by Robyn DeHart
Besides, she was going to prove her father’s innocence, then James would have to apologize for his shortsightedness. Tomorrow she would pay for her behavior. Tomorrow she’d be plagued with guilt. But tonight—tonight was hers. And tonight she wanted James.
He appeared in the doorway, looking very much the handsome rogue. It wasn’t a costume, though, it was all him. Dressed head to toe in nothing but black, even the half mask, he looked dashing. Her heart flipped. He hadn’t bothered to grease his hair back, so his blond locks hung daringly across his forehead.
He was dangerous. This interlude was dangerous. But no matter how much she reminded herself of that very important detail, she made no move to return to the ballroom. Instead she stood waiting for him to come to her.
And come to her, he did. In determined and focused strides, he moved to her side and held his arm out to her. She glanced around and no one outside was paying them any mind, so she linked her hand in his arm and allowed him to escort her down the staircase. Away from the majority of the lights and the sound.
They were alone as they strode toward the garden. Tiny pebbles crunched beneath her slippers as they followed the marked trail. Jasmine and freshly turned earth filled the night breeze. She inhaled deeply.
Neither one of them spoke for several minutes. They simply walked arm in arm in silence. She wasn’t certain why, perhaps she didn’t want to speak and remind herself of how very foolish this was. Perhaps he said nothing because he had nothing to say. Because once he got her out here, he realized there was nothing between them.
She stopped walking and turned to face him. He looked glorious standing against the backdrop of jasmine bathed in moonlight. It took her a moment to remember what she had been about to say.
“Why did you bring me out here?” she asked.
“To discuss something. The man we are set to visit tomorrow—I don’t believe you should come with me,” he said.
Anger surged through her. “Why not?”
“It will not be safe. Neither in location nor situation. Willow, I can’t allow you to go.”
Here she was looking the way she did and he wanted to discuss the investigation? And to prevent her from aiding him? “Can’t allow me?” She poked a finger in his chest. “You said we would work this investigation together. Now, if this particular man is dangerous or whatnot, then it sounds as if you need to do whatever possible to prevent any harm from coming to me. But my staying home is not an option.” Then she stood back from him. “You owe me this.”
“I lied,” he said.
She frowned. “It isn’t dangerous?”
“No, goose, about why I brought you out here. It wasn’t to discuss that. I brought you out here so I could do this.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close to him. She felt every second tick by as she waited for him to lower his mouth to hers. When he finally did, time stood still. Her anger melted beneath his kiss.
His hand at her neck was firm and warm. But his lips betrayed his control. In his kiss, he made no attempt to hide his desire or urgency for her. The realization of that flooded her body. She could try to pretend it wasn’t true, pretend that it was merely a convenience. But she’d be a fool to do so. He wanted her. Her. Not any other woman at the ball, but her.
Their tongues intertwined and desire shot through her, hardening her nipples and dampening the space between her thighs. She wanted him too. Wanted him to touch her. To kiss her.
He ended the kiss and gently touched his lips to the top of her head. Then without another word, he laced his fingers with hers and led her farther into the garden. The simple gesture of holding her hand threatened to stop her heart. Kissing was one thing—tied up in desire and carnal needs. But holding hands, that was intimacy. Warmth spread through her and she should have run from him, run from the danger in which she’d just placed her heart.
The greenery around them loomed larger and the lights from the hall began to fade away, leaving them in nothing but the glow from the moon.
They stepped into an alcove hidden within the shrubbery and found a bench.
“I promised you your virtue would remain intact, and I meant it,” he said. “But I need to touch you.”
They locked gazes for what seemed like hours and she was caught by the raw intensity in his eyes. Something there beckoned to her and she found she had no words to refuse him. She tried to think of something to say, but her mouth wouldn’t move. So she did the only thing she could think of—she pulled his mouth down on hers.
Desire coiled through her so quickly, she felt dizzy. She grabbed onto his shoulders and used his strength to steady herself. His mouth left hers and trailed down her chin to the column of her neck, where he licked and nibbled until she thought she would go mad.
Lower and lower his mouth moved until his hot breath lingered over the rise of her breast. She squirmed in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure that mounted within her. The moisture between her thighs was increasing and she knew this night would end in nothing but frustration. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to put a stop to it.
In one swift movement, he reached into her bodice and edged the fabric beneath her breast, exposing her aroused flesh to the cool night air. She didn’t have to endure the cold for long, because his mouth covered her bare nipple, sending waves of pleasure shooting through her.
He alternately suckled and nipped at the tender bud and she arched against him. She hadn’t realized his other hand had been making attempts to dive beneath her skirts until she felt the warmth of his fingers on her thigh. He knew she needed something, knew she was filled with intense urgency.
His fingers slipped through the slit in her drawers and touched her at her most intimate core. She nearly came off the bench at the pleasure of it. He teased around her opening, toying with her flesh and sliding through her moisture. And then finally he gave her what she needed. With one finger, he slid inside her, all the while sucking fervently on her breast.
A burst of pleasure shot through her in ripples. She clenched her toes inside her kid-leather slippers. When the sensations had quieted, he brought her close to his chest and smoothed his hand down her back. She felt his heart thumping wildly beneath her head.
He moved her dress back into place and helped her to her feet. “You are the worst sort of temptress, Willow.”
She looked up at him. “But I’m not—”
“Not a temptress?” He released a strained chuckle. “The worst sort because you don’t realize you’re doing it. You don’t realize that by simply being yourself you tempt me beyond belief. I know a fire burns inside of you. I can see it in your eyes and hear it when you speak. So controlled, so careful to keep those inclinations reined in. I see it, Willow. I know you believe you aren’t meant to marry, aren’t meant to be in the arms of a man. But you’re wrong.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but found no words. How did he know that? She’d never said anything to him about marriage. For all he knew she’d chosen spinsterhood. She had. She’d chosen it before it had chosen her. But no one knew that. She’d never told anyone.
Clearing her throat, she finally found her voice. “I should go back in. People will be looking for me.”
“Willow.” He cupped her cheek. Then he shook his head and said nothing more. He said nothing else as he gently led her out of the garden. More people had filtered out onto the balcony, probably to enjoy the cool evening air.
“Perhaps I should walk in alone,” she suggested.
He nodded.
She looked at him for a moment more, waiting to say something, waiting for him to say something, but neither of them spoke. He’d seen so much, noticed so many things about her she thought no one had seen. She felt bare and exposed.
Meant to be in the arms of a man, he’d said. In order to do that she would have to marry, they both knew that. And he hadn’t offered to be that man.
Chapter 13
As Willow climbed the stairs to the balcony, she
noted the crowd was rather thick and everyone was talking excitedly. She tried to tune in to their words as she passed by, but without pausing to join a discussion it was difficult to latch on to one conversation, and she simply felt too vulnerable to talk to anyone at the moment. She was terrified someone could tell what she’d been through by the expression on her face or the tremble in her voice.
Stepping into the ballroom, she discovered that the music had ceased playing and that people were standing in sequestered pockets. What had happened? It took a moment, but she was able to locate Amelia and made her way over to her. Meg and Charlotte had joined their party, and her three friends were exchanging glances and whispers.
“What did I miss?” Willow asked as she eased up next to Charlotte.
“You missed everything,” Charlotte said with a big smile. “He was here.”
Willow frowned. “Who?”
Amelia grabbed her arm. “The Jack of Hearts.”
Willow glanced around the room and then back at her friends. “Are you quite certain?”
She felt the heat of her shame on her cheeks. While she had been out in the garden pretending to be someone she simply could not be, the elusive thief they’d been after for more than a year had finally made an appearance. And she’d missed it. She peeled off her mask; there was no use in trying to hide who she was.
“Of course we’re certain,” Charlotte said. “He took the rings off my very fingers,” she said with a sigh, as if he’d kissed her hands rather than taken her jewelry.
“Where is James?” Colin asked.
Willow’s stomach flipped. Could everyone tell? Tell that she’d been alone with him? That he’d touched her and kissed her most inappropriately? “I’m not certain,” she said, which was the truth.
Colin frowned and scanned above the ladies heads. “Stay here together and I’ll return shortly.” He placed a sweet kiss on Amelia’s cheek, then strode across the ballroom.
“Did he say anything?” Willow asked Charlotte.
“He ran his hand down my cheek,” Charlotte said, then closed her eyes and cupped her face.
“Honestly, Charlotte, you act as if he was a gallant gentleman. He is a thief.” Willow knew she was more frustrated with herself than anything and she shouldn’t take it out on her friend, but sometimes her impertinence was very frustrating.
“He was not the least bit disrespectful,” Charlotte huffed.
“She’s right,” Meg defended. “He was very kind.”
Willow rolled her eyes at Meg’s use of the word kind, but swallowed her irritation. “Tell me how it all happened,” Willow said.
“We had moved to the billiards room for a game of whist because Meg was feeling weary and wanted to sit for a while,” Amelia explained. “There were at least ten of us in there. All ladies. He came in, locked the door behind him and explained who he was and came up to each of us and asked us to put all of our gems into his black bag. It was all rather efficient.”
“And then?” Willow said.
“Then he stopped in front of Charlotte and personally took her rings off, touched her cheek, then left out the same door he came in,” Meg said.
“And no one tried to stop him or screamed for help?” Willow asked.
“It all happened rather quickly,” Amelia said.
“And he did have a pistol,” Meg added.
“See,” Willow said. “I’ve been telling you all along that he’s a dangerous cad.”
“Well, he didn’t use the pistol,” Charlotte said, actually sounding affronted.
“But he had it out?” Willow asked.
“Yes.” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “But he never pointed it at anyone. Merely showed it to us, then carried on with this business.”
“Oh, well, as long as he didn’t aim it at anyone, then he’s a perfect gentleman,” Willow said, doing nothing to hide her sarcasm. She shook her head. “I simply can not believe that after all of this time, not one of you had the sense to call for help.”
“You weren’t there,” Meg said softly.
She was right. Willow hadn’t been there. No, she’d been in the garden in a passionate embrace, finding pleasure for the first time. Her cheeks steamed. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m only envious that I wasn’t here to see him for myself.” But she suspected her shame had more to do with her frustration. That and the fact that without even asking herself she knew if she had to make the choice between time alone with James and a glimpse of the Jack of Hearts, she probably wouldn’t have made a different decision.
“Where were you, anyway?” Charlotte asked.
“I was walking in the garden. I found it rather stuffy in here earlier and needed some air.” She offered a smile in an attempt to cover her lie. “Perhaps it’s this new corset,” she whispered.
“You look so lovely,” Charlotte said.
“Thank you.”
It was then that James and Colin walked up to them.
James eyed Willow, then looked at Meg. “There’s no sign of him. Is there anything you ladies can tell me about him? Did he have specific mannerisms or an accent? Anything identifiable at all?”
“He sounded educated,” Amelia said.
James nodded. “We’ve been under the impression, for quite some time now, that he’s a member of the aristocracy. Or at least someone who fits nicely within Society. Are any of you hurt? Did he touch anyone?” James asked.
Meg and Amelia both looked at Charlotte. But the tall beauty simply shook her head.
Willow should say something. Admit to James that the thief had touched Charlotte. But it wouldn’t help to identify him, and telling James would only embarrass Charlotte. So Willow bit her tongue and said nothing.
“He was rather polite,” Meg said.
“Yes, we hear that a lot in regards to him. Very polite, always the gentleman. I wouldn’t be surprised if the people were keeping his identity a secret simply because his presence guarantees a good story for all who survive,” James said. “It makes catching him all the more difficult.”
How quickly he could move from being the passionate man in the garden to the focused detective. Willow tried to ignore the disappointment. She should not be vexed if he seemed to recover more quickly than she.
“James, what has happened?” His mother appeared from behind them, worrying her handkerchief.
“Nothing, Mother.” He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. It was the Jack of Hearts again. Would you like me to take you home?”
She frowned. “Of course not. I’m not a ninny.” Her features softened and she smiled at Willow. “So lovely to see you again, Miss Mabson. I trust you are doing well.”
“Yes, my lady. Thank you for asking. Might I introduce you to my friends?” Willow introduced everyone around them. It was a bit satisfying to know that James’ mother seemed to think rather highly of her. Unless the woman was a complete fraud, which didn’t seem to fit.
“If you don’t wish me to see you home, Mother, I’m going to leave,” James said.
Willow met his gaze briefly before looking away. Did this have something to do with her?
“Whatever for?” his mother asked.
“There has been a crime here tonight and I am an inspector. It is my duty to go into the office and put it on file.” Then he turned to Meg. “A sergeant will stop by and get the details from you tomorrow, including everyone who was in the room with you. Could you provide a list of names?”
“Certainly,” Meg agreed.
He nodded. “Ladies.” He kissed his mother’s cheek. Then he took Willow’s hand and brought it to his lips. The warm breath was there only briefly, but long enough to scatter chills over her flesh. “Miss Mabson,” he said, then he turned and strode away.
Willow eased her front door open and closed it as softly as she could. She slipped her shoes off and tiptoed across the floor, trying not to wake the entire house. She wasn’t accustomed to coming home so late—or early, depending how one looked at it—but th
ere was no reason to announce her arrival to her sleeping family.
She was halfway up the staircase leading to the bedrooms on the upper floor when she heard a chuckle behind her.
“Look who’s sneaking around.”
She turned to find her brother leaning against the banister.
“Edmond,” she whispered.
“Come and have a drink with me,” he said. He meandered across the hall and into their father’s study.
She thought longingly of her bed, but knew her mind was too active to relent to sleep, so she followed Edmond.
He was pouring himself a brandy when she closed the door behind her.
“Do you want one?” he asked.
She fell into one of the chairs and the leather groaned on contact. “No, I’ve had enough imbibing for one evening, thank you very much.”
“My sister has taken up the life of the worldly woman,” he said, sitting back against the sofa.
She had become worldlier tonight, but of course he hadn’t meant it that way. He was jesting with her, as he always did about her board-straight way of living.
“I was quite serious, Edmond,” she said. “I did imbibe tonight. Two glasses of champagne and a glass of wine. Perhaps I should have some brandy.”
He leaned on one elbow and eyed her. “You’re quite serious.”
“I am.”
“Well, good for you. Did you have a nice time?”
She hoped the stain on her cheeks wouldn’t reveal too much. She’d hate for Edmond to feel as if he must defend her virtue. Or what was left of it. “It was a lovely evening.”
“Meg’s masque ball, right?”
“Yes. Did you come?”
“Only briefly. You know how I feel about the dances and all the eager girls and mommas. It’s enough to send a single man to bed early.”
“Not you,” she said.
“No, I don’t suppose so. But I prefer much more civilized activities to flirting with women I have no intention of marrying.”
“Gambling.” It was not a question.
