A Honeymoon Masquerade (2 page)

“Go to bed,” he repeated, nipping the lobe of her ear for good measure.

Pulling away, she moved to do as he said, casting him a glance over her shoulder before she went. It took everything within her not to break into a run the moment she reached the hall—there were far too many servants around for such unseemly behavior. Instead, she held her back ramrod straight and ascended the staircase with as much dignity as she could muster. Once on the third floor, she turn and made a mad dash for her chamber, throwing the door open to find it empty.

No ladies maid.

Camden was definitely up to something.

She discovered just what that ‘something’ was when she approached the bed. A wide smile broke out across her face as she gazed down at the items resting on top of the counterpane.

Black and red satin, encrusted with beading and delicate lace transported her back to a night that had seemed so long ago, yet stood out in her memory as if it had only been yesterday. A night of mystery, dancing, and revelry. A night of masks and secrets.

The night she and Camden had met and began the affair leading to their marriage.

Reaching down, she ran her fingers over the embroidery along the neckline, smiling as she remembered his eyes travelling over every inch of her in the provocative gown. Next to it rested the matching slippers, gloves, and mask, as well as folded slip of paper with her name scrawled across the front.

Lifting it, she unfolded the scrap to find Camden’s haphazard handwriting.

Margaret,

Before we embark upon the celebration of our nuptials tomorrow, I want to take an evening to remember the beginning. The night you changed my life forever. Shall we have another masquerade?

All is in preparation in the ballroom. Get dressed and meet me there. I promise you a night you’ll never forget.

Yours,

Camden.

P.S. – leave off the drawers.

Giggling, she set his note aside and set about undressing. It proved a slow task without the help of a ladies maid, but for this evening he must have known she would prefer to dress in private. She took a moment to dab on Camden’s favorite rose-scented perfume before dressing, foregoing a corset, chemise, or drawers. She did, however, wear a pair of black stockings, knowing her husband liked making love to her while she wore them and nothing else.

Giddy with excitement, she hurriedly removed the pins from her hair, leaving the soft waves hanging down her back. Sitting before her vanity mirror, she lined her eyes with kohl and dabbed light rogue on her lips. Finishing her ensemble with the gloves, slippers, and mask, she left her room, taking the stairs to the second floor and the ballroom. She found the halls deserted as she made her way there, and wondered if Camden hadn’t sent the servants off to bed early.

The doors to the ballroom were closed up tight, but she detected light shining from beneath them. When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her stole her very breath away.

A table had been placed at the center of the ballroom, surrounded by silver candelabras holding dripping tapers. The glow of the little yellow flames glinted from polished silverware, and pristine glass—a table laden with dessert and other sweets for two, as well as champagne. Bursts of red filled the space—more red roses than she could count, arranged beautifully in tall vases.

In the midst of it all stood Camden, dashing in his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and breeches—all in black and white. The plain, black mask he’d worn the night of the masquerade covered the upper half of his face, allowing his eyes to show through, gleaming in the candlelight like sapphires.

Hands clasped behind his back, he approached her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“The lady arrives,” he murmured, pausing just before her. “Now we can begin.”

Bringing one hand from behind his back, he extended a solitary rose to her. This one had petals as white as new-fallen snow.

She accepted it, bringing the blossom up to her nose. Inhaling, she sighed as the floral scent filled her nostrils.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” she said.

His smile faded, and he swayed closer to her, until their bodies touched. “My entire life,” he replied, reaching up to stroke the line of her jaw. “But that wait is over. I’ve found you.”

She melted against him, his words causing her pulse to drum in her throat swiftly. “I’d wondered what you’ve been up to,” she said. “The roses, the candles … oh, Camden it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the table. “We have only just begun. I hope you do not mind, I took the liberty of ordering your favorites.”

Turning her attention toward the table, she found strawberries and an assortment of tartlets—lemon, apple, cream-filled with chocolate drizzle—alongside the champagne.

“Dessert and champagne? You certainly know the way to a woman’s heart.”

Lifting the bottle from its ice bucket, he filled two glasses. Extending one to her, he lifted his own.

“To love,” he said, inclining his head. “And its uncanny ability to sneak up on one from the most unexpected of places.”

Touching her glass to his, she smiled. “To love.”

Camden waited until Margaret had finished her first glass of champagne to unveil his next surprise of the evening. Through the slits of his black mask, he watched her, pride filling him at the knowledge that she belonged to him.

Three months ago, if someone had told him that he would be wed by the end of the season—and to a young debutante and daughter of a baron, no doubt—he would have laughed in their faces.

Yet, just as he’d said during his toast, love had taken him by surprise. Now, he could hardly imagine his life without Maggie. A man who’d often ridiculed romance and flights of fancy, he now found himself wanting to do everything he could to show his wife how special she had become to him. The idea of recreating a masquerade had come to him weeks ago, and he’d known she would enjoy it. His passionate little wife loved new experiences—a few of which he intended to introduce her too tonight.

Reaching onto the table, he lifted the music box he’d stashed there. It had taken him hours of searching through the storage closets off the ballroom, but he’d eventually struck gold. His mother had been very fond of music boxes, and had kept many stored for the rare occasion they had a small gathering without musicians. The late duchess had never wanted a young lady to go without a dance partner, so she would send a servant for the music boxes so they could have accompaniment without one of the young dames having to play the pianoforte. He’d dusted off two waltzes just for this evening—Maggie’s favorite dance.

“What’s a masquerade without music?” he mused aloud, winding one of the boxes. Setting it down, he extended his arms to her as the soft melody filled the air.

Without speaking, she fell into his arms and he carried her across the gleaming marble floor. They moved together with an effortless grace, as if they’d been made to perform this dance together. He held her much closer than he would have in public, melding her against him from breast to thigh. His breath hitched as he realized she wore nothing beneath her gown—not even a corset. It was just the sort of thing she knew would drive him mad with want.

“Do you remember our first waltz?” he asked, hoping to distract himself from her state of near nudity. Now wasn’t the time to rip her gown to shreds and take her on the ballroom floor.

She smiled. “Oh, of course. Such a romantic setting—the gardens, the lanterns, you in your black and white wearing your mask.”

“You recognized me, despite the mask,” he pointed out.

Her voice dropped, becoming low and husky when she replied. “I’d know you anywhere.”

“I think a part of me knew you, too. Not your name, or anything like that, of course. I mean … I think maybe my heart recognized something my mind had yet to realize. You were the one.”

“I suppose you should be grateful, then, that I pursued you.”

Guiding her into a turn, he held her even closer and bent his head for a kiss. She melted against him and the dance ended as she clung to him, greeting his tongue with her eager one.

He pulled away, giving her a wink from behind his mask. “Eternally grateful.”

Straightening, he offered her his arm and led her back toward the table. Refilling her champagne glass, he handed it to her.

“Someone is trying to get me good and foxed,” she murmured.

Grasping her waist, he lifted her up onto the edge of the table. Leaning over her, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and inhaled in heady scent.

“Hmmmm,” he mumbled, punctuating it by running his tongue over the vein thrumming with her pulse. “Perhaps I am.”

Tipping her head back, she took a healthy swallow—a far cry from the timid thing accustomed to only one glass.

Straightening, he plucked a strawberry from the dish nearby. After dunking it into her glass to soak it in champagne, he held it up to her lips. The red berry glistened with champagne, a matching shade to the rogue drawing attention to her pretty little mouth. She parted her lips for the berry, her tongue creeping out to catch a drop of champagne dripping from its edge. Closing her eyes, she sighed while she chewed. He ate the rest of the berry while taking up his own glass of champagne. Standing between his wife’s spread legs, he fed her strawberries and plied her with champagne until she was rosy-cheeked and giggling.

Taking up one of the cream-filled tartlets—her favorite—he held up in front of her.

“More sweets for my sweet?”

She giggled, swaying precariously on the table. “If you don’t stop feeding me, I’m going to grow big as a house!”

He edged the treat closer, arching one eyebrow. “Then there will just be more of you to love. Enjoy it Magie. You are hardly in danger of losing your lovely figure.”

Opening her mouth, she ate the tartlet from between his fingers, caressing the digits with her tongue as she did. The velvety rasp caused heat to surge in his veins, and he reached for another, promptly offering it to her once she’d swallowed. This one left a dollop of chocolate on his fingertip, which he smeared over her lower lip. Capturing it in a kiss, he lapped at her lip, groaning as the flavor assaulted him in one sweet rush.

“Chocolate and Margaret,” he murmured. “An intriguing combination. I must have more.”

Taking one of her hands, he gently tugged the silk glove covering her slender fingers. He bared the other in the same way, deliberately taking his time and allowing the fabric to caress her skin. Bringing one of her hands up to his lips, he kissed the palm, then skimmed toward her fingers, placing another shorter peck against them.

Her breath hitched as he caught her index finger in her mouth, slowly sucking it between his lips and caressing it with his tongue. Reaching across the table with her free hand, she swiped another dollop of chocolate from one of the tartlets, coating her fingertip with it. Extending it to him, she watched, lips parted, as he licked the smear of chocolate before sucking the slender digit into his mouth as he’d done the other. Grasping her wrist, he treated each digit to the same treatment, swirling his tongue around them and suckling gently, causing her breath to quicken with each caress.

Reaching behind her, he began opening her gown. Bending down, he placed a row of tender kisses along her exposed shoulder.

“I seem to remember the taste of you being well complimented by champagne,” he whispered, turning to nibble her earlobe. “Why don’t you refill that glass for me while I finish undressing you?”

Pulling one of her arms free of the bodice, she reached for the champagne bottle and poured a liberal amount in his empty flute, sloshing a bit over the rim of the glass when he paused to take one of her nipples between his teeth.

He pulled the gown down to her waist, faltering as she lifted her hips for him to lower it completely. He stood upright, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of her, reclined against her elbows on the table, nude save for her mask and the black silk stockings cover her legs from mid-thigh to toe.

“So bloody beautiful,” he murmured, grasping one soft thigh and trailing upward. “I thought I knew what beauty was. I’ve always surrounded myself with beautiful things—prided myself on my taste in women. You cannot imagine how I felt the first time I gazed upon your naked body and realized I didn’t know a damn thing. I know what beauty is now.”

Reaching up, she grasped the nape of his neck and pulled him over her. Raising her head, she kissed him, sliding her fingers through his hair. She raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist and drawing him closer—so close her mons brushed the erection fighting against the front of his breeches. His stomach contracted, desire driving the air from his lungs and sending even more blood surging to his cock.

“You always know just what to say,” she whispered, smiling as she released him.

“Now it’s your turn to talk,” he declared, taking up the filled champagne glass. “Tell me, love … would you like to feel this champagne running over your beautiful tits? Do you want me to lap it off, drink it from your skin?”

Throwing her head back, she arched her back in invitation. “Yes, Camden,” she whispered. “I want that.”

“What my duchess wants …”

Lifting the glass, he tilted it, smirking as the golden champagne trickled over her left breast, causing her gasp. Splashing the right breast in the same way, he watched as the champagne sluiced over both round globes and trickled down between them, racing toward her navel.

Lowering his head, he caught the first trickling rivulet, tracing it back up the way it had come to the valley between her breasts. The soft flesh heaved as her breath became harsh and rapid in response to his searching tongue. His open mouth skimmed her stomach, his tongue capturing the streams of champagne and lapping them from her soft skin.

Taking her breasts in his palms, he pressed them together, running his tongue from one to the other. Her nipples responded, hardening and swelling against his tongue. He circled each one before delving into the valley between them, then tasting each crest. He suckled and licked until he felt certain he’d captured every drop of champagne, then kissed them some more—until she moaned and writhed against him, her heels digging into his tailbone and urging him closer.