Night of Pleasure (25 page)

She had never been one to willingly play games, even as a child, for she considered most of them pointless. But she had to admit, pointless games led to something more meaningful. Getting to know a person through simple and mindless entertainment.

This was going to be fun. Clementine sipped the champagne, eyeing Derek. “I’ve never played before, so permit me to cheat.”

He groaned. “That isn’t fair. Stop drinking the game!”

She tsked. “You always set the rules whenever we played your games back in ’23, so permit me to set this one.” She took a few more sips, lowering the level of champagne to about half and then daintily set it on her gloved hand, trying to balance it. It stayed. She couldn’t believe it. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five—” The glass tilted and tumbled to the side, spraying champagne as glass shattered.

She scrambled back and then yelled, “Six, seven, eight, nine and ten!
Ten
! Let it be known to all in masks that I won! I made it to ten!” Yes. She had a sense of humor.

Men and women clapped and laughed.

Derek lowered his chin and smirked. “I’m asking for a second opinion on that win.”

She pointed at him. “I’d be more than happy to do it again.”

He jumped over the broken glass. Skidding next to her, he leaned in. He hesitated then said in a soft, genuine tone, “How is your night so far?”

Knowing people were watching them, she shyly offered, “Absolutely wonderful. How is your night?”

“Even better than yours.” He stepped back and gestured toward the dance floor. “Might I interest you in a tamer version of the minuet that won’t involve you landing on the floor? For it would be an honor to dance with my wife.” He paused and eyed her. “Do you know that I have waited seven long years to call you my wife?”

Her heart squeezed and in that moment, Clementine realized
this
was her life-long companion. Not the one who had forever tried to seduce her and frisk her, but the one who simply wanted to adore her and share a life with her. It was a beautiful feeling. One she had been waiting to feel.

Taking his arm, she said, “Thank you for waiting seven years.”

He captured her gaze and lingered. “Say that again.”

It was like he needed assurance after everything she had put him through. She tightened her hold on his arm and offered, “Thank you for waiting seven years.”

He smiled. “You are most welcome.”

Later that evening, well past midnight

Her father hadn’t touched a single finger of liquor or champagne all night. Without her even having to ask him to. It made her remember why she had always loved her father. Because when it mattered most, he was always willing to prove the strength of his heart. A heart that had been beaten out of his chest so many times. And even though he normally never danced, he danced with not only Derek’s mother but every woman wanting a dance partner.

She knew he was dancing out of happiness.

The world had become so achingly lovely. After she had danced all night with Derek, who laughed and grinned in a way that made her glimpse that crazy boy of seventeen, they became silly and snatched more flutes of champagne from passing trays and dared each other to balance the filled glasses on their arms, instead of their palms. Other guests had also joined in on trying to balance glasses on their hands. It was stupid but so much fun.

Not that there were any more glasses to break or any guests left to get stupid with.

Even her father, Lady Banfield, and Andrew had departed for the night.

“No more wine for any of you!” a woman sternly scolded. “You ought to be
ashamed
. Between the four of you, I believe you’ve emptied every last bottle in this house. Now come along!”

Muffled giggles escaped a group of four young women as they stumbled and bustled by with their chaperone in tow, their feathered peacock masks wagging and only revealing their bright playful eyes.

“Congratulations, cousin dearest!” one of them called, flopping a gloved wrist. “Thank you for all the…
wine
!” They burst into uncontrollable giggles.

Derek hadn’t been lying when he said he had a lot of family. She thought she had met every last one. Fortunately, merriment aside, none of them had gotten into any arguments. “Good night,” she called back as her gaze turned to the departing flock of colorful skirts, her view of the world limited to the round slits of her own Venetian mask.

She lowered her gloved hand, realizing there was no one left in the ballroom but footmen and servants tending to the scraping of wax on the floors and the gathering of silver trays filled with leftover champagne. She pushed up her mask and glanced around. “Derek?”

The servants kept scraping and gathering in silence.

It was eerie. The whole house had gone quiet.

Gathering her skirts, she made her way out toward the adjoining candle-lit corridor where shadows inked every corner. She could hear her own breaths. Where was he? She’d seen him about fifteen minutes ago. “Derek?”

A large hand caught her gloved hand and tugged her back toward the wall the person was leaning against. “What took you so long?”

Her heart popped. She bumped against his solid, muscled frame, pushing him into the wall. “What are you—”

“I had to see the last of our guests out the door.” He grabbed her corseted waist with his other bare hand and molded her firmly to his body. “I practically threw them out.” Although half his face was hidden, his sultry brown eyes captured hers through the slits of the black mask hugging his brow and nose. “We should retire,” he said as his shaven jaw tightened. “What do you think?”

Her heart pounded, knowing what he wanted. She couldn’t focus knowing that her breasts were pressed against his waistcoat and chest. But she tried. She focused on what she wanted most for them: a real relationship. Something her parents never had. “The stars are out,” she offered. “Do you want to go outside and talk?”

He tightened his hold even more, making her fully aware of every rigid muscle in his body. “I’m not interested in talking or looking at stars. I’m looking at a star right now.”

She stared up at his visible lips, remembering all too well how her entire body had erupted by the command of his tongue. He wasn’t making this easy. “I was hoping we could talk.”

His mouth quirked. “After.” His hand slid across the back of her gown, his fingers tracing the stitched pearls sewn into her moonstone evening gown. “Expect to be up all night,” he whispered.

He bent over and yanked her up and into his arms, startling her. He effortlessly carried her up the stairs and then deposited her onto the landing before him.

His warm hand jumped to hers and tightened. Using his other hand, he stripped his mask and tossed it over the railing of the staircase below, causing his queue to come undone. His brown hair fell around his face and onto the top of his broad shoulders. He nuzzled her cheek. “I’m going to behave long enough for us to get into the room. I promise.”

The heat of his mouth and stubbled jaw grazed her skin. In a half-daze, she desperately tried to piece together her own mind. “What were you like before I met you? Even crazier? Or more subdued?” It was a silly and unfocused question, but she was trying to get him to talk to her. About something. About anything.

He drew away, his large hand tightening around her fingers. “Are you trying to seduce me? Is that what this is?”

She let out an exasperated breath. “No. I’m trying to get to know you.”

“We have our whole lives for that.” He walked them down the length of the corridor, hand in hand, until he paused before a closed door. He pushed it open and lifting her hand high into the air, guided her inside with a graceful whirl as if they were once again on the dance floor.

She whirled to a halt on his command, her hand catching his broad shoulder.

He searched her face heatedly, his features tightening. “I want you naked.”

She pinched her lips, her hand still resting on his shoulder. So much for them being friends. “Derek, don’t you think maybe we should—”

“Get naked? Brilliant idea.” He grinned, released her waist and stepped back, closing the door. “Take a quick look around, love. I ensured that the servants had everything in place before you retired. Let me know if there is anything else you need before the candles go out.”

It was like talking to a dog that only saw the meat dangling from her hand. It was exhausting. Letting out a breath, she turned to what now was hers.

The fourteen sizable trunks that had been delivered earlier and stacked with her belongings were gone, leaving the palomino silk-walled room more open. Her gowns were all neatly hanging within the massive wardrobe on the far wall that had been left open. Her ribbons, cosmetics, curl papers and perfumes were all neatly laid out on the white marble of the ornate dressing table that had once belonged to his grandmother.

Her lips parted, realizing there was an easel angled into the far corner of the room. The painting of their night together had been set on it. She jerked toward him. “We really shouldn’t leave that out.”

He waggled his brows. “We’ll only pull it out at night. We’ll cover it during the day, of course, so as not to startle the servants.” His smile faded. “Your talent is beyond anything I have ever seen, Clementine.
Ever
.”

She sensed he meant it. “Thank you.”

“In my opinion, you deserve to have anything you paint hanging in the National Gallery.”

She sighed. “If only I had been born a man.”

He snorted. “Do not say that to the man you just married. I rather need you to be a woman or this night could get awkward.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing they were back to his favorite subject. She grudgingly turned to see the rest of the room. The large mahogany four-poster bed with its countless rose silk pillows and matching linens loomed a few feet away.

She eyed the side table beside it, pausing.

Realizing her music box wasn’t out, she removed her evening gloves and walked toward the dressing table, tossing both gloves onto it. She carefully opened and closed each drawer. As each drawer revealed only her ribbons and a hairbrush and jewelry and sashes, her heart pounded at the realization her music box wasn’t in any of the drawers at all.

Derek walked over to her. “What are you looking for?”

She slammed the last drawer closed. How was she going to sleep without it? “My music box.”

“Allow me.” He walked over to the side table, opened it and pulled out a large ornate wooden box inlaid with ivory. “I asked the servants to put it in the drawer beside your bed as opposed to setting it out. That way it wouldn’t collect dust.”

A breath escaped her. “Thank you.” She hurried over and carefully took it from his hands. “My father gave it to me on my birthday when I was eight. I play it every night. It helps me sleep.” She turned and lowering it onto the side table, centered it to ensure it was safe.

She smoothed her hands across its inlaid surface, its real history hidden within the wood.

She opened the lid, slid out the turning key tucked into its compartment beside the brass cylinder inside, and inserted it into the side of the box. Leaving the lid open for better sound, so that the pins of the comb could clink against the cylinder openly, she turned the key fifteen times, as she always did before going to bed, and let it chime the melodious tune of playful bells she’d known since she was eight. “There isn’t another one like it in the world. The music was composed specifically for this one box by a Boston musician who was hired to play at certain events for the President of the United States.”

A large hand slid down the sleeve of her arm. Derek lingered from behind, the heat of his body penetrating hers as he pressed himself closer. “Fascinating.” His voice indicated otherwise.

Trying to get him to talk about anything was like trying to explain philanthropy to a man sitting in prison. “The masked ball was wonderful. Wasn’t it?”

The warmth of his masculine lips softly touched the exposed skin of her neck. “Mm.”

She swayed against the melody and his wandering lips that curved against her neck. “Your cousins…I…they were all very pleasant. How many do you have again?”

His tongue slid across her exposed shoulder, nudging away the lace around the trim of her gown as both of his hands slid down and around her waist. He gripped and bundled the material of her gown while still gliding his tongue back and forth, delicately tracing and teasing her skin. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered.