. Even if she had been a girl when he had first met her, six years would have made her into a woman. And it was unconceivable that such a beautiful, passionate little creature could have remained untouched. Had she had lovers? Was she married? Her fear of revealing her identity suggested that she was. She was probably married to some old fool, he decided with bitter contempt. No real man could have taken this woman's body without awakening it to all the joys of unleashed love and passion. But maybe her husband thought she wanted it that way. And maybe he was right!

  But she was made for him. Brampton vowed that he would teach this little angel all the numerous arts and delights of lovemaking that he had learned in his many and varied experiences. He must have her for a long time yet.

  Margaret awakened, feeling disoriented. She felt warm, comfortable, safe. She knew immediately that she was not alone. Her cheek was resting against the hard muscles of an arm. The hand belonging to the same arm clasped her shoulder. A heart was beating steadily close to her ear. Richard had not returned to his own room tonight. How delightfully unusual! She snuggled closer to the warmth of his body.

  His lips found hers in the darkness and she was suddenly fully awake. She was with Richard, but in an unknown place, and he believed himself to be with a stranger. She sat up in panic. What time was it? How close to daybreak was it?

  "I did not mean to sleep, monsieur," she said. "I must go."

  He grasped her shoulder and tried to force her back down beside him. "Don't worry, my sweet," he said. "I shall take you home soon. Let me love you once more first."

  "Oh, no, no, I must go," she replied, resisting the persuasion of his hand and voice.

  "Will you be missed?" he asked with gentle concern.

  "I must go," was all she would say.

  "Then we will dress and leave," he said soothingly. "It is all right, angel. You will be safe with me."

  "Ah, but you must not come with me, monsieur," she said in alarm.

  "I shall certainly not allow you out alone in the streets of London at this hour of the night," Brampton declared firmly.

  "I have my own carriage, monsieur," Margaret said with far more confidence than she felt. What if Jem had not been able to follow? Or what if he had got tired of waiting and had driven home long before? How would she get home?

  "Do you mean that you had my coachman followed?" he asked in amusement. "I begin to see, little minx, how it came about that you escaped Madame Guillotine."

  Margaret scrambled off the bed and began the difficult task of gathering her scattered belongings in the darkness. She dressed hastily, wig, mask, and all.

  "Angel, when shall I see you again?" Brampton asked from the bed.

  Margaret paused.

  "I must see you again!" he said urgently.

  "I think it would be better not, monsieur," Margaret said sadly. "Nothing can come of this affair."

  "But we can love each other, give each other delight-perhaps for a long, long time," he argued.

  "You are married, monsieur," she said, heart pounding, "and I do not wish to be any man's mistress."

  "And you, angel," he prompted, "are you too married?"

  Margaret paused again. "I must leave, monsieur," she said.

  "Elusive wretch," he chuckled. "But tell me when I can see you, angel, or I shall get out of this bed and stand before the door until you give me an answer."

  "I shall be in the place we met tonight at the same time next week," Margaret replied.

  "In Vauxhall?"

  "Oui, monsieur."

  "I shall be there, angel. You will not let me down?"

  "You must trust me, monsieur."

  He sighed. "I wish you would trust me with your identity."

  "Will you promise me," she asked, "not to leave this room for 'alf an hour after I leave?"

  "I will promise you the moon and all the stars, angel, if you will just feel your way across to this bed and kiss me again," he replied with another chuckle. Her theatrical air of mystery both intrigued and amused him.

  She found her way to his side and bent over him. His arms came viselike around her, toppling her down on top of him. His mouth found hers hungrily and kissed her deeply.

  "Ah, you have that glorious hair hidden again," he commented as their lips drew apart. "What color is it, angel?"

  "Au revoir, monsieur," she said, rising from the bed and feeling her way to the doorway.

  Margaret felt terrible fright as she emerged from the house onto the dark, silent street. She knew she would have to go back upstairs to Richard if Jem were not there. She did not even know where in London she was.

  Then she saw the carriage pull out of shadows farther along the street. Jem sprang down from the box, lowered the steps, and handed her silently inside. She settled against the seat back
with a sigh of relief. Somehow, she was safe and on her way home, with memories to last a lifetime. She would not, of course, risk any further meetings with Richard in the guise of Marie Antoinette.

  Brampton also saw the carriage pull out of the shadows and take his angel away. The carriage was unmarked, the horses unidentifiable in the dark, the coachman masked and well covered with a dark cloak. He had gained no answers, then, from thus spying on her. But she must be a member of the Quality, as he had suspected. The conveyance and horses had appeared expensive. The coachman had been prompt in meeting his lady. She had loyal followers, then. He hoped that she would not be caught and questioned by the old fool of a husband that he had her coupled with in his imagination.

  Brampton lit the candles, dressed at a leisurely pace, and wandered into Devin's library in search of a brandy decanter. He felt himself honor-bound to wait out the half-hour. That time limit was not going to seem half as tedious as the week he would have to live through before seeing her and holding her again, he thought ruefully.

  Chapter 8

  In the following week it seemed to Margaret as if her hopes for an attachment between Charlotte and Captain Charles Adair were to be realized. He visited daily, always claiming that he came to see both ladies, but he usually ended up near Charlotte, talking to her almost exclusively, while Margaret entertained any other visitors who happened to be there, or sat quietly at her embroidery if there were none. On several afternoons Charlotte was invited to drive in the park with the captain. Margaret was asked to join them too, on each occasion, but each time she felt as if she had been invited as a polite afterthought. Each time she declined.

  One evening they spent at Almack's, the famous Marriage Mart, where guests danced and socialized by strict invitation only, in the form of vouchers granted by one of four patronesses. Charlotte's pretty face and figure and her bubbly personality ensured her plenty of partners. But Margaret was especially pleased to see her dance twice with Charles. It would have been improper for her to dance more times with him than that, but she sat with him during a few more dances, talking and laughing and fanning herself.

  Margaret was pleased. She herself danced absent-mindedly with several of her husband's friends, and she chattered with her female acquaintances. But she was not bent on her own amusement. All her interest was pinned on her sister and her brother-in-law. And her heart was at the opposite side of the ballroom, where Brampton stood conversing with a small knot of men, looking resplendent in a tight-fitting mulberry-colored velvet coat and gray silk knee breeches, with his usual pure white linen and lace. He had escorted her in one country dance after their arrival, and then had moved on to a more congenial pastime, his duty done.

  "Lady Brampton, may I have the honor?" The languid voice and the lace-covered hand belonged to Devin Northcott.

  She smiled, laid her hand in his, and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. As the orchestra began to play, she realized with a feeling of disappointment that it was a waltz. She had hoped that Richard would waltz with her once. She smiled calmly up at Devin as she placed a small, gloved hand on his shoulder and followed him into the rhythm of the dance. A quick glance showed her that Brampton was still deep in conversation, his back to the dance floor. Charlotte and Charles, who was looking unexpectedly magnificent in blue satin civilian clothes, were seated together in an alcove of the large ballroom, seemingly with eyes only for each other. This was the second dance she had sat out with him. Margaret made a mental note to make sure that they were separated for the next set. It would not do to allow gossip to develop, at Almack's of all places.

  "You dance very daintily, ma'am. Feel as if I had a feather in m' arms," commented Devin.

  "Thank you, sir," Margaret replied, "but a woman can only be as good a dancer as her partner, you know." She smiled again as he turned her in the dance, and caught Brampton's eye as he faced around and lazily scanned the room.

  "Is Captain Adair feeling better?" asked Devin conversationally. "Notice he don't wear his arm in a sling anymore."

  "I believe he wore it that first night only to put his mama's mind at rest," Margaret said with a chuckle. "Maybe he also knew that it gave him a very romantical look."

  "Wouldn't know about that, ma'am," he said with a cough.

  "Oh, ask any of the ladies," she said airily.

  "Very close family, the Adairs," said Devin. "He spends a lot of time with Bram?"

  "Not really," said Margaret. "He visits our house every day, but Richard is usually away in the afternoons."

  There was silence for a while. Margaret felt a little uncomfortable. Devin knew that Charles spent most afternoons with her and her sister. He had been there himself on a few of those occasions. And he had excused himself early, without any of his usual invitations for Charlotte to drive out with him. Margaret felt a little sorry for him. She did not wish to see him hurt, but she could not really think him a suitable partner for her very young sister.

  Devin coughed again. "Really not my business, Lady Bram," he said, forgetting for the moment that he had never before called her by the shortened form of her name, "but should Miss Wells be so long with the same partner? All the same to me, but the old tabbies can be pretty vicious, y'know."

  Margaret raised her eyebrows. "Indeed, Mr. Northcott," she said rather frostily, "I have been observing her carefully and had planned to have her partnered with someone else for the next set. Maybe you would like to rescue her from the scandal that seems to be brewing."

  Devin blushed rather painfully and opened his mouth to speak.

  "May I claim a husband's privilege and cut in on you, Dev?" asked a pleasant and dearly familiar voice from behind Margaret, and before she knew it, she had changed partners and was being twirled into the waltz by a much more confident and competent partner. Although the tempo of the dance had not changed, Margaret was having difficultly catching her breath. She fixed her eyes on the complicated folds of Brampton's neckcloth. Only once did she look up into his face, but she immediately looked down again-and momentarily stumbled-when she found his eyes fixed steadily on her, their expression quite unreadable. His hand tightened reassuringly against the small of her back. She smiled fleetingly in the general direction of his chin.

  "Pardon me, Richard," she said. She was feeling a growing ball of tension building inside her. Only a few evenings before he had danced with her at Vaux-hall. Surely he would recognize at any moment that he was holding the same woman.

  "You will be making me jealous, my dear," he said very quietly, "if you smile so sweetly at all your dancing partners."

  Margaret's eyes shot up to his. His eyes were gleaming, but she was not sure if it was with amusement or not. Before she could respond, he spoke again.

  "I see that Dev is performing our duty," he said, and Margaret looked to the alcove where she had last seen Charlotte and Charles tete-a-tete. Now they were standing, and Devin was talking to them in his languid manner.

  "We must watch the proprieties more carefully where Charlotte is concerned," Brampton said, looking back to his wife, the gleam now gone from his eyes. She had the feeling that she was being scolded, that he had really meant "You must watch…"

  Brampton was not sure himself whether his words to his wife had been meant teasingly or not. He had felt unaccountably irritated a few minutes before to see her looking so happy in Northcott's arms. His hand splayed on her back had looked too intimate; her hand on his shoulder had seemed too close to his neck. Yet he had caught himself up in the thoughts with a grimace of self-mockery. Was he jealous of his little mouse of a wife?

  He could not at all understand his feelings. A few nights before, when he had made such passionate love to the other woman, he had been convinced that only she meant anything in his life. He was almost prepared to cast everything he owned and everything he was over the moon in order to be with her for the rest of his life. And he still longed with all his being for the rest of the week to pass in order to see her again.

  He
had not visited his wife's room since that other night because, he had told himself, it would be tedious and distasteful to be with her after the other passionate encounter. But as he watched her dance and talk with Northcott, he admitted that his reason was perhaps that he felt unworthy of her. She was always so sweet, so composed, so unassuming. He realized, with something like shock, that he was missing her. He drew peace and sanity from contact with her quiet little body.

  His feet carried him, without conscious will, across the ballroom to perform the not quite socially acceptable action of cutting in on another man's dance.

  Brampton felt an almost disturbing surge of relief as he held his wife in a gentle hold and felt her respond to his lead in the dance. His reactions annoyed himself. He covered them by criticizing her for allowing her sister to spend a little too much of the evening with his brother. He watched a faint blush of color mount her cheeks, the only sign of emotion, as she replied calmly to his words.

  "I shall make sure that Charlotte has another partner for the next set, Richard," she said.

  Charlotte was up unusually early the next morning. In fact, she was dressed, had breakfasted, and was ready to leave when Captain Charles Adair called for her before noon. He had discovered the night before that she could ride, and they had arranged to ride together in the park the next morning. Jem had had a quiet mare from the stables saddled for her; the horse was waiting outside, beside Charles' black stallion.

  "You look very dashing this morning, Charlotte," Charles said with a grin, holding out his hands to form a step for her foot and tossing her up into the sidesaddle.

  "Thank you, kind sir," she replied jauntily, and grinned back down at him. She knew she looked well. The jonquil riding dress and daring little hat that tilted over one eye, with a curled brown feather that circled an ear, had been carefully chosen to accentuate her youthful high spirits and auburn hair. She had had the outfit made with someone else's admiration in mind, but that did not matter now. She was not going to spoil such a morning.