Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (3 page)

She eyed the drink in his hand. “Oh, immensely, Odysseus.”

“So much so that you are hiding away in Lord Thomas’s library?”

She reached up and adjusted her helmet that had fallen too far forward on her face. “If you remember, I was trying to return to the ballroom.”

Touché
.

“And what of you? Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

Christopher’s lips twitched and he slid into the folds of a nearby sofa.
Cheeky thing.
“Not at all. Just the opposite really. That is, until now.”

“Oh.” At his honesty, the woman’s indistinguishable eyes went wide. He peered close. He ventured they were a blend of greens and blues. Her gaze alternated between the door and the empty seat beside him.

Clearly the voluptuous goddess had no more of a desire to return to the ballroom than he did. It made little sense. He’d come into the library to steal a moment of quiet, and forget his family’s financial situation…and his father’s urging that he wed Sophie Winters. His jaw hardened.

If his father had his way, Christopher would wed the termagant who’d tormented him as a child. He frowned. She hadn’t been remarkably different from his father in that regard and the last person he cared to spend the rest of his life with was someone who put him in mind of his father. Or the incident in the stables.

Christopher gave his head a shake. He didn’t want to ruin this meeting with thoughts of his father or Sophie Winters.

His gaze honed in on the lush Athena, her fingers fidgeting with the folds of her robes. She seemed as nervous as a bird about to take flight. Then, she took a step toward him, and he knew the stunning beauty had tossed aside propriety for the pleasure of a few stolen minutes away from the
ton
.

She nodded to the brandy in his hand. “What is it about that brew that so entices men?”

He held out his glass in a silent challenge.

The woman’s brow furrowed. She took several steps toward him, and stopped. Her pleated, red Grecian skirts danced about her ankles. His gaze traveled up her legs, to the gently flared hips, ever higher to the daringly low décolletage as her chest moved up and down.

She took the glass and their fingers brushed. A tingle of awareness, like the jolting shock one feels when walking barefoot on a carpet, raced through him.

Christ, whatever is wrong with me?

Athena stole a glance at him from beneath lowered lids and then downed half the contents of the drink.

Tears flooded her eyes. She proceeded to choke.

Laughter shook his frame.

She glared. “That was neither appropriate nor amusing.” Then as if to save face, she tentatively tried another sip. This time her only outer reaction was a grimace.

Christopher smiled as she continued to drink his brandy. Who would have imagined that teasing this young lady could be so vastly entertaining?

Or seductive, he thought as she trailed the tip of her tongue along her plump lower lip.

Her husky alto interrupted his dangerous musings. “Truth be told, the second sip wasn’t all bad.”

He quirked a brow. “How about the third and fourth?”

“Oh, the third and fourth were divine. But the fourth and fifth were vastly better.”

“You’ve accounted for the fourth sip, twice now.”

She frowned. “Have I?”

“You have,” he said with mock solemnity.

“Then the fourth sip must have been absolutely divine.”

A laugh rumbled from deep within his chest.

It would be better for the both of them if she returned to the ballroom. The last thing he cared to risk was being discovered with a masked lady, especially in light of his father’s plans for him.

But he was having too much fun. He motioned to the empty seat beside him, fully expecting the young lady to come to her senses and realize the impropriety of being alone with him.

Alas, sips four and five appeared to have clouded her judgment.

Athena sat on the sofa, the delicate fabric of her skirts fluttering about them, and he stole a downward peek.

Trim, dainty ankles.

His blood heated. God, he was mad for trim, dainty ankles, especially upon a buxom, luscious creature like her.

“What brings you here this evening? Are you, perhaps, avoiding your husband?”

A husky laugh spilled past her lips. “I’m not wed.”

Christopher released a breath he’d not realized he was holding. Good, he preferred his Athena unattached. His eyes went to the full set of perfect, bow shaped lips and his groin tightened uncomfortably. Yes, he preferred her without a husband. Granted it made their clandestine meeting that much more scandalous, the threat of discovery that much greater…but then, at masquerades, certain liberties were granted to staid Society members.

Athena finished her brandy and held the glass out for a refill. Christopher hesitated. It would hardly do to get the lady soused, though she appeared nearly there. He fetched the decanter of brandy from Lord Thomas’ drink cart and returned to her side. He poured several fingerfuls.

She downed it in a single swallow. A slight grimace twisted her lips.

Hell, he was going to send the intriguing young lady back to the ballroom, thoroughly steeped.

“So again, sweet Athena. What is the reason of your visit?”

She tapped a finger against her chin. “Well, I was invited.”

Christopher grinned. What a fetching thing. “You were invited to Lord Thomas’s library?”

She held out her now empty glass. She’d had quite enough for the evening. He took it, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers.

The young woman appeared wholly unaffected by his touch. She closed her eyes and slumped against the back of the sofa, her neck arched as if she planned on a nap.

“I should go,” she murmured.

He tamped down a swell of disappointment. This was the most enjoyable part of his evening thus far. “You should.”

She nibbled at her plump, lower lip. “It is rather inappropriate for us to be alone,” she said.

Christopher imagined all manner of inappropriate things involving those lips. He grinned. “Yes.” He had the distinct impression that his Greek goddess had little intention of leaving. “You never answered my question,” he pointed out.

Her lids fluttered. “I didn’t?”

“No.” What he wouldn’t give to tear the gold helmet from her head and reveal the mane she concealed underneath. Did she possess honey blond locks? Dark gold curls?

“What was the question, my lord?”

Christopher angled his head closer to hers. “What has you hiding away in Lord Thomas’s library? A clandestine meeting?” An overwhelming urge filled him, to reach out and stroke the silken curve of her cheek, to test if her skin was as smooth as it appeared.

She pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “Hardly, Odysseus.” Then, as if it weren’t just the two of them present, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wanted a moment away from Polite Society and knew I’d not find anyone here.” She blinked. “Well, you’re here, so not
everyone
. What of you? Are you avoiding someone?”

He was avoiding the reality of his circumstances. “I needed a break from the…”
Plans my father has for me.

“Cloying debutantes?” She winked saucily up at him.

He grinned.

Athena leveled herself upright and leaned closer to him. “And how do you know that I’m not one of those cloying debutantes.”

Christopher studied her too-full, lower lip, battling the urge to claim her lips under his. “Debutantes don’t wear red.”

Her smile grew; it highlighted a faint dimple in her right cheek.

His fingers fairly itched with the urge to reach out and caress that spot.

Then her smile dipped. “You aren’t…married?”

“No.” Not yet.

She must have detected the pause in his words for she nodded slowly. “I see.”

His mouth hardened. “If my father would have his way then I’ll be wed to a…particular woman.”

From atop her mask, her brow furrowed. “Ahh. That is the way of our society, isn’t it? My brother will see me betrothed as well.”

It was irrational. It defied logic. But God how he hated the nameless bastard who would claim her. Suddenly he didn’t want the intrusion of reality to suck the enchantment from this room. Christopher was not a romantic by nature; mayhap it was the masquerade, mayhap it was the magic of their costumes…but he was lost in the moment. “I don’t think you’d care to discuss your impending betrothal any more than I do.”

“No, you’re correct on that score.” There was a trace of dryness to her words. “So then what should we talk about? The costumes of the evening?”

“Never anything that dull,” he said, with a hand to his chest.

“Perhaps the stimulating company at Lord Thomas’s masquerade?”

“Now I know you’re teasing, sweet Athena.”

She drummed the tip of her finger along her lip. “Then what do you propose, dear Odysseus?”

“Your interests. What does a woman of your great intelligence find pleasure in?”

Merriment danced in her eyes. “You do know society frowns upon intelligent woman and yet in the span of, oh a quarter of an hour, you’ve decided I’m an intelligent woman?”

“I meant no insult.”

A little snort escaped her. “It would take a good deal more than that to insult me. I rather prefer being thought of as intelligent.”

“Hence the Athena costume?”

“Hence the Athena costume,” she agreed. There was a slight pause. “And you’ll tell me of your interests?”

He raised a hand to his breast. “I would bare my soul to you this evening.”

“Then I should be sure to ask very clever questions.”

Christopher caught her hand and helped her to her feet. She swayed against him; the uncharacteristic indulgence in spirits clearly responsible and not his touch, but still, he angled her body closer to his.

Her lids fluttered a moment, as though she were as captivated as he was, as though she’d been lured by the heady threat of discovery they both risked. “Your favorite book?” she whispered.

His Athena’s words sent him crashing down on a wave of reality. Nausea flooded Christopher. Her words transported him back to the merciless teasing he’d received as a young boy.

“Odysseus?”

Christopher forced a grin. “Only if you’ll tell me first.”

Athena spun out of his arms and danced away from him, on a husky laugh. “Where is the fun in that?” She threw open her arms. “We are in a library!”

Christopher arched a brow and studied her movements. “So?”

“So?”

She tugged a book from the shelf. “I shall find my favorite book and you will do the same. Then, we’ll exchange our volumes.”

Christopher couldn’t remember when the last time he’d had such a frivolous, yet whimsical meeting. It made him forget, even if for just a moment, his loathing for every last single volume in Lord Thomas’s library. “Very well.”

Her laughter blended with his as they separated and began to scour the shelves.

“Ahh,” she said.

Christopher glanced back in time to see her pull free a book and hug it tight to her chest, which effectively concealed the title.

“Have you found yours, Odysseus?”

“Insolent thing,” he muttered and returned to his search. He walked down aisle after aisle of Lord Thomas’s floor-length shelving and, finally paused, his gaze trained so long on the books in front of him that a dull throbbing ache developed behind his eyes.

“Odysseus?”

He jerked out a green leather volume. His eyes fixed on the title, willing it into focus but the words danced before his eyes, before ultimately falling off of the cover. He wanted to hurl the bloody book across the room. “I have it.”

His Athena crossed over to him, hugging her treasure close to her chest in a way that he envied that damn book. He’d give up his right to the marquisate to be that volume.

“On the count of three, we shall trade books.”

All his age old insecurities rushed to the forefront and he nearly choked on an all too familiar panic.

“One. Two. Three.”

Christopher studied the volume she’d handed him, and looked back at her. Perhaps she saw a spark of something in his eyes for she said, “Delphine.”

“Yes. I see that,” he lied.

Athena nodded to the copy she’d handed him. “Have you read it?” She didn’t wait for his response but instead prattled on about the book. “Do you know it was written by a woman? It was so controversial,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “that Napoleon exiled her for her views on women’s freedom in an aristocratic society. And…”

His silence seemed to register. She promptly closed her mouth.

How fascinating that his Athena should prefer this work. He thought back to what she’d said about her impending betrothal and wondered how much of her selection had to do with frustration over her limited freedom in choosing a husband.

She finally looked up at him.
Intrigue and Love
. “I’d hardly have taken you for a romantic.”

Christopher frowned. Bloody hell. He’d grabbed the closest book at hand and forced a grin. “Do you presume to know my interests so well after so little time, sweet Athena?” He thought of Lady Emmaline Fitzhugh; of how miserably he’d failed to woo her and granted that Athena might be right on that score. “Nor for that matter can
Intrigue and Love
be considered a romantic work.”

“It isn’t?” Athena frowned and glanced back down at it. “I suppose I should not make assumptions based off a title alone.” She held the copy back out to him.

Christopher accepted it and returned her volume over to her. He cleared his throat. “I’d imagine someone will be missing the both of us.” As loathe as he was to give up this blithe moment with his Athena, it would be disastrous to both of them if they were discovered here alone.

Athena nodded. She placed her copy back in its respective spot. “I feel as though it is wrong that we should say good-bye and never again see each other.” She made to take off her mask but Christopher set aside his book and took her fingers in his.

Propriety be damned. Masquerades were a time of forbidden kisses; a time when anything could happen. He turned them over and stared down at her soft palms. “I agree, sweet Athena. I don’t want to spoil this moment with revelations that will do neither of us any good.”