Masquerade (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 1) (5 page)

Camden’s Grosvenor Square townhouse was a study in refinement, elegance, and taste. Margaret’s eyes widened when the front door swung open to usher her into a home she’d never thought she’d see the inside of. Veined marble floors gleamed, with matching pillars stretching up toward the ceiling. A massive chandelier hung overhead, its lit tapers causing light and color to dance within the prisms of crystal. A heavy, gilt mirror flanked by matching sconces reflected them both.

She paused, taking in her appearance with a slackened jaw. Who was this ravishing creature staring back at her? Daring gown, cheeks flushed red from passion, lips a taunting pucker stained crimson—she hardly recognized herself.

Wrought-iron balusters with mahogany banisters led a path up the stairs, onto which Camden took her arm and led her after he’d waved the waiting footman away. Once out of the servant’s sight, he pulled her against his side, his hand tight upon her waist.

“Your home is so beautiful,” she murmured as they reached the first floor and her feet sank into thick, Oriental rugs.

“I cannot take any credit for it,” he admitted. They ascended the staircase leading to the third floor. “In my father’s day, it was a bit ostentatious, overflowing with displays of wealth cluttering every available surface. He fancied himself a collector of fine things, and never missed an opportunity to display his collection. It had become a bit … chaotic. When I inherited, my Aunt Albina begged me to allow her to redecorate.”

“And as you have very little time to worry about such mundane matters, you allowed it,” she surmised.

He nodded. “It was for the best, as it gave her something to divert her mind from …” He trailed off, pausing with his hand upon a doorknob. His brows furrowed over his eyes, which he’d lowered. His jaw ticked and he took a deep, noisy breath, as if trying to compose himself.

She faltered beside him, her own brow scrunching while she studied his face. His throat constricted visibly as he swallowed, then cleared his throat.

“From?” she prodded, curiosity pushing her to pry where she knew she ought not.

“My brother’s death,” he said, his voice a bit clipped. He opened the door and led the way inside.

She felt like such a fool. Of course, everyone knew of the death of Garrett Rycroft a little over one year ago. He had been killed in a horrific riding accident. The second Rycroft son had been his heir apparent, and his death had meant Camden’s need to marry and produce an heir became all the more imperative.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, clasping her hands before her. “I’d quite forgotten about that.”

He paused at the center of the room and turned back to face her. His face broke into a smile and he extended one hand to her. “It’s quite all right, my sweet. Perhaps for a night, you can help me to forget, too.”

She took his hand, allowing him to draw her toward him. She became very aware of her opulent, yet masculine surroundings—Camden’s bedroom was elegantly appointed in shades of dark navy, white, and gray—yet, she lost the desire to marvel over the décor when he reached up to remove his mask.

The bridge of his nose appeared, as did his dark eyebrows over the cerulean eyes that had so captivated her. He then tugged at the ribbons holding her mask in place. She reached up to pull it away, glancing up at him with an expectant stare. Despite the intimacies they’d shared, she was afraid he would not find her as enchanting without it.

Unmasked, she’d become plain old Margaret again—a woman Camden had walked past at countless soirées without noticing.

Her breath caught in her throat when his hand came up to her face, thumb stroking her cheek before finding her lower lip in a gentle caress.

“Maggie,” he whispered. “How have I managed to go so long without knowing you? I feel certain I could never have forgotten you if we’d met.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her chest heaving and her breath racing between her parted lips.

“I-I do not know,” she stammered. “We have never been properly introduced, but have attended many of the same functions. B-but, I’m not … that is to say … I am not always so daringly dressed, nor is my father of as high rank as you. We may occupy the same ballrooms on occasion, but we are not within the same circles, I’m afraid.”

He creased his brow. “Still, it was wretched of me not to notice you. Now that I’ve seen your face, I feel certain I’ll never forget it.”

A half-smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “You cannot know how long I have wanted this,” she whispered, lowering her eyes.

His soft chuckle warmed her from the inside out. “Surely, my notice is not worth so much.”

She shrugged. “For a young debutante prone to flights of romantic whimsy, it is,” she admitted.

Margaret knew she should not say these things. Beyond this night, she could not fathom anything more coming of their little liaison. To bare her secrets to him would only leave her vulnerable to the pain to be borne when it ended. Yet, she could not stop now that she’d given voice to her deepest desires.

“You must know how many hearts you’ve stolen just by walking into a room. Many a night, I have watched you take a lady into your arms to waltz with her and wished I could be her. To be so close to you, moving together … to know your scent and your touch …” She paused, realizing she’d said far too much.

Camden circled behind her, placing his hands upon her shoulders. His lips brushed the back of her neck and she shivered.

“I cannot deny knowing you have watched me from afar all this time does not bring me pleasure, Maggie,” he murmured, his lips tracing a path toward her ear. “When you watched me with those women, did you wonder if there was more to our association than a simple waltz would suggest?”

She nodded in response, unable to speak when he nibbled on her neck, teasing the most deliciously sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

“You wondered if any of them would accompany me home, didn’t you? You thought about what I did to them.”

She groaned as he took the shell of her ear between his teeth.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I did.”

“How did you feel when you thought about it—when you imagined all the wicked things I did to those other ladies?”

His hands worked at the buttons running down her back, sliding them loose one by one, opening her gown.

“Jealous,” she admitted.

He gripped the sleeves of her gown and pulled, lowering it to the floor to pool around her feet. His hands took her waist and he pulled her against him, his lips trailing along her shoulder.

“Did you fantasize about me, Maggie? Did you wonder what it would be like to be one of them?”

“I did,” she said, her voice low and husky. “At night, alone in my bed, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it was like to be with you.”

“Oh, Maggie,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement and mock horror. “Never say you were ever so naughty.”

She giggled, bit her lower lip, and leaned back against him, resting her head on his chest. “I was.”

“You touched yourself when you thought about me, didn’t you?” One of his hands slid across her stomach, lowering slowly toward the apex of her thighs. “Did you pleasure yourself to fantasies of me?”

He cupped her mons, his fingers massaging gently and drawing moisture from her core.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice strained as he continued to tease her. “Yes, I did.”

“Show me,” he whispered, removing his hand.

She groaned in agitation, wishing for his touch again. Yet, he seemed to be waiting for her to fulfill his command.

“Show me how you pleasured yourself, Maggie,” he said, his voice a bit rougher this time—a demand she dared not refuse. Not if she wished for more of the pleasure he could give her.

Camden peered over Maggie’s shoulder at the full-length mirror resting just across the room. When he’d come behind her, he’d caught their reflection in the glass and had thought to undress her before it, watching her body revealed inch by slow inch.

Then she’d admitted to fantasizing about him—no, not just imagining herself with him, but pleasuring herself to the thoughts. The admission had sent a fresh surge of blood rushing to his cock, causing the organ to throb painfully. He’d wanted to carry her to the bed, lay her down, and fuck her until he’d fulfilled every one of her fantasies and desires. More than that, at the moment, he wanted to see her slender fingers teasing her body into readiness for him.

Eyes closed and head resting against his chest, she reached up and pulled down her chemise, causing her breasts to bounce free. His throat constricted, tightening in response to the sight of those luscious tits. One hand came up to cradle the left breast tentatively, and his breath caught and held, anticipation causing his mouth to go dry. He parted his lips, wetting them with this tongue, his eyes fixated on her reflection as she pinched the nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her more fully against him and pressing his erection against her bottom.

The evidence of his arousal seemed to embolden her. She brought her hand up to the other breast, toying with both nipples now, rolling them between her fingers. She moaned, her hands kneading and massaging, her lips parted and her cheeks flushing with pleasure.

He fisted the skirt of her chemise, lifting it. She assisted him, removing one hand from her breast. Once the skirt had been pulled to her waist, she deftly untied the string holding her drawers over her hips and allowed them to fall, before stepping quickly out of them. His eyes lowered to the exposed triangle of sable curls between her legs, watching her searching fingers find their way there. His hands clenched the fabric of her chemise tightly, trembling as he watched her slender fingers slide between her nether lips. She moved in slow, rhythmic circles, stroking the hidden pearl concealed within. His breath became rapid; he fought for control. It took all of his will to keep from bending her over and ramming into her from behind.

Watching her reflection, he imagined his own hand where hers was now, stroking her sweet, silky folds and coaxing a surge of moisture from deep within. He contented himself with palming one of the breasts she’d abandoned in her exploration, kneading it and tweaking the stiff peak of her nipple. Her lips parted on a shrill cry, her fingers quickening between her thighs. He held her tight against him, not daring to take his eyes off the mirror for even a second. Her reflection captured and held him entranced.

“You look so beautiful, Maggie,” he whispered in her ear. He tasted her earlobe, taking it between his lips and suckling. She moaned again, her hips bucking against his and causing his member to twitch with want. “Open your eyes and look at yourself, love. See how magnificent you are.”

Her eyelids drooped heavy over eyes glazed with desire, their dark chocolate pools focused on the reflection before her. Christ, how could he have been in the same room with Maggie and never noticed her? She was the most vibrant, vivacious woman he’d ever had in his arms. He could not imagine encountering her without being overcome with the need to have her then and there.

“Camden,” she whispered, her gaze locking with his in the mirror.

“Yes, love?” he asked.

“I am weary of fantasy. Show me what it really means to be with you. Make love to me.”

He turned her to face him, his lips capturing hers in a bruising kiss. Her arms came around his neck and she clung to him, her mouth engaging his just as passionately. He found the strings of her corset and yanked, working to unlace her from the constricting garment. She reached up and began untying his cravat. Throwing it aside, she attacked the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat, opening both garments simultaneously.

The muscles of his chest and stomach tensed in response to her touch, feather light and searching on his naked skin.

Finally freeing her from the corset, he tossed it aside before shedding his shirt and waistcoat. Gripping her hips, he lifted her until her legs wrapped around his waist and he carried her toward his massive bed.

He whisked the counterpane aside and laid her on the crisp white sheets. Then, turning to the bedside table, he opened the top drawer and retrieved a condom.

“To protect you from becoming pregnant,” he stated, showing her the wrapped letter before placing it on the bed beside her.

His father had introduced him to sheaths before he’d left home for university, reminding him that while it was generally accepted for a man to sow his wild oats before—and most assuredly after—getting married, the siring of bastards was frowned upon. Aside from that, contracting a case of syphilis from an infected whore would have been just as disgraceful, if not more so. He’d never been a day without them since then, and had luckily escaped all manner of diseases thus far. As far as he knew, he’d sired no bastards.

She sat up on the bed, coming to her knees. A small smile transformed her face. “How thoughtful of you. I hadn’t even considered such things.”

“I want you to be free to enjoy the night without worry,” he replied, climbing up onto the bed beside her.

She reached for him, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down toward her for a kiss.

“Thank you,” she murmured just before sliding her tongue into his mouth.

Camden met it with his own, and they dueled, the gentle friction sending a tremor down his spine.

As they kissed, he reached up and palmed her breasts. The nipples hardened, teasing his fingers and beckoning to his mouth. She arched her back, offering them up to his lips. He bent his head, pressing the two large globes together, and ran his tongue over both nipples. He took one between his teeth and teased it with a gentle tug before taking the other into his mouth and suckling as if starving.

She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails clawing his back and drawing a groan of both pleasure and pain from deep in his chest. Laying her back onto the bed, he pulled the chemise down over her hips and legs, baring her to his hungry gaze.

“You have a body made for loving,” he remarked, his hands tracing her curves, fondling her breasts, before skimming the flat plane of her stomach and the generous curves of her hips. “So damned perfect.”

Reaching down between them, he slid one finger between her lower lips, moaning at the feel of her slick, heated flesh. She dripped with wetness, her tight little sheath gripping his finger hungrily. He pumped it in and out, stretching and accustoming her to his touch. His thumb found its way through her slickened curls and the inner folds, teasing her clitoris with gentle pressure and causing her hips to bow up off the bed.

“There?” he asked, giving the bud another gentle stroke.

“Yes, there!” she cried, her hips thrusting against his hand, taking his finger in deeper.

Her juices coated the digit, and he coaxed even more from her with a few well-timed strokes of his thumb.

“Yes, like that. Oh, more!”

He obeyed, joining one finger with a second and quickening his strokes. His thumb circled in a more rapid motion, drawing a chorus of moans from her mouth.

“Now, Camden,” she panted, her hips moving in time with his fingers. “I cannot wait any longer.”

“I want to make this easy for you, love,” he murmured, still working her insides with two questing fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted. “The pain will only be for a moment, and I have wanted this for so long.”

He nodded, already tearing at the fastening of his breeches. He could not deny her now, not after the promise of what he’d given her in the Gardens, and again in the carriage. The tightness of the channel around his fingers had just reminded him of how innocent she was, and how wrong he’d be to despoil her. She would be ruined, but he could not find the courage to care just then. A stronger man might have walked away, even now with her lying naked and willing in his bed. He hadn’t been this desperate to have a woman since he’d been a green boy of fifteen.

Reaching for the condom, it tore it open and sheathed himself with care, ensuring it was on properly. Satisfied, he braced himself over her and probed her tight entrance. Eyes boring into him with intent, she raised her hips and welcomed him, sheathing his head within the rim of her channel.

He gasped, his eyes sliding shut as the first inch of her enveloped him. She whimpered when he slid in further and stretched her a bit more. He gritted his teeth, trembling with the effort it took not to slam in to the hilt and take his pleasure. She panted, her arms coming around him and holding him tight as he continued forging a path through her. She moaned again, this time in pain when his head encountered the barrier of her virginity.

Camden bent his head to capture her lips, muffling her sharp cry as he plunged, tearing through her maidenhead. He stilled within her, continuing his tender assault upon her lips while he allowed her to grow accustomed to the feel of him inside of her. His chest expanded, burning with the need to pump in and out, filling her over and over again. She still trembled from the pain, a lone tear welling in the corner of one eye.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he whispered, brushing a kiss between her eyebrows.

“It’s all right,” she insisted between shallow, ragged breaths. “I knew there would be pain.”

“If I have any say, it won’t be for much longer,” he mumbled, raising himself a bit and reaching down between them. His thumb encountered her clitoris and stroked it in a slow circle, drawing a surprised gasp from her lips. His mouth curved into a smirk, and he repeated the motion, applying a bit more pressure while moving inside of her with a slow, calculated stroke.

Her lips parted on a low moan, a tremor rocking her. He continued his ministrations, teasing her pearl while his hips undulated against hers. He bent his head to take one of her nipples, drawing on it with deep pulls and swirling his tongue around it. Her clenched thighs relaxed, falling open and allowing him in deeper. Her channel gripped him so tight, he wondered if he’d ever find his way out again. His chest rumbled with a low, primal groan.

Maggie’s sharp cries melted into sighs of pleasure when his pace quickened, his hands gripping her hips and tilting them at the perfect angle.

“Christ, Maggie,” he murmured, pumping in and out of her. “You feel so bloody good.”

She responded with a moan, and he increased his rhythm even more, his blood roaring in his ears in concert with the sound of their bodies coming together. She clung to him, her rapid breath tickling his ear and the side of his neck, further exacerbating the urgency he felt as he hurtled closer and closer to climax.

“Is it good for you, too, sweetheart? Do you like the feel of my cock inside of you?”

“Yes,” she cried, throwing her head back and clinging to the sheets. “Oh, yes, Camden!”

Prying one of her hands from the bed sheet, he lowered it between them and urged her to touch herself.

“Yes, that’s it, Maggie,” he murmured, his mouth going dry as he watched her stroke herself toward climax. “I want you to come with me, love. You’re almost there.”

His thrusts became frenzied and wild, a thin film of sweat breaking out along his hairline. His gut clenched and his balls contracted, signaling his ending. Her inner walls tightened around him at the exact same time he spilled his seed. He buried his face in the pillow beside her head, stifling his roar of completion and thrusting one last time before going still. His head spun and his shoulders heaved as he struggled to draw breath.

Maggie’s thighs quivered on either side of his hips, her arms going limp and falling from around his neck. He turned his head and brushed his lips along her jawline before finding the corner of her mouth. She met his searching mouth with her own and gifted him with a languid kiss.

One of his hands came up to her breast, pinching the nipple lightly and causing her to shudder beneath him.

“Well?” he asked, once he’d managed to break the kiss. “Did reality live up to your fantasies?”

She grinned, wide and radiant. “Oh, Your Grace … it turned out to be far better than I could have imagined.”

A chuckle shook his shoulders as he rolled away from her, standing to dispose of the sheath. By the time he’d cleaned himself and returned from the washstand, Maggie had dozed off. Easing himself gingerly beside her on the bed, he took up the damp linen he’d soaked at the washstand and used it to clean the blood smearing the inside of her thighs. She sighed in sleep, but did not awaken as he tended her.

Once finished, he pulled the counterpane up to her chin. Though he was loathe to cover her beautiful body, the fire had died down a bit in the hearth, and he wouldn’t want her to catch a chill.

Turning away from the bed, he disposed of the linen in the fireplace before stoking the fire up again, adding more coal. He then donned his breeches once more and crossed the room to the sideboard, where he poured a liberal splash of brandy into a tumbler before taking an armchair before the blaze.

The flames cast an orange glow over the bed, illuminating her angelic face in peaceful sleep. Frowning, he took a gulp of brandy and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the liquor run through his body.