SHK (31 page)

“Maybe we should go home.”

“Stormy! You may never have another chance at a masquerade party. Enjoy yourself.

Your father will be here soon enough.” She shooed her out the door, promising she would be right behind her in a minute.

As Stormy descended the grand staircase, she spied her father walking in, bold as brass in a captain’s uniform and an eye patch that hid very little of his handsome face. She did a quick turnabout and hastened back to the ladies retiring room.

“He’s here.” She beamed, because Annemarie perked up like a rose after a good rain.

She took but a second to primp in front of the cheval glass standing in the corner, then hurried out of the room.

Stormy watched from the top of the stairs as her mother played the barmaid to the hilt.

Swaying her hips and smiling with a come-hither smile, she tried to beguile her husband, who apparently had no clue that his wife hid under that curly blond wig.

Glad to know her parents had found each other, Stormy tripped down the stairs to make her way to the sumptuous buffet laid out in the next room.

Trevor tried to ignore the woman in the barmaid costume, but she simply continued to flaunt herself in his face. He even rolled his bottom lip between his teeth to control himself, but to no avail. Clasping his hands behind his back, he glared down at the persistent lady. “Madam, I am looking for a particular partner. I mean no offense, but I must beg you to find yourself someone else.”

A thrill of satisfaction chased through Annemarie, when she realized he had not recognized her and was peering past her and beyond at the sea of dancers. “La, that shouldn’t stop you from giving me a little kiss, captain.”

Recognition dawned on him the moment she spoke. Though she tried to hide her accent by lowering her voice to a sultry sotto voce, the slight nuance of her American lilt was hard to disguise. Well, he would teach the imp a lesson.

Gazing down at her through narrowed eyes, he growled, “You are a brazen, little piece, wench. Maybe I will take you up on that kiss after all.” His long arm snaked around her slim waist and he dragged her against his broad chest, kissing her long and hard.

It had been a long while since he had kissed her quite that passionately and it robbed Annemarie of speech. She wanted to stop him, chastise him for dallying with another woman, but he refused to let her speak. Instead, he scooped her into his arms and headed down one of the hallways. Pressing his finger to her mouth, he opened a door, peeked in and finding the room empty, he slipped inside and locked it behind him.

The room was dark and smelled of ink and papers. It dawned on her that they were inside the Wessex study or library, but she could barely generate a rational thought, because he continued to kiss her with studied deliberation.

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Since he knew all the right places to touch and caress to render her defenseless, he managed to subdue her quite easily. The moment she felt the coolness of a breeze on her bare skin, she knew she was in trouble. Holy mother of Mary, this had gone all wrong. She had to stop him. This had gone far enough.

And suddenly his hands were in her wig and it landed on top of her clothing on the floor.

He grinned down at her, loving every naked inch of her more than ever. “I recognized you the moment you called me captain. Until that time you had me thoroughly fooled. But I am so hard for you, I can’t wait until we get home.” His hands spanned around her slim waist and he lifted her to the top of the mahogany desk.

He gave her no time to protest, but moved between her thighs, grunting in male satisfaction, when he found her damp and ready for his penetration.

Annemarie’s eyes widened in a mélange of bliss and shock, but now that she knew it was Trevor, she could not hold back either. Heat shot through her like a bolt of lightning and settled like a hot coil at the junction of her legs. She made a mental note to give him a piece of her mind when they got home, but right now, she just wanted him inside her.

Stormy stood at the buffet table, her stomach growling in an unladylike manner. Well, she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, because she had been so excited over this ball. She ladled a small piece of aspic onto her plate, her mouth watering just from the look of the delicate creation. Some chef had to have spent hours making these gelatin flowers with meat inside. She took an experimental bite and closed her eyes in ecstasy. It tasted as good as it looked.

She suddenly knew she was no longer alone in the room. She pivoted slowly on the heel of her slipper and gasped. A man dressed in the costume of a highwayman stood in the doorway, one wide shoulder leaning casually against the jamb, his gaze pinning her with dark intensity.

She shivered, though she felt quite warm.

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André protested. “I am in no mood to dance or make small talk. And I distinctly dislike masquerade balls.”

His friends quickly voted him down. “Old man, you are so rarely in the city and this is the perfect way to dally with the ladies. They feel safe under their masks, and we know they won’t recognize us afterwards either.” They guffawed, quite pleased with themselves.

Since he had refused to procure a costume, they took it upon themselves to forage through his armoire and trunks. He almost groaned, when they handed him his black cape, the black silk shirt and breeches that made up his highwayman’s outfit. Bloody hell, he dared not let on that he had masqueraded as a thieving outlaw, so he shrugged into the garments, his mood blacker than ever. Maybe he looked forbidding enough, so no one would want to partner him.

That thought fled his mind, when he noticed a Spanish dancer sway into the ante-room, where the buffet was served. Something about the delectable creature lured him like a bee to honey. Should he ask her to dance? A dance wouldn’t do any harm, and Stormy would understand if the topic ever arose.

He followed her, but stopped in the doorway, still wondering why he would feel so attracted to the Spanish dancer. His insides turned to water, when his eyes followed her hand to her opening mouth. The chit was a temptress. But he could not give in to the lust that coursed through him. He owed Stormy his loyalty.

A sliver of guilt sluiced through him. God, how could he even forget her for a moment?

And how must she feel right now not knowing whether he was dead or alive? The minute he put his audience with the magistrate behind him, he would ride back to Emerald Hills and explain his long absence. Just thinking of her aroused him. They’d only had that one night together, but he would never forget the feel of her silken thighs, the uninhibited way she had moved against him or the ecstasy they experienced together.

His vision clouded with desire … and the object of his perusal stood suddenly within arm’s length in front of him.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” She spoke in the barest of whispers, her eyes behind her mask unfathomable in the candlelit room.

André straightened. Sweeping his slouch hat from his head, he bowed. “If we had met somewhere, I doubt I would ever forget your allure, madam.”

She tried to see past the eyeholes in his mask without success. Carefully choosing her words and speaking softly in the English accent she had studied, she asked, “Would you per chance have a twin?”

The smile that greeted her question was devastating and revealed a set of strong, white teeth. He bowed again. “If I did, I would not share you with him. But instead of trying to guess each other’s identity, why not favor me with the next dance? Unmasking is only another half hour away. While we dance, we’ll get to know each other.” Cocking his head to the side, he chuckled. “By that time you might decide that I am an utter bore and hurry out without looking back.”

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He offered his arm, before she could reply. The moment they touched a zing of awareness went through them. Aghast, their gazes met and fused for the duration of several heartbeats.

Stormy thought she would faint. How fickle a girl was she anyway? Did she really know what it meant to be in love? André probably lay somewhere in a shallow grave and here she flirted with the first man who remotely reminded her of him.

With a gasp of alarm she withdrew her hand, picked up her skirts and started to run. She raced heedlessly through the throng of people and straight into the arms of her father, who stood at the top of the stairs leading into the ballroom.

Stormy noticed a tension around his sculpted mouth. She’d never seen her father so mussed and out of sorts. Her heart picked up its beat as panic shot through her.

“Is something the matter, Papa?”

“I have been looking for you. Your mother is not feeling well. I am taking her home and I will come back for you later.”

“No, no, I am not staying behind, not since I know mother is not feeling well.”

Trevor glanced at his daughter. “You don’t have to leave on account of your mother, sweeting. She’ll be fine, but you look a little flushed. Are you sure you are all right?”

Stormy raised a hand to her head. “I really want to leave. I feel a bit overwhelmed by this throng of people. I think I danced too much and ate too little.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and let him lead her away.

Caught by surprise, André stood mesmerized for several long moments and stared after his mysterious dancer, before he had the good sense to follow. His mouth curled into a sneer, when he saw her leave on the arm of a man dressed as a sea captain.

Saved by the bell, he thought bitterly. It had to have been the heat in the room that muddled his senses. He certainly couldn’t blame his behavior on a solitary glass of brandy.

Bloody hell, what sort of roué was he anyway? Damn, to make matters worse, he depended on George Fitzsimmons to get home. He went in search of his friend to ask if he were ready to leave. Since André had come on horseback to London, he had no carriage at his disposal. So they’d decided beforehand that if neither had any luck with the ladies they would leave before midnight and go to White’s for a few hands of Whist. He spied George pressed into a secluded niche with an obviously willing damsel, his hand firmly embedded under her bodice.

He chuckled. Lucky bastard. He turned on his heel, since he had no intention of spoiling the man’s fun.

He walked back to the room, where the buffet was served and helped himself to a plateful of canapés. Taking his food out to the terrace, he sat on the cement balustrade and leaned his broad back against the solid brick of the wall. His eyes strayed to the stars, and he wondered what Stormy might be doing.

Did he truly have the right to ask for her hand in marriage? Was he ready for such a commitment? His mind’s eye painted a distinct picture of the Spanish dancer and sent a curl of lust through him. Bloody hell, what if he had danced with the lady and she would have been willing to take their evening a step further? Would he have taken her up on it?

Disgusted with the direction his thoughts were taking him, he left his untouched plate of food on the balustrade. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he wandered deeper into the lantern lit gardens.

Stormy sat across from her parents, still shocked over her encounter with the man dressed as a highwayman. She needed time alone, time to cry and gather her senses. And it irritated her STORMY HEIDE KATROS

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to see her parents cuddling close like young lovers, her mother tittering at something her father whispered in her ear, and not looking at all as if she suffered from heat exhaustion.

Frustrated, she looked out the window, though there was nothing much to see. The streets were mostly thrown in darkness, except for the lanterns placed at regular intervals along the main road.

She raised a finely shaped brow when her father lifted her mother from the carriage and carried her inside. Shame hit her with full force. Though she could not identify what might ail her mother, she must be ill or father would not carry her.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked breathlessly as she tried to keep pace with her father’s stride.

“No, sweetheart, a good night’s rest will be all that your mother needs. She will be all right come morning. I promise.”

Stormy watched him disappear through the door of their suite and hurried on to her own rooms.

She stripped out of her costume and laid it carefully across the back of a chair.

Grandmamma had said that costumes were usually stored for another ball or another person.

Well, she hoped the next wearer would have more fun than she had tonight.

She pulled her nightgown over her head and tiredly combed the tangles out of her hair. It took more effort to wash off the face paint. Exhausted, she slipped under the covers.

But as tired as she was, she could not find sleep immediately. Flipping on her back she stared at the silken canopy over her bed. Had she been foolish to run from the man in that highwayman’s garb? But he had reminded her so much of André, she simply couldn’t have danced with him.

Drawing the quilt over her mouth, she stifled the sob that hovered on her lips. But she could not stop the tears from leaking down her cheeks. Despondent, she rolled to her side and cried herself to sleep.

Stormy woke to a rainy morning, and as she sat up in bed she decided that she would seize the time that remained in England and simply dance to her heart’s content. No more masquerades for her. She wanted to see the man she danced with and judge him on his own merit.

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The encounter with the Spanish dancer left André in a state of turmoil. His need to get his life in order seemed more pertinent than ever. He felt slightly better when word came that the magistrate finally agreed to hear his complaint.