Mary Balogh - A Masked Deception

One of his hands moved to the row of small buttons at the back of her gown. Then the other hand joined it and he began to undo the buttons until the dress was loosened to the waist. He held her away from him and gazed into her passion-heavy eyes while he slipped the bodice of her gown away from her figure. She wore nothing underneath. In the faint light that filtered through the doorway, Brampton found himself gazing at small but perfectly formed, upward-tilting breasts, the nipples already hard with desire. He cupped a hand reverently beneath each breast and teased the nipples gently with circling thumbs. The expression in her eyes became even more remote.

He lowered his head and licked lightly at each hardened tip. Margaret moaned in an agony of desire.

"My sweet little angel," he murmured against her ear, his hands placing her breasts gently against his silk coat and then moving to her back, "I have loved you for so long. I must have you. Now. Please."

Margaret was shocked into immobility. Not by the attempted seduction. But by the rest of what he had said. His hands were undoing the buttons below her waist. His mouth was seeking hers again.

"No, no, monsieur!" she cried, one hand going behind her back to prevent his activity there, the other hand pushing at his chest. "Please, no!"

"Oh, yes, little one, yes," he insisted, still trying to capture her mouth with his.

"Monsieur, please!" she pleaded, in a real panic now. "Someone may come. Your people will be looking for you. My friends will have missed me!"

"Please, my angel."

"But please, no, monsieur!"

With a great effort Brampton forced himself to relax against the wall behind him. He held her loosely against him. Damn, but the little apparition was right. In another minute he would have had her naked on the floor beneath him, in an almost public place! He had quite taken leave of his senses.

"I am sorry, my sweet," he said, fighting to regain control over himself. And he moved her away from him, helped her on with the bodice of her dress, and turned her around so that he could fasten the buttons again. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, kissed the back of her neck, and drew her against him.

"I am afraid to let you go, my angel," he said softly. "You will disappear again and I shall not know where to look for you or for whom to look."

"Are you sure that you wish to see me again?" Margaret asked, unconsciously holding her breath.

He groaned. "Now that I have found you again, I do not know how I have lived without you," he said.

"I shall come here again one week from tonight. Will you too be here, monsieur?" she asked, slanting a provocative look back over her shoulder.

"Nothing could keep me away, angel," he said. "But how can I be sure you will not disappear into thin air?"

"I give you my promise, monsieur," she swore.

"Tell me who you are," he whispered.

She took his hands in hers and unclasped them from her waist. She picked up her fan and gloves and turned to face him.

"Au revoir, monsieur," she said, and she tapped him lightly on one shoulder with the fan, flashed her eyes and teeth at him in a gay smile, and whisked her skirts out through the doorway. She stole a glance back over her shoulder as she sped lightly down the path to the more brightly lit avenue. He was standing in the doorway of the shelter, but was making no attempt to follow her.

She was too emotionally disturbed to be surprised when she noticed soon that Jem was following her, at the same respectful distance as before.

Brampton was galloping his horse in Hyde Park as fast as safety would allow. It was too early in the day for his progress to be impeded by carriages or pedestrians, or even by many other riders. It was too early for Devin Northcott; the two men met in the park quite frequently by unspoken agreement and enjoyed a talk while their mounts cantered over the grass.

For half an hour his mind was too full for coherent thought. He gave himself up to the sensations of the ride, the cool, early-morning mist whipping a flush of color to his cheeks.

He still felt his elation from the discovery of the night before. After six years he had found his angel again, and she sparkled with as much mischief and as much passion as she had on that first meeting. Brampton realized that he had never stopped loving her. Her tiny body had fitted itself to his powerful frame as if he had held her only the day before. He thought of her lips, her mouth, the smooth white skin of her throat, her firm, perfect little breasts. He remembered the way her hips and thighs had molded themselves provocatively against his as he had touched his tongue to her nipples.

She was his! She had to be his! He realized all the absurdity of loving a woman whose face he had never seen and whose identity he did not know. Was her face ugly? Was that why she was so reluctant to show it? But no, no woman with such sparkling eyes and such seductive lips could be ugly. And he felt that he would not have cared even if her face did not prove as beautiful as promised. Her beauty lay all in the perfect little body and the life and passion that sang from it.

He loved her! He dug the spurs into his horse's sides and increased the speed of his gallop. He must see her again. What would he do if she failed to appear the following week? He refused to consider the possibility. She must be there! And he must have somewhere to take her so that he could unclothe the tiny little form, remove the wig and the mask, and feast his eyes and his body on her beauty. To make love to her was now the one urgent goal of his life.

He had to admit to a twinge of uneasiness, though. Why had she suddenly appeared, dressed exactly as she had been six years before? He could not believe it an accident. Her story did not quite ring true. Even if she had spoken part of the truth, was it likely that she would have recognized him, masked and cloaked as he was, after six years? And what would have happened if his wife had been with him, as she would have been but for the sudden headache? There was some puzzling mystery here, but Brampton found that the mystery only heightened his desire to see his angel again.

He galloped the length of the park again before admitting that something was threatening to dull his excitement. His wife! Had he turned unfaithful to her so soon after his vow to make theirs a marriage in deed? Would he be able to betray her when she performed her part of the marriage so sweetly and so uncomplainingly? Her large eyes always looked into his with a quiet trust. Would he be able to meet those eyes after last night, especially with the knowledge that he was scheming for physical union with the other woman? Would he be able to go to his wife's bed without feeling that he was sullying her unresisting, yet sweetly warm little body?

It was only at that moment that Brampton realized the remarkable similarity between the two women in his life. So alike in body, yet so vastly different in manner!

He noticed that his horse had begun to lather. Brampton felt a pang of guilt; he usually treated his horses with unfailing consideration. He turned its head for the stables at home.

Margaret was sitting alone at the breakfast table when Brampton entered, still in his riding clothes. He looked into her face, but avoided her eyes. He felt strangely embarrassed. But he did notice that she looked paler than usual.

"Good morning, my dear," he said. "Do you still have the headache?"

"Yes, Richard," she replied, thankful that he had turned to the sideboard to fill a plate with food. She found it equally difficult to meet his eyes. "I did not sleep well." At least she was not forced to lie this morning, she thought with wry humor.

"Did you not take the laudanum?" he asked, frowning.

"I am afraid it did not take effect," she replied, avoiding the question. "But I shall be fine presently. Charlotte has promised to walk in the park with me."

"Better still, you will drive there," he said, "and with me."

Margaret looked up from her coffeecup in surprise. She would not have expected such an offer on any morning, but especially not on this particular morning.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" she asked, watching his bent head closely. He showed no visible reaction.

"I felt like a wallflower." He glanced up and smiled. "I should have felt more comfortable with you there, my dear."

"I thought you would have met plenty of acquaintances there," Margaret quizzed, reluctant to drop the subject.

"Yes, but you had delegated the position of chaperon to me," he said, still smiling, though she fancied that the smile was rather tight. "I was not at liberty to pursue masked figures and guess identities." And he winced inwardly at his choice of words, which only accentuated his deception.

"My dear, why don't I send a message to Dev to see if he would wish to make up a party of four to drive out of the city? We could have a picnic luncheon made up. Would Charlotte enjoy the treat? And would you?"

"Why, Richard, how lovely that would be," Margaret said in surprise, and Brampton noticed that for once she had color in her cheeks and her eyes glowed. "I must go wake Charlotte."

"Shall we say one hour from now?" Her husband smiled.

A few minutes later Margaret left a sleepily grumbling Charlotte and returned to her own room, where she rang for Kitty and tried to decide what to wear for the day. She decided upon a simple primrose-yellow muslin gown with a bonnet to match. Kitty drew a tan-colored pelisse out of the closet, insisting that the day was not yet warm enough for her mistress to go outside without a cloak.