Marissa Day (2 page)

Mother, of course, was not with her. Having despaired of anyone ever making an advance, proper or improper, to Miranda, Mother was on the other side of the ballroom. Every now and then the sound of her perfectly calculated laugh would rise above the music and more sedate conversation from where she made the glowing center for a gathering of wealthy widowers and titled married men. Miranda’s mouth quirked itself up tightly and she wondered which of those wealthy, fascinated men was being selected as Mrs. Rowe-Prosper-Lester-Quicke’s next husband.

Miranda looked away, not even bothering to hide her “so unattractive” frown. That proved to be a mistake, however, because now she could see Corwin Rathe making his way through the ballroom. He moved like a slash of night through the bright rainbow around him; smiling, bowing and being introduced. The more Miranda looked at him, the more intensely the heat flared inside her. Something else began as well, some loosening at her very center, and a tingling that reached up to her lips and down to the ends of her fingers. Unaccountably, an image flashed in Miranda’s mind, of a man and woman in the darkness, naked bodies pressed tight together while their mouths fastened against each other in deep, passionate kisses.

Don’t let this be love,
she prayed, looking down at her hands clenched around her fan.
Don’t do this to me.

When Miranda at last looked up again, she saw Mr. Corwin Rathe standing not three feet from her. This time there was no mistaking the fact that his burning, black gaze focused on her entirely. The sight of him this close was so stunning and unaccountable that Miranda at first didn’t notice that her mother stood with him, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve.

“Miranda, dear, this is Mr. Corwin Rathe,” said Mother, smiling brilliantly. She wore her gold dress and light widow’s cap the way a queen would wear her regalia and carried herself with an ease Miranda had never come close to matching. “Mr. Rathe, permit me to introduce my daughter, Miranda Prosper.”

Mr. Rathe took Miranda’s hand. The moment his fingers clasped hers, another picture flashed through Miranda’s mind, clearer and more intense than the first.
She
was naked in the darkness, and so was he. His arms wrapped tight around her as he kissed her. His hands splayed across the curve of her buttocks, pulling her close as he bent to kiss her throat, her breasts.

Miranda’s nipples tightened under her chemise, and she realized she hadn’t answered him at all.

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Rathe,” she managed to croak.

“Charmed, Miss Prosper.” His voice was soft, like velvet. It seemed to stroke her skin, and Miranda could not stop herself from shivering.

Mother raised her brows. “Mr. Rathe was asking if I knew you to be engaged for the waltz. I don’t believe that’s so?” More than a hint of impatience colored Mother’s voice.

How is it we are even having this conversation?
This stunning man was of mature years, Miranda could now see.
Why aren’t you taking him for yourself?
It would not, after all, be the first time.

“No, I am not engaged at present,” Miranda managed to reply, more clearly this time.

“Then, Miss Prosper”—Mr. Rathe extended his arm—“will you do me the very great honor of claiming you as mine?”

He meant for the dance, of course. But it didn’t sound that way. It sounded like so much more. Miranda felt the flush creep down from her face to her breasts.

No! Don’t!
part of her screamed. There was danger here, as great as it was inexplicable. Where her certainty came from was yet another unknown, but it was real and she did not doubt it for an instant. Just as she did not doubt that this man was the cause of the fire that burned within her. If he left, that fire would die, possibly for all time.

Miranda found she did not want the fire to go out.

“Thank you, Mr. Rathe. I would be delighted.” Miranda laid her hand on his silk-clad arm, and permitted him to lead her to the center of the dance floor. She was proud of how well she walked, holding herself calm and steady, keeping her shawl neatly looped across her arms, and her fan tidily folded in her free hand, even though the whole room was openly staring at the inconceivable sight of Daphne Quicke’s unmarriageable daughter on the arm of this oh-so-intriguing stranger.

It’s a mercy dance,
thought Miranda.
Mother has persuaded him to this, and he has agreed in order to gain her favor.

This thought thoroughly doused Miranda’s spirits, and the mysterious fires inside her guttered hard. She stood passively while Mr. Rathe took her right hand to extend their arms and placed his left hand on her back. Even through the layers of their gloves, she could feel the warmth where he touched her, and another shiver that had nothing to do with cold crept across her skin.

“Now, then, Miss Prosper, will you be kind enough to tell me what has turned you so suddenly sad?” Mr. Rathe asked softly.

Miranda lifted her chin. “I thank you for the dance, sir,” she answered. “But you need not cater to my feelings. My mother cares not one whit for them.”

“Ah. I believe I understand.” Behind them, the music lifted. A lovely Viennese creation wrapped the room in bright, rhythmic strains. Mr. Rathe began the steps at once. He was strong and graceful, leading Miranda into the turns without forcing her to follow. Each move was expert and fluid. Miranda found it unusually easy to fall into step with him. His well-formed arm beneath her gloved hand was a comfort, but his hand on her back ... She felt the unnamed heat rising at her center again.

Mr. Rathe dipped his head close to whisper in her ear. “What would you say, Miss Prosper, if I told you it was for your sake alone I asked you to dance?”

Miranda parted her lips in reply, but no words came. In that instant, another vision washed over her. She was naked again and Corwin Rathe knelt before her. His broad, brown hands gripped her thighs, and his mouth pressed against her pussy. She felt his hot tongue lapping between her folds and his eager mouth sucking the soft flesh there. Pleasure flared up Miranda’s spine, too strong to resist, and she gripped his arms, lost to desire.

In the vision she knotted her fingers in his thick hair and pressed him closer.

“For your sake alone.” She heard his voice in her ear, cutting through the lustful dream. But even as he spoke to her in the ballroom, there in that other world she watched and felt his tongue thrust deep into her slit. “For the sake of your beauty and the satisfaction of your desire.”

He licked strongly; one stroke, two.

“What are you doing to me?” She didn’t know where she was, or what was happening. There was only this indescribable dream. In it, he was again standing, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he had thrust it into her slit. She opened to that kiss, willingly, eagerly. Corwin pulled her close to rub her wet and swollen pussy against his gorgeously erect cock while with his right hand he firmly massaged her taut breast. Pleasure and need made her moan.

Then she saw they were not alone.

Another man walked from the shadows, watching them. He stepped up behind Miranda and put his hands on her waist, holding her firmly in place to receive Corwin’s delightful attentions.

The fire that blazed through her at the touch of that second phantom man must kill her. She must die from this searing madness.

“Don’t be afraid,” Corwin murmured. “I have you safe. You see it, don’t you? You feel it.”

“Yes,” she gasped. In the vision Corwin smiled at her and stroked her face. The second man was as tall as Corwin, but whereas Corwin was dark as midnight, this other man was all red-gold like the dawn. That golden man slid his hands up her curving sides to cup her breasts. He pulled her back against him to press his rigid cock into the split between her buttocks.

“I feel it too, Miranda.” Corwin’s hands slid down, stroking her thighs. In the dream or in reality? She couldn’t tell anymore. “The need, the desire. It’s real for me as well.”

The vision melted away, and there was nothing but the music and the rhythm of the dance. They moved together through the ballroom that was magnificent and crowded, and as mundane as it could be. There was, however, nothing mundane about the riot inside Miranda as she looked up into Corwin Rathe’s black eyes.

“What are you doing to me?” She should pull away. No. She should
run
away now, at once, but she couldn’t bear the thought of separating herself from the touch of his hands. Her breasts felt full and heavy, and her pussy was a space of pure, liquid heat. As frightened as she was, she also felt more alive than she ever had before, and she could not stand to let go of all these new, oh-so-mesmerizing sensations.

“Say my name,” he whispered harshly. “I want to hear you say my name.”

She could not refuse. “Corwin,” she murmured.

“Yes.” He sighed, sending a fresh shiver through her. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I want you, Miranda,” he said simply. “Do you want me?”

All the breath in Miranda’s body seized tight. It was impossible, what he was suggesting. It must be impossible. Such things as she was seeing, as she was feeling, could not ever be.

“I can’t . . .”

But he did not let her finish. “Miranda, that is not what I asked.” He pulled her closer so that she could feel the brush of his hard chest against her ruched nipples, and the smile of his mouth against her ear. “I asked if you want me. Like this.”

Two of them again, two of them, and they were naked and glorious, one in front of her and one behind. The dawn-light man lifted her breast with one hand so Corwin could suckle her, even while he himself slid his hand between her legs.

“And this.”

She sprawled on her back. The dawn-light man stroked her breasts with his masterful hands while Corwin slid between her thighs, stroking her, plunging his fingers into her, preparing the way for his immense, erect cock.

“Yes.” The sound that escaped her was more a moan than it was speech. “Yes, I want you.”

“That’s it, Miranda. Do not fear to speak the truth to me.” Corwin turned them again. His hand stroked the curve of her back. The whole world was filled with light and his heady scent and the fevered desire that flowed through her. “Do not fear what you feel now.”

“How can I? How could we ... ?”

His smile broadened and a light that promised mischief sparked in the depths of his dark eyes. “Walk with me.”

“But ...” she began again.

“Shhh.” He laid his long finger against her lips. “I told you, I have you safe. Come with me.”

He gave her his arm, and to her dismay she leaned heavily against it. Desire had robbed her of her strength and she staggered, almost falling. Corwin caught her, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her close, so that her thigh pressed against his.

But not one head turned. Not one conversation faltered as Corwin led her through the knots and crowds of Lady Thayer’s guests.

“How ... ?” She gasped.

In answer, he turned her back toward the dance floor.

There she saw herself, and she waltzed with the very dignified Mr. Rathe. They both moved with perfect, polite decorum while a good four inches of light showed between them.

“What is this?”

“Magic,” Corwin murmured. “For the next three hours, all these people here will see us together, dancing and conversing. It will seem to them that we behave naturally and politely as we move through the evening. I could take you here and now in their midst, and they would know nothing. Would you like that, Miranda?” His hand slipped down her back to cup her buttocks, and that illicit touch sent a heated flash of need between her thighs. “If I laid you down now in all this music and light?”

“I can’t stand it,” she gasped. “It is too much!”

“Then we must hurry.” With those words, Corwin Rathe swept Miranda into his arms and strode out the terrace doors.

Gods all, why did I say that about taking her right there in the ballroom? It’s difficult enough to walk as it is.
Corwin’s first idea had been to ghostwalk them both out of there, but that would leave him too weak for the delightful exercise to come.

What a creature this Miranda Prosper was! When he drew her into the glamour with him, her passion had flared so brightly, he’d just about spilled himself right there, and that coupling was merest illusion. He had lain with dozens of Catalysts, with Darius and on his own, but never had the response to his presence been so swift and so intense, and when he had introduced Darius into the vision, her desire had only soared that much higher.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her flesh was warm, her scent divine. He could not resist any longer and dropped his head to claim a kiss. Her mouth was more than ready for him. He pressed his tongue between her parted lips, tasting and stroking.