Chapter Four
Isabel was aware of the masked man coming toward her from the moment she stepped into the main hall of the masquerade. She’d found him the second she let her eyes sweep the place, almost as if she were drawn to him like a beacon. Still, she tried to remain calm as he elbowed his way through the crowd in a focused line to her.
To her.
Oh, but her heart was pounding as if it would burst. When he reached her side, she feared he could hear it above all the other din.
“You ran away,” he said, without any preamble. As if they were picking up from the very moment they parted three nights before.
She swallowed hard. “I—yes,” she admitted, shocked by how shaky her tone of voice was. She was struggling to even find the barest breath now.
He must have sensed it, for he reached out and caught her elbow, his warm fingers all but searing her sensitive flesh. “Are you quite well?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “You’ve gone pale.”
“I am, I just…I am…”
“Would you like to get some air?” he suggested.
She found herself nodding, though that wasn’t at all what she wanted. Still, it could do her good, clear her head, at least. Right now she seemed to need a clear head.
He drew her through the crowd, dodging the writhing couples and the rowdy gamblers with the precision of a man who came here all the time. Now she wondered if he did. She’d thought him a newcomer when she first saw him, but it was possible he wasn’t.
It was possible he played this same game with a dozen other willing women that he was now playing with her. She didn’t like that idea, even though that was the point of the Donville Masquerade after all.
To pursue pleasure.
He opened the terrace doors and led her onto the wide stone parapet. She sucked in long breaths of cool night air as she walked away from him and stood at the edge, gripping her hands against the low wall. He moved up beside her and for a moment they were quiet.
The air around them was not. Off in a dark corner, there were muffled sounds of heavy breathing, of soft sighs, and Isabel blushed as she glanced up at him. It was clear he was just as aware of the others outside with them. And what they were doing. His jaw tightened and he shifted uncomfortably.
“Have you come here often?” she asked, searching for something to say so that she wouldn’t be distracted wondering what the other couple was doing to each other in the dark.
Wishing it was her and the man before her.
He shook his head. “No, I told you before the first night you saw me was my first night here,” he said. “What about you?”
The heat in her cheeks flared hotter. “I-I’ve come before,” she admitted. “Not very often, but a few times before tonight. I have a membership.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I see. So the ladies are charged for their patronage, as well?”
“Less than the men, I think,” she said. “But yes. I inherited a very little sum, so I took it from that.”
“Inherited,” he said softly. “From your father, your brother…your husband?”
She shifted and turned away from him. He was asking her for personal details about her life. Things she should not share if she hoped to remain anonymous. And yet where was the harm, if she was careful? Talking to this man made the heat between them a little less disconcerting.
“My husband,” she whispered. “He died a year and a half ago.”
Something in the man next to her shifted. His demeanor changed, his hands tightened at his sides, his eyes grew faraway and filled with a riot of emotions. At last he said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It was an arranged marriage. He was much older than I was and—and it isn’t as if I wanted him to die, but I suppose I should have felt more when he did.” She hesitated a moment, and then what she had said sank in. She glanced up at him. “I don’t know why I’d say such a thing. I don’t even know you.”
He shrugged. “It’s the moonlight,” he said softly. “It’s the fact that we’re wearing masks and whatever we say cannot be held against us. It brings out the truth, that little lie.”
She pondered those words for a moment and then nodded. “You’re probably right. The secret is the key to the truth.”
“So what were you looking for in coming here?” he asked, moving a bit closer. Close enough that his warmth teased her. Beckoned her.
“I—” She bent her head. “I can’t say it out loud.”
“Yes you can,” he insisted. He touched her chin, and he lifted it so that she was looking up into his face. His fingers spread across her jaw, brushing her cheek, and she was lost in a sea of gray.
“I just wanted to watch,” she choked out at last, mesmerized by him. “Watch…them.”
He jerked his head toward the corner of the terrace where the moans of their companions were becoming louder and more insistent. “Them?” he repeated.
She nodded. “Yes. Until you, I’d never even talked to another person at the masquerade. Certainly I’d never danced with anyone or kissed anyone. I didn’t expect such a thing.”
“Neither did I,” he mused. “To be honest, I didn’t want to come here the first night. My friend insisted and he is hard to deny. But I expected I’d stand along a wall and just be uncomfortable while I waited for him to do whatever he does here. And then there was you.”
“So what you are saying is that we are two people who don’t belong here and yet when we entered each other’s orbit we…do?”
His fingers slid higher, into her hair, against her scalp, and she almost moaned like the woman in the corner was doing. This was an intimate touch and it woke deeper desires than to merely watch ever had.
He dropped his head, so slowly that it felt like time itself had stopped. Then his mouth was on her again, like it had been three nights ago. This time she wasn’t as surprised and she lifted on her tiptoes immediately, winding her arms around his neck and opening for him to deepen this kiss.
He whispered something against her lips as he did so. A word, but she was too addled to recognize what it was. Especially when his tongue swept over hers and her entire body went liquid and ready for what would come next.
He dragged her closer, molding her body to his, letting her feel the hard planes of him against the softness of her. And there was a great deal of hardness. He was tall and lean, but muscled, strong. And she was lost to his taste and his touch and his smell in that moment.
At last he drew away, but he kept her in his arms as he stared down at her. His breath was as short as her own, his body shaking like hers.
“Does it feel like we belong?” he whispered.
She nodded, for she could form no words. She could hardly remember words.
“Will you come to a private room with…with me?” he asked, his tone hesitant.
She drew in her breath through her nose. That question was shocking and there was a part of her that was, indeed, shocked. A deeper part, though, felt something else. A longing that she’d denied herself, even when she watched. A need that now screamed inside her head.
“Yes,” she said, without meaning to do so. And yet once she had whispered it, there was no regret for having said it.
She wanted to go with him. She wanted what would happen next.
He took her hand and guided her back inside. They went to the hallway where she’d watched dozens of couples disappear over the nights she’d come here. Her masked stranger said something to the guard there, who nodded and handed over a key.
The hallway felt impossibly long as they walked down it. Behind the other doors there were the unmistakable sounds of passion. She shivered to think her own voice would soon join that chorus.
At the door, he turned the key and stepped aside to allow her to enter. She gasped. She hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time imagining these rooms, to do so was to go too far. When she had, her mind had created something tawdry. Something dirty and small.
This was not that. It was a beautiful chamber, with fine furniture, a roaring fire and lovely, if naughty, artwork decorating the walls. Images of men and women, wound together in pleasure. Mouths and hands roving like they did outer rooms. She turned her face and looked at the large bed that was the chamber’s centerpiece.
He shut the door. It sounded like a shotgun blast. She jumped and then shuddered as she stared at that bed. Pictured what would happen there next. It felt almost impossible to put herself into the place of the fantasies she’d spun.
“If you want to change your mind—” he began.
She pivoted to face him and found he was leaning on the door, just watching her. She swallowed hard. This was a chance she was taking, something entirely against her character.
And yet she felt nothing but desire to do it. Her uncle was certain to match her sooner rather than later. Another old man as her husband had been, another unfulfilled life where she reached out for connection and passion and found nothing in return.
She had earned this night after so many empty ones. And she would hold it close to her when it was over as some reminder than she could inspire desire in a man like this.
“I realize it’s wanton and even…wrong, but I do want this,” she said with a blush. “I don’t understand it, I can’t explain it, but the moment I saw you it was as if this was meant to be. I don’t want to change my mind.”
He stared at her a beat, then pushed off the door and came toward her in three long steps. He caught her arms and kissed her again. But this time there was nothing gentle to it, nothing hesitant. He claimed, angling his head so he could drive his tongue into her mouth and taste every inch of her.
She jolted against him as sensation cascaded through her. Warmth and desire. Pleasure and anticipation. But mostly need. Hard, heavy, harsh need that throbbed between her legs and tingled through the rest of her.
She’d felt need before. That remembered need was why she’d come here in the first place. But it had never been like this. It had always been an echo—this was a symphony. Loud and riotous and utterly beautiful as it lifted her body and quieted her rowdy mind.
Her stranger’s hands fisted against her back and he groaned deep in his throat as he kissed her with growing intensity. She was drowning in him, lost entirely, unable to do anything but hold tight and be swept away.
“You’ve done this before?” he asked, breaking from the kiss at last, though his face remained close to hers, his breath still stirred her lips and made her dizzy. “I don’t want to hurt you, to compromise you.”
She managed to jerk out a nod. “I have. I was married, remember?”
His gaze narrowed slightly, a troubled expression she couldn’t place. But then he dropped his mouth again and any thoughts or concerns she had regarding his reaction were gone. And it was perfect. That kiss deepened, slowed, and now it was an exploration of her. She found herself melting, her legs shaking as he continued to just kiss her.
It was amazing, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. But she wanted more. This was her only chance to get more. She had to take it, it seemed.
Her hands were flat against his chest and she slid them down to find the buttons on his waistcoat. It was a fine garment—the man was obviously very rich—and she struggled a moment to get the perfectly fitted piece open so she could push it and his jacket away.
He froze as her hands slid against the thin shirt beneath. He drew back and looked at her again. His expression was serious, thoughtful, filled with anticipation, but also hesitation.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she teased gently.
The corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile, something wicked, and her stomach flipped at the sight. Even with half his face covered, this man was wildly attractive. Not the kind of man she’d ever expected to be attracted to her.
But it was the place and the masks and the moonlight, perhaps. Whatever it was, she was going to make the most of it.
“I have,” he said softly, then put a little space between them and helped her get the jacket and waistcoat off. He reached up and loosened his cravat, unwinding the fabric over and over until he tossed it aside with the rest.
She caught her breath as his shirt parted and revealed just the beginnings of a well-formed chest. She swallowed hard. Her husband had been soft, older, not hideous but by no means this. Was she in over her head?
“Changing your mind?” he asked.
She pushed aside the hesitation. “No,” she said firmly.
“Good,” he whispered, and caught her shoulders. He held her stare a moment, and slowly turned her around so that her back was to him. At first she wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, not until his fingers brushed her neck, pushing away the strands of hair that had come loose from her chignon during the night. His breath was warm on her skin and then his lips were there, gentle, soft.
She shuddered with pleasure, gasped with surprise as those hands moved away from her skin and down to the top button of her gown.
He slid it free carefully and parted the fabric. She blushed as he repeated that same action over and over. She wasn’t wearing undergarments. That had been her other rebellion when she came here. And as he opened the gown fully, he recognized that fact and let out a little mutter of a word she didn’t recognize.
Likely he thought her a whore, but what did it matter? They were strangers, this was a stolen night. She pushed aside her embarrassment and faced him.
Her dress drooped a fraction in front and she held a hand up to hold it here. He was staring at her. Just staring, and she smiled at how wide his eyes were.
“Are you changing your mind?” she asked.
He shook his head. “That was the furthest thought from my mind, I assure you.”
His hand trembled as he reached for her, caught her fingers, drew them away from the gown. He looped his fingers into the edge, and then he pulled. It rolled forward, the short, puffed sleeves sliding down her arms, and then she was bare from the waist up.
She felt the heat in her cheeks as he looked at her. Her husband had done this…two or three times at most in the years of their marriage? Usually when he’d touched her it had been a flip of her nightgown, a handful of grunts, and then he was finished. If he was drunk he might touch her a little, but she’d never found real pleasure with him. Only with her own hand.
And now this stranger was staring at her naked breasts. The ones that were too small, according to her husband. Too pink. Too…well, whatever too came to his cold lips at the time.
“Beautiful,” he breathed and she jerked her gaze to his face. He wasn’t teasing or taunting.
She pushed the sleeves from her arms and the dress folded around her waist, sliding low on her hips. It was precariously close to falling and leaving her entirely naked, but she didn’t focus on that.
She wanted to see him, too.
She stepped a fraction closer and unfastened the first button on his shirt. Her hands were shaking so hard, she could hardly get it open.
“Here,” he said, pulling it from his waist before he popped open a few of the buttons and tugged the entire thing over his head. His mask was cockeyed when he removed it, and he adjusted it back to its place before he tossed the shirt aside.
And she stared, her breath gone. What was before her was utter male perfection. His body was lean and muscled, his chest hard as granite, with a peppering of chest hair that narrowed into a line that disappeared into the waist of his trousers.
She couldn’t help herself. She reached out and laid her hand on his skin. He grunted and she sighed. He was hot and real—this was real. She slid her hand across him, tracing the muscles she found, reveling in hard muscle under softer skin. In that wild moment, she wanted to lick him and touch him and do everything and anything she’d ever seen in the open rooms of the hall.
She wanted to be wanton for him. Wild.
It seemed he wanted the same, for he suddenly caught the gown still around her waist and tugged her against him. Her breasts flattened against the wall of his chest and his mouth hit hers in hungry possession and need. She rubbed against him, her nipples growing hard at the abrasion of his chest.
She was being lifted then. He marched her to the bed and set her down there. They never stopped kissing even as he pushed the rest of her gown away. She kicked at her slippers, and he lifted her to the bed and set her there.
She settled blindly against the pillows as he at last stepped back. She was naked and he was staring at her, his hungry gaze gliding from top to bottom, like he was memorizing her. Like was planning a move against another country.
Then he tugged his boots off and stripped his trousers away, leaving him as naked as she was. She sat up on her elbows to get a better look. Great God, he was perfect everywhere. His hips were trim, his legs muscled and his cock already hard and curling toward his belly.
He leaned over her on the bed, caging her in as he settled over her. She felt the length of him nudge her stomach, and she jolted at how hard he was. How hot and thick and ready. On instinct, she parted her legs, lifting to meet him.
He glanced at her in surprise. “We’re not halfway to that yet,” he whispered.
She blinked with confusion. They were naked on a bed. That was more than she’d usually experienced in this act. She was already wet, she was tingling in anticipation. The next step was for him to join that exquisite body with her own, and then it would be over and burned into her memory forever.
“You look surprised,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her neck.
“I am,” she admitted.
He lifted his stare to hers. “Some husband he was,” he whispered. “Let me show you.”
His mouth glided over her skin, his tongue just barely tasting as he moved down the column of her neck, traced her collarbone, then lower. He leaned back a fraction and watched as he covered her breasts with his hands. She arched as unexpected sensation rushed through her. It intensified as he began to stroke his fingers against her, brushing his thumbs against her nipples until her breath left her.
And then he dropped his mouth to one breast and traced her nipple with his tongue. She’d seen men in the halls do this with their lovers, but she’d never felt it. Now she let out a cry in the quiet of the room. The wet heat of his mouth against her already ultrasensitive nipple was too much. Too much sensation. It shot through her body and she arched against the flow of it.
He smiled against her body—and then he sucked. She jolted with the feel of it, the surprising burst of pleasure. It was perfect, not too hard, not enough to create pain, but just enough to wake up every part of her she hadn’t realized was asleep. She heard herself moaning, sighing, rather like the women in the club did so many nights.
And she surrendered to it all as he moved to her opposite breast and repeated his actions, all the while massaging the one he had left behind. She lifted her hips as he did so, reveling in the warmth and heat that flooded her, the desire that built ever higher with each unexpected touch. When he at last released her nipple with a pop and looked up her body, she braced again. Her body was most certainly ready for him now. She felt like she was on fire.
And yet he still didn’t rear up over her and mount her. His lips glided lower, to her stomach. His hands skimmed her hips, tracing the line of her body, cupping her backside and lifting her. Her legs fell open and she stared as he settled between then, his face even with her sex.
Her cheeks were on fire now. This was far too intimate, far too wild. Something women in this club did, but not ladies. Certainly ladies did not—
The thought was cut off when he touched her sex, gently parting the folds and revealing her fully. She was shaking as he blew a gust of hot breath to her most hidden secret places. Her husband had never done this. She’d seen men do it but never pictured herself on the receiving end.
He licked her.
She gripped the sheets in both hands and gasped as her body lifted of its own accord. He licked her again and her heels dug into the mattress. Then she could no longer distinguish one lick from the next. His tongue moved over her, around her, inside of her, tasting and teasing. Tempting and tormenting. She turned her head against the pillow with a shuddering sigh. She lifted her hips, grinding into his mouth, surrendering to the unexpected and powerful pleasure he was creating with every movement. Every lick, everything.
She had touched herself before. Found that slick nub that made her body quake with intense waves of pleasure. He found it too, and suddenly the focus on his tongue switched to that sensitive place. He laved it, he swirled around it, he sucked it. She felt herself building to the release she’d found with her hands, but it felt different this time. More powerful, certainly more out of control. She reached for it desperately, wanting it more than breath or life in this moment.
And then it was there. She let out a keening cry she knew would echo in the hall. She didn’t care. Waves of sensation were washing over her, her hips jerking against them, against him and the intensity he was creating. She wanted more, she needed less, she wanted everything.
And he continued on, tormenting her through the crisis until she flopped weak and spent on the pillows. She felt him move, his mouth retracing the path back up her body. She glided her fingers into his hair, murmuring pleasure as he licked and nibbled his way over every crest and valley of her body. He reached her mouth and she opened to him, tasting the earthy flavor of her own body on his tongue as he drove it deep inside her mouth.
She sank into the sensation once more, her body still throbbing from release. It was nothing like she’d ever felt, not on her own, certainly not with her husband.
The stranger nudged her knees a bit wider and she allowed it, spreading herself like a wanton beneath him. There was the press of him at her entrance and she broke away from the kiss with a gasp as he settled against her, breaching her just the tiniest bit with the hard thrust of his cock.
“Change your mind?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
Her gaze flitted to his face. “It’s a little late for that,” she managed to gasp out.
He shook his head. “It’s never too late to say no.”
She stared at him. There was nothing false about the look in his eyes. If she refused him, he would pull away and that would be the end of it. He would let her have her pleasure and walk away without any other demands.
“I don’t want to say no,” she said softly. “But it’s been a long time.”
A tiny smile quirked up one side of his mouth, and then he said, “For me too.”
He thrust gently as he said it and then he was inside, really inside. Her body stretched to welcome him, then more of him. She let out a long sigh as he took more and more. It felt so damned good, so right as he fully seated himself inside of her and rested his forehead to hers with a ragged breath.
For a moment, he just lay like that, their bodies entangled, their breath matching. But then he ground his hips and the quiet connection dissolved into something far more animal and passionate.
He took. Like a man possessed, he thrust, circling his hips with every down stroke, teasing her with every withdrawal. She rose to meet him, clawing at his back as the pleasure she’d felt moments ago mounted once more. She had no idea if she could find more than one release, but she reached for it regardless, mewling out wordless sounds as sensation shot through every nerve in her body.
She lifted as he swiveled those trim hips and the orgasm came again. This time it was more intense, and she clung to him helplessly as he drove her through the waves harder and faster. She shivered beneath him, swept away from thought and reason and everything but the powerful sensation of surrendering all she was to this man she didn’t even know.
If anything, that made it even more powerful.
“I can’t wait,” he gasped, that deep voice lined with strain.
“Don’t wait,” she cried out.
He withdrew as her body continued to flutter with release, and roared out a desperate sound of pleasure. He pumped his cock and came before he flopped down beside her on the bed, taking great gulps of air like he’d run from London to Brighton.
She reached out and curled her hand against his chest, almost to make sure this was real. It had actually happened.
Because it felt like a dream. And she didn’t want to wake up.