Masquerade 2

by Emma East

  Masquerade: Part Two

  A Steamy Pride & Prejudice Variation

  Emma East

  Masquerade Series

  A passionate night, a longing for more...

  A secret meeting at a London masquerade left Elizabeth a haunted, yet wiser young woman. She knows that her past makes her undesirable for marriage, and she would never subject an unwary suitor to her dark cravings. Besides, no man can ever match the fire between her and the mysterious masked man who first introduced her to sinful intimacies.

  Thus resigned to a life without love or passion, she finds herself in the Meryton assembly dancing with a gentleman with achingly familiar grey eyes…

  Read the first part of the Masquerade series now!

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Stay Tuned

  Also by Emma East

  The Seduction of Darcy

  Chapter One

  “What a… lovely color your dress is.” Miss Bingley’s sneer would have made lesser women tremble.

  Elizabeth only smiled. It doesn’t matter what color dress you wear, Miss Bingley, for you’ll die an old crone before Darcy ever calls upon you.

  The beginning of the Netherfield ball had proceeded as expected. Her youngest sisters rejoiced with the number of officers in attendance. Mary was excited at being the first invited to play the pianoforte in the lounge. Jane had disappeared to the dance floor with Bingley as soon as the dancing had begun. And Elizabeth…

  Despite Elizabeth’s confidence, the revealing blue dress Mrs. Bennet forced her to wear in the express hope that Darcy would notice only embarrassed Elizabeth. Her blush for the rest of the night left her skin tone an uncomplimentary shade of red. Though she fanned and fanned, it did little to cool her flushed skin. Neither did the doors thrown open to the November chill.

  It didn’t help when, after picking up a cake off the refreshment table, she caught Darcy’s gaze again upon her as she licked leftover icing off the corner of her thumb. She couldn’t turn away fast enough, tears of mortification in her eyes that took several moments too clear.

  Thankfully, it was then that she caught sight of Charlotte, and she went to her friend gladly. However, soon Mr. Collins, her oppressively dull cousin, approached in a state of some excitement.

  “I have recently been informed that a noble personage of some importance to my sponsor, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, might be here tonight.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “Mr. Darcy.”

  “What an impressive profile he has,” Mr. Collins said, his eyes shining as he looked across the room at said noble personage. “And he must have noticed me, as a God-fearing gentleman, for he is looking this way. I must go introduce myself—”

  “Mr. Collins, you mustn’t!”

  “Ah, my dear cousin Elizabeth. Your concern is touching, but it is imperative that I go without delay.”

  Putting a hand to her temple, she tried to stifle the throb of pain building behind her eyes. But she could not help but glance over and witness Darcy’s puzzlement and outrage at the clergyman’s impertinence. Darcy’s gaze came up as the little man bowed to him and his dark eyes met hers, further sealing her humiliation.

  “Pardon me,” Elizabeth blurted to Charlotte.

  “Lizzy? Where are you going?”

  She could not bear another second within this hall; she had to go away and find relief. The night had been a continuous disaster and disappointment.

  Why couldn’t her heart stop speeding up when she saw Darcy? And why couldn’t he give her peace? Without peace, she could never recover her heart from his grasp. The seducer Darcy would not want it, but her traitorous heart had given itself to him regardless with little input from Elizabeth.

  Why did he insist on staring at her with his most intimidating and severe expression? His brow had been lowered in her direction all evening. Her fingers ached to touch him, her tongue waited to taste him, and her core warmed with the memory of his dark and masculine scent. It had been a long three weeks since she had last seen him in this very house—and longer since they had made love.

  Elizabeth found a room that had no guests had yet invaded. A study, but it couldn’t be Bingley’s. It was far too neat to be his office, she thought, with books lined up on the shelves instead of strewn about and loose papers nowhere in sight.

  Leaving the door open, she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall and looked out into the gardens beyond. The gardens where he had kissed her so tenderly, so sweetly, and where she had almost retracted her decision to retreat from him.

  Why did she still ache for him? Didn’t her body know how terrible it would be to succumb again? She pressed her palm to the window and thought of that day in the hard sun, with his taste on her lips, with her regret a fist squeezing her chest.

  Does my heart not care if he only lusts for me? He will never love me, not now and not ever. Not after proving the type of woman I am.

  If she could rip her heart out and throw it into the flames, she would. The traitorous thing wanted what she could never have. It would be better to never think of him again than to live through this torture.

  Click.

  She stiffened, her dress whispering around her ankles as she turned. The noise of the party dimmed to a murmur in the background, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  Darcy turned the lock, sealing them inside together.

  All night she had stayed one step ahead of him, never allowing him to approach, to close in on her. Now he stood in front of the door, his dark gaze pinning her to the spot, his mouth an unhappy line.

  She swallowed, waves of cold washing over her. Her voice quaked. “What are you doing?”

  “I came to speak to you.”

  “We can speak with the door open.”

  “If you wish.”

  She hesitated. He would, she knew. He would open the door wide and their discussion would be brief and to the point and contain nothing of the heat that raged in them both.

  It wouldn’t be them.

  She would be safe—safe from her desires, safe from his, and safe from admitting her secret to him—but it would not be them.

  Darcy stepped away from the door, breaking her concentration. “Won’t you even look me in the eye, kitten?”

  “Don’t—you cannot call me that.”

  She breathed hard, but it wasn’t anger that overwhelmed her. He knew exactly which buttons to press, the hateful man.

  He approached and only the gentleness in his eyes allowed him to get as close as he did, close enough to rub her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “Can I do this?”

  His tone was so tender she could have cried. She closed her eyes. “I meant it when I ended it.”

  “I know,” he murmured. “But I never agreed to this, and you were not very persuasive when you ended it.”

  “I do not need your permission. You should respect my desires, Darcy.”

  His hand slid to her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw as he studied her. She had never wanted more to read another person’s mind. Then his lips curled.

  “I respect your desires, as you well know. I’ll respect them here, if you will allow me.”

  Her lips parted. She wanted to form words, but none sprang to mind. Even if she
could think of something to say, her lips wouldn’t be able to form them. She couldn’t hear the buzzing hum of the other guests or the piano or the musicians, nothing except the wild beat of her blood rushing to her head.

  “Darcy,” she managed. “Please—”

  Whether she begged for release or satisfaction, she didn’t know. She had reasons for denying him, but her mind couldn’t focus on them.

  Darcy gripped her shoulders and spun her toward the fireplace. Above it hung a giant mirror in an ornate gold frame, and in it were their reflections. His hard chest pressed to her back, she took him in even as he admired her. And it was admiration in his gaze, along with his desire.

  His hand slid over her stomach, the velvet whispering under his touch.

  “See how perfectly we fit together? How easily we join?” His voice was a sinful caramel. “We were made for one another, kitten.”

  “No,” she whispered, her hands shaking, useless, at her sides. She wanted this touch, wanted the warmth at her back, his strength and power, his sinful darkness that called to her own.

  He lowered his head so his lips brushed the curve of her bare shoulder. “Let me persuade you. We don’t have to make this complicated.”

  “We can’t, not here.”

  It was her last desperate attempt to reason with him, to make him see sense. To make herself see sense. Her fingers dug into her palms, stopping herself from ripping away those fine-cut clothes that made him appear so deliciously good looking.

  Darcy’s laugh caressed her bare shoulder. “Kitten, have you spent these few weeks as tormented as I have?”

  His hands slid up from her stomach to cup her breasts. She gasped, watching their reflections in the mirror, watching him watch hers.

  “I’ve been dreaming, too,” he rumbled, his thumbs teasing her. “Dreaming of tasting you… and taking you until you’re screaming underneath me.”

  That was not her moan that filled the room, it couldn’t be, she refused to admit it.

  Darcy growled. “You realize I have yet to hear you scream in pleasure? I would hear that before you turn me away, just once.”

  His hands dropped to her hips and with slow, deliberate moments, he began to draw up her dress.

  “Let me give you a taste, a tiny taste,” he breathed into her ear, sending a spark of near pain-like lust through her.

  “Close the window.”

  He sucked in a shocked breath. Then cold hit her as he retreated, but it was only for a moment as he secured their privacy. Then he was back, leading her to the bare desk.

  She shouldn’t be doing this. Her knees wobbled, and she almost hoped she would fall to the floor unable to carry on, but he supported her, and then she was sitting atop the desk and she didn’t have to worry about her weak knees anymore. Only her weak, traitorous heart.

  He wet his bottom lip as he looked upon her before him. Then his gaze met hers and she was hopeless ever to deny him again. “You took my breath away as soon as I saw you.”

  He took her breath as he knelt before her.

  Darcy wasted no time, his eyes glazing over as he raised her dress, Elizabeth his goddess and him her faithful worshipper. His fingers tickled her thighs, and she shivered as he spread her open to his hungry gaze. And then that gaze lifted to meet hers.

  “Don’t deny me, kitten. Let me have you.”

  She curled her fingers around the edge of the desk. It all came down to this, to this moment, and it was her choice. He left it to her, this man she loved.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, yes.”

  Chapter Two

  His grip on her thighs was bound to leave bruises, but Elizabeth didn’t appear to mind. She arched into him, pressing closer to him, her cries soft and lovely in the quiet office. None of the wine served tonight would pack the punch that her sweet perfume did.

  It had been so long… so long since he tasted her, since he felt her pleasure shuddering through her body. Too long. He knew he wouldn’t last tonight, not long enough to satisfy her needs. And that was his goal tonight: satisfy her long enough, deep enough, that she would never have reason to deny him again.

  He hadn’t lied when he told her about his dreams. But he hadn’t entirely been truthful about the content of them either, though there were plenty of visions of them writhing together in his sheets at Pemberley.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair and he savored the pain, the flash of memory of her tugging his hair as they joined on an isolated lane in his carriage. She opened her thighs wider, pulling him in. His demanding kitten.

  “Yes,” she breathed, nails scratching his scalp, and he knew she was close. He dug his fingers into her thighs, making love with her to his tongue, hating that it wasn’t feasible for her to scream when the rest of the guests were just a wall away. But he wanted her to, wanted them all to hear, to understand that she was his, damn them and damn her for thinking otherwise. He would change her mind, he had to.

  She cried out and her thighs shook around his head and he not only held on, but he pressed forward until her whole body was shuddering. She collapsed backward, sprawled across the desk, gasping and whimpering.

  “Please—stop, oh, you must stop, my love.”

  Darcy stiffened and tore away. Excitement surged through him, almost as high as the rush of racing his horses across the fields, pushing them to their limit. Say it again, he wanted to say, to demand. He wanted to hear it until her voice was hoarse.

  Elizabeth must have felt his response, because she sat up and scrambled to her feet.

  “This can never happen again,” she said in a rush, facing away from him and patting her hair. “I must leave now.”

  He stopped her before she could escape, turning her to face him and pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. She stiffened at first and then relaxed against him. Hesitant to the first touch, but warming as he skimmed his tongue over her lips. My love, she had said. His heart thundered in his ears and every nerve told him to take her right there, take her before she could change her mind again.

  Rawness tore his voice. “Meet me tomorrow.”

  “I can’t.”

  His sucked in a breath. Searched her face. “Is there someone else?”

  “No, but—”

  “Good,” he said, relieved to let go of his suspicions. He had thought that perhaps she avoided him out of a desire for some other man. He’d heard the stories about the regiment now quartered close to town, and naturally his kitten would be a well-admired woman.

  She tasted like wine, like summer and sweetness, all that he wasn’t. My love. If she did not love him, then she was inches away from it. His hands curled over her waist, their bodies fit perfectly together.

  Her breath shuddered out of her. She dug her fingers into his jacket. “I—this is too much, Darcy. We can’t go on like this forever.”

  “Kitten, do you think I’m ready to let you go?”

  The shock in her eyes surprised him. Had she no idea what she did to him?

  A noise from the doorway caught their attention. A familiar voice, bemused and slightly tipsy, floated to them as the lock clicked open and the door began to swing inward. “Who in the world locked…?”

  Darcy dived away from Elizabeth and she spun to face the lit fireplace, but it was too late.

  Bingley froze in the doorway. His face paled under his freckles. He looked between them. Darcy had never been more aware of the uncomfortable bulge in his breeches or the sting in his well-kissed lips. Elizabeth, likewise, appeared suitably loved, her cheeks pink and her hairpins in disarray.

  “What has happened here?”

  Bingley closed the door behind him. His eyes were furious when he turned his gaze back to Darcy.

  “It’s not what it looks like—”

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, not pulling his burning gaze from Darcy, his voice tight and strained, “your family is looking for you. You should go to them.”

  Elizabeth fled with only one desperate, ashamed glance back. Darcy
could hardly meet her gaze, too focused on Bingley’s restrained fury.

  The door clicked closed behind her, cutting off the noise of the gathering.

  “It’s not what it looks like? Because it appears you have snuck away with a gentleman’s daughter in the middle of a ball when her family is right behind this wall.” He stepped forward, his hands balled into fists at his side. “If it isn’t what it looks like, then what was your reason for coming in and locking the door?”

  His friend’s disappointment shook Darcy. Bingley didn’t grow upset. He avoided confrontation and conflict.

  But Darcy had betrayed his trust, and proved him a horrible host to the family of the young lady he preferred above all others. Darcy had seduced her sister here in his home, under his nose.

  And worse… he caught Darcy.

  Darcy bowed, and one benefit was that it allowed him to look away from the disappointment in his friend’s burning eyes. “I apologize. It is all I can do.”

  “And what of her family, Darcy?” he snapped. “Have you even thought about her or were you merely interested in your own interests?”

  Darcy’s own gaze filled with fire. Of course, he had thought of Elizabeth. Any reasonable person would say he thought of her too much. But when he opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat.

  It had been about his own interests, his selfish desires. She had wanted nothing to do with him initially, when he first came to Hertfordshire, and he had forced his way into her unwilling arms—and her heart. He’d had no care for her, beyond the pleasure she could give him.

  Bingley’s lip curled. “That poor girl… you never thought of her, not truly. You thought about your own needs and never addressed or thought about hers. Her honor, her dignity.”