by Eliza Lloyd
“On the shelf? Then of course I will certainly accept your offer. Heaven forbid another year passes and I don’t have a spouse!”
“Do you know any woman your age who is not married?”
“Why aren’t you married? One might consider you second-rate goods. Is there a family secret people are whispering about behind your back? Is the earldom deficient of resources? Are you incapable?”
“Incapable? Of what?” He turned, causing his arm to drop to his side. There was a certain surprise in his voice, and some confusion that she could think or say such a thing.
Careful! Careful! she thought. “I have gone a step too far. I meant it as a tease, but our flirtations have proceeded into impropriety. I should return to the ball. My chaperone may be looking for me.”
Carlow took her hand, the warmth of it pleasant in the cool of the midnight air. He glanced around before placing his other hand on the round of her hip, encouraging her to draw close. He tilted his head and Nora’s breath escaped in a rush.
His lips were soft against hers. She closed her eyes, not that she could see much past the darkness and her mask.
How to describe such a kiss? Less passionate than the stable boy she’d kissed when she’d turned sixteen but more intimate than the vicar’s son she’d kissed two years ago. Reverend Wright did not know about that. His son had married a month later. The stable boy, alas, had whistled his way into trouble over an abused carriage horse.
Would she be considered ruined if anyone knew? Including her brother or Gigi? Well, no one was going to find out.
How to describe the want that accompanied such a kiss? Did the emotion of hatred make the kiss more significant than it might otherwise be? Or was it the emotion created by the intimate touch of a desirable man? For he was desirable, she hated to admit.
The kiss was only long enough to singe her to her toes. Her wings might even be on fire. He pulled away slightly and then kissed her again at the side of her mouth, his nose nuzzling against her skin.
“I’m capable,” he whispered in her ear.
Chapter Two
“Susan?” Gabriel asked. He examined the Venetian goddess again. He’d never been a believer in love at first sight, and how could he with this vixen? He hadn’t seen her yet. But he did feel a draw to her spirit, her joie de vivre, as it were. There was an intelligence in her wit, every word like a rapier’s thrust to his own remarks.
“What?” she asked.
“Is that your name?”
“Uh, no.”
“I was thinking of Susan Billingsly and her mother, also a Susan. You must know them.”
She took a deep breath, shoulders back. “Of course! Who doesn’t?”
Gabriel was happy for the darkness, not just because it was easier to take liberties in the dark, but he didn’t want her to see the deep frown on his face. There were no Billingslys of any report in London, and none at the Weatherby Ball.
She was leading him on a merry chase. Was she really a noble’s daughter? He brushed his hand over the side of his face. Of course she was. How could she obtain an invitation to the ball, if not?
He sensed…something.
“Oh, my brother is standing at the doors.” She ducked behind Carlow. “I haven’t been gone so long that he should be looking for me. He’s always been a pest.”
“Well, as you said, he is probably thinking of your wild streak and how it might lead to mischief on a night like this.”
“I would like to go inside. I think I am ready to return to my home before I’m the subject of the ball curse.”
“That isn’t going to happen. Not while I’m with you.”
“Curses are for other people?” she asked, straining to peek around his shoulders.
“Curses are for the stupid and the careless.”
“Carlow, I am feeling drained. This ball is more than a simple woman like me can bear. And I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“You didn’t kiss me. I kissed you.”
“My brother won’t think there is a difference. Lead me back to the house, please. I shouldn’t have come out here with you.”
He held out his arm. She glanced again toward the house and then placed her hand on his sleeve.
“You don’t attend many balls, do you?” Their feet crunched against the seashell-and-limestone path.
“No.”
“And you don’t waltz?”
“I’ve never learned.”
“Your guardians didn’t much care for your success in the marriage mart, did they?”
“Why are you so obsessed with my marital status? Truly, it is acceptable to me that I have not yet married. If I wake one morning and think ‘today is the day to marry, old girl,’ then I guarantee I will have a husband by sundown.”
“Betrothed. You will have a betrothed by sundown. The husband comes about three weeks later, yes?”
“Hmpf.”
They strolled in silence around the back of the gardens and then toward the lighted ballroom. It was a fantastic sight, seeing the flash of color whirl about the room while observing the dancers in secret. He would like to take his goddess and lead her around the room, holding her tight and whispering a few naughty things in her ear. Of course, she would have had to know how to waltz for such a possibility to occur.
He should part company with her inside the ballroom. He’d monopolized her time in a way that was inappropriate and gossip-worthy.
As they walked up the stairs to the double doors, the cacophony of light and sound overwhelmed.
“Carlow, I’m going to sit in the library for a while. Thank you for the lovely evening. There must be a dozen young ladies who would love to dance with you and to do that, I must depart. But, I repeat myself.”
“At least that many. Let me escort you. I don’t know how you would get through this room uninjured. Why you might have an eye put out with some of those headpieces.”
She laughed. “I could just fly over the crowd.” She lifted one of her black wings but consented to his escort by placing her other hand on his arm again. She seemed drawn to him and willing to touch him given the smallest encouragement. Or was he imagining something just because he greatly desired it?
“To which library would you like me to take you? The library used as the gaming room this evening or the larger one near the family rooms?”
“There are two libraries?” She stiffened next to him and stopped to glance around.
“Yes. The small one is quite comfortable. No, I will take you to the large one. It is more likely there are women gathered inside with whom you might converse, along with a lighted fireplace in case you took a chill while we were outdoors.”
“I’d rather be alone. They will gossip about people I don’t know, and I can’t think of anything less appealing.”
Carlow wasn’t ready to give up his secret prize. Not until he knew her identity. And then he could make plans for an interesting future as he courted the young miss all the way to the altar.
Good Lord! Two hours ago, he was happily sitting down to a game of vingt-et-un. Now he was talking and thinking like a man who wanted a wife. That was the last thing he needed! He had years of work to complete at his estates to bring them up to snuff. Ground lying fallow. Herds that needed to be rebuilt. New tenants to find. Buildings to renovate.
He didn’t need to be producing babies while he ignored the more important work of the earldom.
Carlow pushed forward, ignoring the jostling as his thoughts turned inward. He steered them back toward the gaming room they’d departed earlier, an actual library on most days.
“Here we are,” he said as he opened the door.
The room was empty as the buffet had enticed the hungry masses, the dance floor drew flirty misses and curiosity grew as the disguised parties would soon be revealed on the ballroom floor. A few clusters of chairs and two-and-a-half walls of books lined the sides of the room. If he remembered correctly, this was the history library: travelogues, world history, war
summaries, archaeology. Lord and Lady Weatherby were daft, according to most, but they had the best of everything.
“I’ve said thank you several times, but you seem intent to stay at my side.” She took a seat on the plush couchette facing the fireplace, where a small fire burned.
“You’ve beguiled me in every way. I don’t think I will sleep well tonight. Unless, of course, I find out who you are. I’m afraid if I leave your side for a moment, you may disappear, and I will never see you again,” Gabriel said. He was thinking more intimate thoughts. Thoughts that ought not be said to a woman he did not know. Thoughts that would certainly cause a loss of sleep and uncomfortable bodily torment.
He sat beside her and slid his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers dangling temptingly close to her shoulder.
“You are blinded by a false intrigue. There is nothing special about me. If we had met on a normal day, perhaps at the park, you would have passed by without notice.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. Aren’t you tired of wearing that?” he asked, lifting his chin to indicate her masque garb. “It is charming, by the way, one of the more interesting masks I noticed this evening.”
“I made it. You have no idea how difficult it is to replicate a mask that is truly Venetian in style.”
“Wait until next year. Lady Weatherby will find another theme to dazzle and confound us. As for me, I will pull out my trusty cape and domino without worrying whether it is suitable.” He touched his face and then his jacket, realizing he had left his mask behind.
“Oh, to be a man without a care,” she said.
“My cares have to do with fertilizer and sheep shearing.”
“That sounds very bucolic.”
“It is. About six months of the year. But as the season is upon us, I must do as all lords do: be seen in the right places and be seen by the right people.”
“And attending the right balls makes you influential?”
“I do what must be done.”
He plucked at one of the curls dangling near her ear. When she looked at him, he imagined her gaze was full of passion. That damn mask! Her red lips were moistened and slightly parted. The warmth and innocence of that kiss in the garden still stirred him. That kiss was what actually would keep him awake tonight.
Carlow had not been with a woman in over a year. Not that there weren’t attractive options near the earldom’s many estates, but he would keep a good reputation amongst those in his charge. And he truly had been busy; the days and nights blurred.
Being back in London was almost a holiday.
And then there was her.
He scooted closer.
“My lord Carlow, we are alone,” she said.
“You noticed.”
He soothed his finger around the shell of her ear. The little gasp that escaped from her mouth did awful things to him. She squirmed, her breasts expanded as she held her breath and threw her head back as if it were the most erotic thing to have ever happened to her.
“May I kiss you again?” he whispered.
“We’ve had an interesting evening. I think the Weatherby Ball is fraught with instances just like this one. Dropping one’s guard at just the wrong moment…” She placed her hand on his knee, which wasn’t helpful at all and at odds with what she was saying. “And it would be best for both of us to—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Shh. There is no harm in a few kisses. You might be innocent in deed, but I don’t think you are innocent in thought. I can satisfy your curiosity. Appease some of your desire.”
“God, Carlow, you need to stop now before there is no return.”
He touched her face, ready to rip the mask free, but with a gentle touch only encouraged her to face him. He kissed her again. More of a proper kiss, urging her to join him in his fervor. He nipped at her lips, traced her mouth with his tongue before she opened to him.
He leaned into her and she sprawled back on the couch. Somehow, he resisted the urge to cup her breasts or search beneath her skirts.
For now, the sweetness of her mouth was enough to satisfy. She wrapped one arm about his neck. He started a slow press of kisses across her face and down her neck, earning him several gasping moans. She wasn’t aware she was writhing against him. Carlow felt the heat burn from the inside out.
“Nora! My God, Nora, what is the meaning of this?”
Carlow pushed away and glanced toward the door. Thankfully, the masked enchantress was still in a proper state of dress.
A few gasps, an alarming ‘oh my’ and a clearing of throat sent chills down Gabriel’s spine. He sat up and ran a hand through his air. The room was no longer empty and had grown alarmingly heated. “And who are you?” Gabriel demanded. The man was slight with thinning hair. A minister, by his somber dress and lack of costuming.
“Lord Carlow, this is unacceptable,” Lady Weatherby said, scolding. She waded into the room. She wasn’t scandalized, only prepared to do her duty as the hostess. How many times had this exact scenario played out at her balls? No, it wasn’t a scandal to her; it was the closing act of this year’s ball and would keep everyone talking for the next year. What a willing idiot he was.
“Nora, dear. Come away from him.”
“But he wants to marry me, Reverend Wright,” she said, taking off the mask.
Oh, she was beautiful all right, but she was also a rank liar and fraudster, whoever she was. So much for virtue.
* * * * *
Three more people pushed into the library while Lady Weatherby was huffing about the absolute scandal of it! Nora let her tears flow, one of those gifts given to women to use against men. Carlow had removed his person from hers, allowing her to sit up, bat her lashes and then press her hand to her brow.
Then Timothy strolled in.
Nora was just about out of tears and ready for her brother to scream holy hell about Carlow ruining—ruining—his sister.
“And who are you?” Carlow demanded.
“I am Nora’s brother, Timothy Blasington. Earl of Wargrove. And I don’t need an introduction to a scoundrel like you, Carlow. Isn’t it just like your family to take advantage of the defenseless,” he said, speaking with authority and anger. “Nora, come stand beside me and away from him.”
Oh, Gigi would be so proud of their acting skills.
“You’re Wargrove? And you’re Nora Blasington?” Carlow asked, his brows reaching the ceiling while his gaze shot daggers at her.
“This is unspeakable,” Reverend Wright sputtered. “I will see the Archbishop of Canterbury this evening and demand a special license, and you, sir, will attend with me.”
“It’s already morning,” Carlow said sarcastically. Nora glanced at the mantel clock to see it was just a little after two.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Timothy demanded. “There are agreements to be reached and until I hear it from his own lips, he’s not leaving this room.”
“And what is it you want me to say?” Carlow asked, feigning innocence.
“By God, you will apologize first. Second, you will get on your knees and beg for my sister’s hand.”
“Or what?”
Nora hurried to Carlow and wrapped her arms about him. “He’s already promised, Timothy. Don’t hurt him.”
“Hurt me?” Carlow laughed and attempted to disengage Nora. She clung tighter.
“Have you made a promise, sir? Is that what this is about?” the reverend asked. “I think there can be forgiveness for such an indiscretion if pledges have been made. And you intend to keep them.”
“He did! Several of them,” Nora said. Lady Weatherby was tutting and nodding and whatever-will-we-do-ing. As if this was the first scandal to ever have occurred between her hallowed walls!
“I did no—” He squeaked as Nora dug her nails into the inside of his thigh.
Timothy pulled a small pistol from beneath his jacket. Nora had assured Timothy he would not need it, but Carlow was being intractable. Timothy’s reasoning: if he we
re caught in such a snare, he’d fight his way out too.
“I will have your answer now, Lord Carlow. Are you going to marry my sister?”
Carlow’s jaw clenched, then he took Nora’s hand—not the one with knives buried in his skin—and brought it to his lips. “It will be my greatest honor.”
“What?” Nora peeped. Nora didn’t trust his pretense of contentment. Or his quick acceptance. Not for one scoundrel-ly minute! Was he going to slip out the window of the library when no one was looking?
“I agree. We must have the special license, Reverend Wright. A morning wedding would be more appropriate than a hasty to-do at this late hour. And perhaps my bride will wish to change into a more appropriate gown.” He looked lovingly at Nora. “My sweet, you must be exhausted from your efforts this evening?”
“Fatigued, yes, but I can certainly bear up long enough for our wedding, dearest.”
“If you don’t mind, I will join you in the hallway shortly, Reverend Wright. I wish to speak with my betrothed. Would you all excuse us?”
With some mumbling, they turned to leave. Timothy issued a final warning. “Don’t try anything underhanded, Carlow.”
“Me? Underhanded?” Carlow clicked his tongue and shook his head. When the door closed, Nora loosed her claws. He glared but walked toward a small side bar with three decanters. He turned to her and asked, “Sherry?”
“Whisky, if you have it there.”
Whatever he poured, he poured the same for both of them. Nora took a seat again on the couchette; Carlow took a chair this time, opposite her. He sipped his drink and glowered at her over the rim.
“What did you want to say, Gabriel?” She hadn’t used his first name, but she enjoyed the jab. Anything to stir his anger. Perhaps that was the wrong tack to take, but this moment had been years in the making. For her, anyway.
“I suppose there are myriad reasons you think this is a good idea. I can assure you it’s not.”
“Do you plan on hurting me somehow? I can assure you, your family has done more to hurt me in the last fifteen years than I could ever do to you in return. Though I would try.”
