Rapturous Rakes Bundle (13 page)

blush. She knew that she was not telling the truth.

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‘I cannot allow you to be any different from the rest,

my lord.’ Rebecca knew she was weakening. If he

touched her again...

But he did not. She saw the shadow of something

come into his eyes, almost as though he had recalled

some barrier that stood between them. He touched her

cheek lightly in a gentle caress that she felt shiver

through her body.

‘Be careful, Rebecca Raleigh,’ he said.

And it was odd, but later she wondered why his

words had sounded like a farewell.

Chapter
Four

‘Rebecca, it is decided. You are coming with me to

a ball this evening.’ Nan Astley marched triumphantly

into Rebecca’s studio the following evening and sur-

veyed her friend with amused disapproval. ‘Look at

you! It is past nine and you are still working. You will

become the dullest creature imaginable if you carry on

in this way!’

Rebecca laughed and reluctantly laid down her di-

amond scribe. She rubbed her eyes, which felt gritty

from tiredness. ‘I have to work. I need the money.’

Nan made a tutting sound. ‘Not tonight. You are

wan as a bowl of whey. Tonight you are coming out

with me. It will cheer you up.’

‘Not tonight, Nan,’ Rebecca besought. ‘Please! I am

tired—’

Nan made a derisive noise. ‘Then a change of scene

is what you need to help raise your spirits.’ Her face

puckered. ‘I worry about you, Becca, sitting here and

working your fingers to the bone.’

‘I hope it is not the Cyprians’ Ball.’ Rebecca could

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feel herself weakening. ‘I have not forgotten that you

tried to persuade me to attend last year.’

‘Of course it is not!’ Nan looked virtuous. ‘Would

I take you to such an event? No, this is only a small,

private affair. Besides, it is a masked ball, so no one

will recognise you. It is taking place at Carlisle House.

What could be more respectable?’

‘Almost anything,’ Rebecca murmured. She pushed

her chair back from the workbench and got stiffly to

her feet. The idea of going out was curiously appeal-

ing. She was tired of staring at the same four walls

and enduring little but her own company. To go out

amidst the bright lights and a crowd of people, to lose

herself for one evening in noise and company and col-

our and
life
... Suddenly the idea seemed powerfully

attractive. She had been living solitary for so long that

she felt starved of fun. Yet a worry nagged at the back

of her mind. There was something tense about Nan,

as though she would brook no refusal; although her

friend caught her glance and gave her a brilliant smile

that seemed to contradict Rebecca’s thoughts, still she

felt vaguely wary.

‘I have no suitable gown—’ she began, looking for

excuses, but Nan waved the objection aside.

‘I have brought one with me.’ She gestured to the

fall of cherry-red silken stuff in her arms. ‘It will be-

come you exceedingly. I will do your hair. Now come

along! We only have an hour. I do not wish to leave

Bosham unattended for long or one of those dreadful

Wilson sisters will snap him up. They have been wait-

ing to pounce on him for months!’

Rebecca had no more chance to demur, for Nan was

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The
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Mistress

already steering her towards the rickety wooden stair-

case and up to her narrow chamber. The room was

sparse but it had a dressing-table and a mirror, and

Nan appeared to have brought all the other items that

she required to transform Rebecca from ugly duckling

into, if not an elegant swan, precisely, then a seductive

siren. It was so contrary to Rebecca’s normal style of

dress that, when she saw her finished reflection, she

almost choked.

After three-quarters of an hour, they were ready to

leave. Whenever Rebecca thought Nan wasn’t looking

she would try to hoist up the front of the red silk dress,

which had a scandalously low
dećolletage
and some

artfully cut lace that seemed to accentuate rather than

conceal the curves of Rebecca’s breasts.

‘Do leave the gown alone, Rebecca,’ Nan scolded,

when she saw her. ‘I do not know why you are fussing.

It is demure enough for a nun!’

‘Only the sort of abbess who runs a Covent Garden

bawdy house,’ Rebecca muttered. She wrapped her

black cloak about her, trying to cover the exposed bits.

Thank goodness for the black velvet mask with the

matching cherry ribbons. If anyone was going to rec-

ognise any part of her, it certainly would not be her

face.

It was only when they reached Carlisle House that

Rebecca began to suspect that she had underestimated

the nature of the party. Either that, or Nan had delib-

erately misled her by understating the case. It
was
a

masked ball, but in the style of a Venetian masque,

which had been popular in the previous century. A

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crush of guests thronged the huge ballroom, which was

lit by at least five hundred candles. The light reflected

off the long, gold-framed mirrors, and it seemed that

an endless parade of dazzlingly attired strangers cir-

cled in the dance. They were dressed in every costume

imaginable, from pirates and highwaymen to shep-

herdesses and Roman goddesses, and some were rather

more undressed than others. The scene was decadent,

rich and glittering with vivid life. Rebecca felt as

though she had stepped into another world, and one

she was not sure she could deal with.

Nan squeezed her arm. ‘I told you it would be fun,

Becca,’ she said smugly.

Rebecca had stopped on the threshold and now she

almost choked at what was before her eyes. ‘A small

party?’ she said faintly. ‘Nan—’

Her mouth fell open even farther as she saw a young

woman who was disporting herself with a couple of

bucks. Her dress appeared to have lost its bodice and

the rest of it was nothing more than a gauzy net about

her legs. Not that the gentlemen were complaining as

they chased her about the room with loud hunting

cries.

Nan laughed. ‘That is Miss Chudleigh making a

fool of herself as usual. I declare her gowns get

younger as she grows older! No wonder Lord Fre-

mantle looks to find himself a new mistress.’

Rebecca gave her a sharp look, for Nan’s words had

penetrated her awed reaction to the spectacle of the

masque. ‘Lord Fremantle? Is he here tonight?’

Nan shrugged airily. ‘Lud, who knows? We are all

incognito. Is it not the most delicious fun?’

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The
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Mistress

Rebecca was beginning to wonder. Nan, with her

flimsy blue silk and lace dress, her outrageous peacock

feathers in her hair, and her blue peacock mask, was

already attracting plenty of male attention. No matter

what she had said earlier, she did not seem at all in-

clined to find Lord Bosham in the throng and was

giving her hand to a gentleman in harlequin’s costume,

who seemed intent on carrying her off. Rebecca felt a

flutter of panic. She had not expected this and sud-

denly it seemed an alien world, dangerous and raffish,

and she an innocent thrown to the lions.

‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, madam?’ A

gentleman was bowing before her and, although he

was costumed and masked, Rebecca had an absolute

conviction that it was Lord Fremantle. He took her

hand and her skin crawled. Behind the mask his eyes

were a dead fish stare and his face a pasty white. Re-

becca swallowed the repulsion in her throat.

‘Thank you, sir, but I do not dance.’

The gentleman pressed a little closer. She could feel

his hot breath on her neck. ‘Indeed?’ His flat, marble

gaze appraised her from behind the mask, dropping to

the neckline of her dress in insulting perusal. ‘If you

do not dance, what
do
you do?’

‘What the lady means is that she is not at liberty to

dance with you, sir, because she is promised to me,’

a smooth voice interposed from behind them.

Both Rebecca and Fremantle spun around.

Rebecca’s heart contracted. There was a gentleman

standing directly before her. He was wearing a black

domino and a plain black mask behind which his eyes

glittered as he watched her. There was something both

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101

relaxed and dangerous in his stance, as though he was

quite prepared for Fremantle to oppose him and knew

precisely what to do if he did. Despite the disguise,

Rebecca knew for certain that it was Lord Lucas Kes-

trel.

He stepped a little closer and she could tell from

his eyes that he was smiling behind the mask. Had he

recognised her? Rebecca felt a moment’s alarm.

He was offering her his arm. ‘Come, my sweeting.

I am sorry to have left you alone for so long.’

Rebecca was torn. She wanted to escape Fremantle

but she did not want to step into Lucas Kestrel’s arms.

In the heated atmosphere of the masque, that would

be very perilous. Fremantle, sensing her reluctance,

placed one fleshy hand on her arm.

‘I cannot see that the lady is promised to you, sir,

when there is no formality at such an event as this.’

‘If there is no formality,’ the black domino said,

gently mocking, ‘then you cannot object to me spir-

iting the lady away, sir.’

Fremantle bridled. ‘I think the lady should choose

for herself.’

‘By all means,’ the black domino agreed smoothly.

Rebecca made her choice. In truth, there was no real

alternative, for she would accept Lucas Kestrel over

Alexander Fremantle any day. The difficulty would be

in preserving her disguise against Lucas and in getting

away from him as swiftly as possible before he un-

masked her. She felt quite hot and faint at the thought.

She dropped Lord Fremantle a slight curtsy. ‘Ex-

cuse me, sir.’

Fremantle stiffened, then bowed abruptly. ‘Very

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The
Rake’s
Mistress

well.’ He turned back to Rebecca. ‘A dance is a paltry

matter, but I demand to be first in all else.’ He walked

away.

Rebecca released her breath sharply and turned to

the black domino, who was still waiting, his head tilted

quizzically. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said.

He took a step closer to her. ‘My lord?’ he ques-

tioned softly.

Rebecca smiled slightly. ‘If I am a lady, sir, then

surely you must be a lord.’

The black domino laughed. ‘Do you imply that you

are playing a part, madam?’

‘We are all doing that tonight, sir.’

‘So we are,’ the black domino murmured. His

breath stirred the ribbons that held her mask in place

and Rebecca shivered. She yielded slightly as he

placed his arm about her waist and drew her towards

the ballroom. It was an intimacy, but one that did not

seem out of place at a masque where the behaviour

was already approaching, or even exceeding, the li-

centious. In fact, it felt more protective than danger-

ous, as though he had staked a claim and no other

would be permitted to approach her.

‘So which part do you play tonight, madam?’ he

asked. He looked across at Nan Astley, laughing be-

hind her peacock mask as a gentleman whispered se-

crets in her ear. ‘You are not the peacock or the shep-

herdess or the pirate queen...’

The
pirate
queen.
Rebecca almost laughed aloud.

The decadence of the masque was having a curious

effect on her, as though she felt freed from the normal

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103

constraints she laid on her own behaviour. She felt

reckless, lighter than air.

She met the shadowed gaze behind the mask. ‘As I

said, I am the lady tonight, sir.’

‘Ah, I see. The lady. Respectable, virtuous and, oh,

so untouchable...’ His lips brushed her bare shoulder

and the heat ripped through her with shocking inten-