The Rake's Mistress (9 page)

‘Acceptable?’ he drawled.

Rebecca moved away, surreptitiously holding on to the desk for support. ‘There is nothing acceptable about this behaviour, my lord. I desire no more from my clients than that they pay promptly, and you are no different from the rest.’

‘No different?’ Lucas’s insistent tone made her blush. She knew that she was not telling the truth.

‘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.

‘R
ebecca, 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 surveyed 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 diamond 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 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 appealing. 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 colour 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 become 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 waiting to pounce on him for months!’

Rebecca had no more chance to demur, for Nan was already steering her towards the rickety wooden staircase 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
décolletage
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 recognise 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 deliberately 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 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 circled in the dance. They were dressed in every costume imaginable, from pirates and highwaymen to shepherdesses 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 Fremantle 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?’

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 inclined 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 suddenly 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. Rebecca 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 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 Kestrel.

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 spiriting 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 unmasked her. She felt quite hot and faint at the thought.

She dropped Lord Fremantle a slight curtsy. ‘Excuse me, sir.’

Fremantle stiffened, then bowed abruptly. ‘Very 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 questioned 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 licentious. In fact, it felt more protective than dangerous, 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 behind her peacock mask as a gentleman whispered secrets in her ear. ‘You are not the peacock or the shepherdess 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 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 intensity. It was all that she could do not to jerk away.

‘And what is your role tonight, sir?’ she asked, her voice a little breathless.

Once again she had the impression that the black domino was smiling. ‘Can you not tell, madam?’ he asked gently.

Rebecca shivered. ‘The rake? The seducer?’

‘You injure me,’ the black domino said, and this time the laughter was clear in his voice. ‘After rescuing you from Fremantle, do you not cast me as the protector of innocence, my lady?’

Rebecca shot a look at him from behind her mask. It was impossible to tell whether he had recognised
her, for the mask hid everything but his eyes and their expression were unreadable. She felt her nerves tighten with a mixture of excitement and vivid apprehension. As though sensing the pulsing exhil-aration within her, his arm hardened about her waist and he drew her close against his body. She could feel the desire and the latent power in him and almost stumbled and fell.

It seemed that dancing was not his aim after all. He drew her into an alcove that was tucked away from the ballroom. It was draped with golden hangings and furnished with a gold brocade love-seat. The black domino seized two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and handed one to her, guiding her to the seat. Rebecca looked at her wine dubiously.

‘I do not think this a very good idea, sir.’

‘Why so?’

‘The wine is remarkably strong and I am…’ Rebecca hesitated ‘… I am tired.’

‘I will take care of you,’ the black domino said.

That was precisely what Rebecca was afraid of. He was sitting very close to her, his thigh pressing intimately against hers within the narrow confines of the seat. Suddenly the rub of the slippery silk against her skin seemed almost unbearably sensual. She shifted uncomfortably, aware that it had been her intention to escape him as soon as she could, yet even now she was contradicting her own good
sense by lingering too long. Already she had no urge to break free.

‘Tell me who you are,’ the black domino said softly, persuasively, in her ear.

‘Certainly not.’ Rebecca turned her face away. ‘There are no names at a masquerade, sir.’

He put a gloved hand lightly beneath her chin and turned her face to his. His touch was light, but it set her feelings blazing. That shadowed gaze scrutinised her with unnerving closeness.

‘Hmm,’ he murmured. ‘Peerless blue eyes and a mouth made for kissing… I could almost swear that we had met before, perhaps even kissed before, my lady.’

Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat. ‘You seem very certain, sir.’

‘Not so certain that I would not like to put my theory to the test. For then I would know…’

He was leaning forward to suit actions to words, but Rebecca eased herself from his grip and placed a hand against his chest to hold him off.

‘Not so fast, my lord!’

‘Such modesty at a midnight masque,’ the black domino said, with a sardonic look at the couples that whirled past them in debauched abandon. He ran one finger thoughtfully down her bare arm above her glove. Rebecca could feel her skin responding to his touch, tingling beneath the caress.

‘So who are you, madam, if not a lady of the night?’

‘Did I say that I was no courtesan?’ Rebecca said, a little huskily.

‘You did not need to tell me, sweetheart.’

‘Once again, you sound very confident, sir. You must have a great deal of experience of such matters.’

‘I have enough,’ the black domino agreed, ‘and were I to kiss you, your innocence would be something else I could prove.’

‘Then the matter must remain unproven,’ Rebecca said.

The black domino smiled. ‘So what is Lord Fremantle to you, madam?’

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. The more they spoke the more likely it seemed that he knew her identity. She definitely should not have lingered so long, nor engaged in this fascinating but ultimately dangerous conversation. She made to rise, but his hand on her wrist held her still and his imperative touch demanded an answer.