The Love Affair of an English Lord (22 page)

She looked up at him in alarm. “That's my uncle. Don't you dare do anything to hurt him.”

Adrian's chuckle brought a blush to her cheeks. “I meant that I shall distract him.”

“Why?” Chloe whispered, her voice low with the anticipation that had wound her nerves into knots. Where was Dominic hiding? What was he planning to do? When would she see him?

The dance ended, and before another could begin, there was a commotion at the back of the ball. A woman shrieked, other guests started to laugh as a huge sheep trundled down the center of the crowd, having escaped his costumed shepherdess.

Chloe, whose nerves were on edge enough as it was, shook her head in amusement and glanced back up at Adrian. “That's all we need, a barnyard—”

Her voice died to a soft gasp of startlement. She knew instantly that it was Dominic, not Adrian, who swept her into his strong arms for the next dance. He wore the exact costume of a dashing masked highwayman as Adrian had, but she knew the difference to the core of her being. No one had ever held her with such arrogant possession. No other man's touch told her she belonged to him, sent a thrill of sensual excitement through her.

And his eyes, she could never mistake the mocking masculine gaze that melted her and made her heart pound in fierce longing. She faltered a step. He caught her, steadied her, his mouth grazing her ear. The intensity of being so near him stole her strength. Her belly quivered in response. She was magnetized to him, to the steely length of his body, and nothing could weaken the power he wielded.

“Chloe,” he murmured, “how good it is to see you again.”

“Why here?” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Edgar made plans to attend. I can't be sure whether it is for pleasure or whether he's meeting someone.”

She laughed softly, so happy to see him that even their enemy could not spoil her mood. “It might be sheer boredom—although Chistlebury's annual
bal masqué
is hardly where one would go for pleasure.”

His eyes darkened. “Unless he wanted to see you.”

“I doubt it, Dominic.”

“Why?” he teased. “I can't stay away from you.”

“You didn't even know I'd be here.”

“Didn't I? The Belle of Chistlebury mope in her room and miss the ball?

She caught her breath, waiting for the dance to bring them back together before she whispered, “There have been some very interesting things going on in my room recently, for your information.”

“Haven't there, though?” he said in an undertone. “Now listen closely. There is a side door to your right. You are going to slip outside first, and then I will follow.”

“What if we're seen leaving together?”

“It will appear that you have gone to the cloakroom to primp and fetch your fan. Adrian will cover my absence.”

“Adrian?”

“To your left.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Adrian's shadowy figure standing guard in the dimly lit hall outside the door. Disguised alike, the two men appeared similar enough in height and build to pass as the same person. Unless Sir Edgar suspected that an intricate trap was being laid. Chloe glanced around the crowded dance floor in search of Dominic's uncle.

She looked back at Dominic. He was staring intently over her head, presumably watching the dancers for the perfect moment to execute their escape. He seemed so in control of the situation—she could only wish that he had gone to all this trouble, involved Adrian in this elaborate charade, just to see her. She wanted to be alone with him, held in his arms again, all their problems behind them. She did not want to think that he might confront Edgar at the evening's end.

She felt a stab of apprehension as she met her uncle's questioning gaze from across the room. Surely he did not recognize Dominic in the masked disguise. It wasn't possible, not at this distance. Her uncle was only staring at them because Aunt Gwendolyn had made him promise to keep an eye on her. There. He had finally looked away. It was merely Chloe's guilty imagination that made her think he suspected anything. She was on fire with impatience to be alone with Dominic.

Her heart thumped hard against her breast as the steps of the dance drew her closer to his iron-hard frame. His eyes burned right through her. “What are you going to do if Edgar's friend doesn't appear?” she whispered.

“Spend a few minutes with you. I hated leaving you after what happened, and I'm not sure that Edgar isn't watching you.”

“Watching me? Why?”

“You're Brandon's sister, for one thing, and you have an interest in how he was murdered. And you're damned desirable for another.”

A surge of irrational happiness swept over her. She wanted to pull him against her and kiss his beautiful mouth, untie his mask and caress his face and his thick hair, revel in the burning heat and power of his body. He seemed stronger than ever. He was well, whole again. Hers.

“Did you think I could stay away from you?” he demanded in a soft seductive voice that raised shivers on her skin.

“You've done a fair enough job of it.” She stared into his eyes. “Are you really ready to face Edgar now?”

“No more talking, Chloe.”

She knew the answer in her heart anyway. She sensed that something grave was about to happen, that he was ready to take the risk. A chill of fear slid down her backbone, threatening the joy she felt at seeing him again. This was the moment he had struggled to bring about. The moment she had prayed would never come to pass, when he would face Edgar and demand retribution.

His hard gaze caught hers. He was determined, dominant, confident he would succeed on his own terms. “
Now.
Don't hesitate. Don't look back. Turn to your left as soon as you pass the cloakroom.”

She barely heard the music ending above the pounding of her pulse in her ears. There was a collective rush to the door for the refreshment room, and this helped to cover their exit. She moved as one with the swell of guests who surged out for a drink of lemonade, a chance to flirt over wafers. Pamela waved gaily over the heads of the guests who separated them.

“I'm going to fetch my fan,” she said at her cousin's questioning look.

Dominic had disappeared. How or to where she could not guess. She obeyed his order to appear as normal as possible. Without him in sight it was easier to control her actions, but her mind was preoccupied. Considering his utter lack of moral conscience, Edgar was not an enemy to underestimate, but then neither was Dominic.

She squeezed between the line of people outside the refreshment room and forced herself to walk as calmly as possible toward the cloakroom. A darkened passageway loomed to her left, quiet, deserted, and suddenly Dominic was grasping her hand, leading her away from the murmur of voices behind them. Almost at the same moment she saw Adrian emerge from the cloakroom and blend back into the crowd.

The reappearance of the duke's heir did not go unnoted. Lord Wolverton was, after all, the plum prize of the ball, encircled by females young and old, who pleaded for him to describe his adventures.

Dominic grinned. “A pity we cannot watch him fend off all the she-wolves.”

Chloe gave him a playful poke. “Spoken as one who has been in his position?”

He flashed a grin in answer, and before she knew it, she was being drawn into a small dark room that had clearly been used for storage by the look of the furniture covered in musty sheets.

“What about my aunt and uncle?” she asked, staring back at the door.

“They shall be well distracted by Adrian, I assure you.”

“Is he as good at distraction as you are?”

He laughed. “Perhaps you're the best judge of that.”

“Have you been in here before, Dominic?” she demanded.

“Er, yes. As a matter of fact, I have.”

“With another woman?”

He chuckled, pulling off his mask and hat. “
Hiding
from a woman as I recall. These annual balls can be murder on a bachelor, I tell you.”

“Murder.” Her eyes darkened in distress. “Do you have to use that word?”

“A poor choice, I agree,” he said, turning back toward her.

She stared up at him, not even attempting to hide how she felt. It was all she could do not to give in to the temptation to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. She was only responding to the possessive heat in his eyes, the memory of the night they had made love. She needed to be passionate with him again tonight, to show him how she felt. Of all the men she had known, he was the only one who understood and accepted her for who she really was, who fanned the fire in her heart instead of trying to dampen it.

“Waiting for you has put me in the worst mood, Dominic.”

“Perhaps one day soon I can make it all worthwhile.”

She saw the sparkle of mocking approval in his gaze. “Don't make fun of me,” she retorted. “The horrible fact is that . . . I need you.” She covered her face in her hands. “Oh, how awful to admit it.”

For a moment he did not move. She thought, half hoped, that perhaps she had spoken those three humiliating words in such a low voice that he might not have heard them.

But he had. She lowered her hands. She could tell by the muscle that tightened in his masculine jaw, the flare of answering fire in his eyes as he gazed down at her. He bowed before her, his tricorn hat in his hands.

“When this is over,” he said quietly, “you shall not be able to get rid of me.”

He had already taken the precaution of locking the door, and now he wedged an old oak settle up against it to ensure their privacy.

She stood in silence as his dark muscular figure moved with purpose around the confined space. His lithe elegance stole her breath away. She was embarrassed by how the sight of him weakened her, made her ache to know him in the most primal, intimate way she could imagine. Her breasts felt swollen, waiting for his touch. Her body craved him, needed him so badly that she began to shake.

When he held out his arms to her, she was afraid her knees would fold beneath her. How could she bear letting him leave her again? Masculinity dominated every feature of his face, his hard angular jaw, the stark symmetry of his cheekbones, his firm mouth. The hot yearning in his eyes set all her senses on fire.

“I don't have much time,” he said. “If Edgar doesn't show up soon, I shall have to return to the house. It's past midnight.”

Her emotions, so long held in check, threatened to spill over. “Are you going to leave a glass slipper on the stairs for me to remember you by?”

“Chloe, please.” He stroked the short curls that framed her face.

“I shan't cry over your grave again if you get yourself murdered, Dominic. I mourned you when I thought you had been killed the first time,” she said. “I cried myself to sleep over you, and I don't know why.”

“I'm sorry I made you cry,” he said, drawing her against him. “I'll make it up to you.”

Their eyes met and held.

“I want you, Dominic.”

“But I didn't bring you here to—”

“Please,” she whispered. “Hold me.”

She was his. She accepted that from the moment he took her back into his embrace. Her entire body warmed, melted against the hard planes of his torso. “What are you going to do when you meet Edgar?” she whispered as he deftly unhooked her gown. The gossamer wings of her costume fell to the floor. Her pink gauze gown soon followed, puddling around her ankles. In trembling acceptance, she allowed the heated claim of his capable hands on her body, putting his brand on her, preparing her for his possession. But no matter how she desired him, she would not enjoy this with her whole heart while she feared for his life.

She pulled his cloak off his shoulders. “What am I going to do?” he mused, watching the garment fall to the floor to join her costume. “I'm—” He held her away from him, his eyebrows lifting, his gaze dark with desire. “Dear heavens! That scandalous corset, Chloe. I hope you had a premonition that you would see me tonight and weren't wearing that for anyone else.”

It was her turn to torture him now. “Hmm. I might have.”

He smiled slowly. “I always wondered what it would look like on you.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Which is why I am going to take it off,” he said roughly as he reached for the silk lacings that bound her in the tightly boned buckram.

Chloe swallowed a moan. No man had ever made her appreciate her own body. Her breasts felt indecently full against the confines of her corset. She lowered her gaze as he loosened the last of her laces, then slowly removed her chemise.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and lifted her gaze. His eyes shone like graphite. The look he gave her sent a bolt of heat to the secret reaches of her body. A look that marked her as his.

He caught her by the shoulders and drew her against him. His hands moved with tender desperation over her pale arms and back, sculpting the cleft of her buttocks, the curves and hollows of her shape like an artist bringing life to his most prized creation.

“This is not how it should be for us, Chloe,” he said with a rueful smile. “A woman like you deserves a gallant courtship, but I can't help myself. You see, I need you, too.”

“I don't know about a gallant courtship. Some ladies find the Stratfield Ghost very exciting.”

“Your aunt, for one?” he teased.

“Wait until she finds out you're alive.”

“Perhaps I'll keep pretending to be dead.”

She caught her breath as he went down on his knees to take off her garters and stockings. With a sigh of longing she let him lower her slowly to the bed they had made on the floor with their clothing. Despite their attempts to lighten the moment, neither of them could know how his game of revenge would end. He pressed a warm kiss on her belly, and her head fell back as pleasure shot through her.