Once Upon a Masquerade (15 page)

Sucking in a shocked breath, Rebecca stumbled back several feet, paused and stared at the men.
This can’t be real.

Christopher blocked the next swing and delivered a solid jab to Mr. Westerly’s abdomen. Mr. Westerly doubled over, but quickly straightened, ready to fight. Dodging Mr. Westerly’s fist, Christopher struck him in the chin.

Mr. Westerly sprawled back, the force of the punch knocking him into a chair. Both man and chair toppled to the ground. He groaned and clutched his knee. “Dammit to hell.”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.
What had just happened? And why?

Christopher turned toward her, his hands at his hips and his breathing heavy. “I told you to go inside.”

Her gaze shifted to his, and she gave him a wan smile.

With a scowl, he strode toward her and ushered her through the doorway, back into the salon. “Why were you out there with him?”

She could scarcely remember anymore. “He said he needed to talk to me, that he had feelings for me.”

“You believed him? I told you not to leave my sight.” The look he gave her made her feel like an idiot.

She bristled—she hadn’t been the only one talking with the opposite gender. “I’m surprised you noticed I was gone. Your
sight
seemed to be busy entertaining your lady friend in there.” She had to admit that didn’t sound quite right, but from his deepening frown he knew what she meant.

He was just as much at fault as she was. After all, if he hadn’t been ogling that doll woman, she wouldn’t have drank as much, almost lost all her money, and mortally embarrassed herself in front of Mr. Westerly. Yes…seemed like sound reasoning to her.

Mr. Westerly limped through the patio door, his handsome face darkened by a glower. “This isn’t over.” His brooding look never left Christopher as he passed by and entered the ballroom.

“You dare accuse me of something, when I find you alone outside with Westerly.” Christopher swept his arm in the direction Mr. Westerly had just gone. “I told you, I don’t approve of him.”

“I thought Adele Gebhardt was no longer of interest to you.”

“That’s none of your concern,” he growled, his jaw rigid.

He was right. She had no real claim upon him, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know. “Do you still love her?”

Christopher blew out a sharp breath. “No.”

Joy flooded her senses. At least his heart didn’t belong to another. Maybe she still had a chance. She looked up into his furious face, undaunted

Christopher became even more handsome when he was angry. He took on a powerful, almost dangerous quality that thrilled her. Her hand itched to touch his cheek and smooth the tension away with her fingertips. She almost giggled at the thought, wondering what his reaction would be. “I think, as your betrothed, your association with other women most certainly is my concern.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Grasping her chin, he studied her eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“A little bit.” No use denying it.

“You should retire for the evening or the gossipmongers will eat you alive come morning.”

But she didn’t want to be sent to her room. She felt like a naughty child punished with an early bedtime.

Ignoring her pout, he took her hand and led her back to the stairs. “Come. I’ll take you up.”

His touch, his possessiveness, sent small tremors of excitement rippling through her chest. She tried her best to ignore them.

How dare he send her off to bed so he could resume his dalliance with the beautiful Miss Gebhardt. Anger boiled up inside her, and she tore her hand away. “Why did you tell Mr. Westerly we were betrothed?”

Christopher’s eyes flashed. “I don’t like seeing you with him. He’s not the right one for you.”

They reached her door, and she turned to face him. “I see. You don’t want to marry me…and you don’t want anyone else to either.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then you agree I can spend my time with whomever I please.” She straightened her spine and made an attempt to walk past him. He sidestepped in front of her. She tried to go around.

Christopher grasped her shoulders, and a thrill raced through her limbs. His eyes flared and his arms tensed as if he felt it too. “Go to bed, Rebecca,” he said, his voice hoarse.

All anger fled, replaced by need—a need to feel the tenderness she knew he possessed. “Would you join me?”

He sucked in a breath. “I thought we agreed what happened in my cabin had been a mistake.” Despite his words, he leaned closer.

“I don’t regret it.” Sliding her hands up his chest, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

Her body warmed as his lips moved over hers, and he pulled her to him. All thought escaped her, and she reveled in his hungry kisses, his strong arms about her. The brush of his hands over her back swept away any restraint. She hugged him close, and his lips traveled down her throat. Shivers ran through her.

“Christopher, I love you,” she said in a barely audible whisper, overwhelmed by the feelings pulsing through her heart.

All action stopped. Christopher pulled back. “What did you say?”

Alarm tore through her. She couldn’t say it again—she hadn’t intended to say it the first time. “Stay with me,” she pleaded instead.

His eyes measured hers as if trying to read her thoughts. He shook his head. “We can’t do this.”

Raising her arms to his neck, she leaned close. “Yes, we can.”
Don’t reject me.

Christopher tugged her arms free. “Go to your bed. You’re drunk. Everything will seem different come morning.”

“Please don’t…” Rebecca began as she watched him walk away.

He never looked back.

…

Rebecca entered her bedroom and found Mary seated before the vanity mirror, pinning up her long blond hair. She wore an elaborate evening gown and the diamond earrings Rebecca had refused earlier.

“How was the gaming?” Mary asked. “Did you win?”

Rebecca dropped her purse on a chair and slumped onto the bed, wondering where Christopher had gone. Was he back with Miss Gebhardt? It appeared she’d gambled on two fronts and lost. “I need only one hundred dollars more to appease my father’s creditors.”

Mary’s eyes rounded. “You’re that close.” After sliding a hair pin into place, Mary lowered her hands and twisted about, checking every angle. “There’s still the chance Mr. Black will come around.”

“Not likely.”
Not ever.
Christopher had just made that most clear. “Are you going out?”

“Yes, I think I am.” Mary rose from her seat, looking into the mirror with a satisfied smile.

“But you’re here as my maid. Someone might recognize you. A servant. Other guests.”

Mary adjusted an earring before turning about. “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be off in the shadows where no one will see.”

“Then why—”

“I’m meeting someone in the gardens.” Mary plopped down onto the cot and pulled on stylish leather boots.

She couldn’t be serious. “Are you sure that’s wise? It’s dark.”

Mary looked up, a twinkle in her eye. “I know.”

“I don’t think you should go.”

“Why is that?” Mary demanded, fastening the buttons of a gray fur-lined coat. “You seem to do well enough dressed in your finery. I don’t see why I shouldn’t try the same.”

Try the same? Was it possible Mary played a wealthy lady to win Mr. Westerly’s affections? And sported a different name. That would explain why Mr. Westerly had asked who Mary was. Try as she might, she couldn’t recall what Mary had worn earlier in the maze.

Rebecca didn’t know what to say. She would hardly consider her masquerade a success. Would Mary fare any better? “I know who you’re going to see, and I don’t think he has honorable intentions.”

“What makes you think I have honorable intentions with him?” Mary laughed.

Surely she didn’t mean that. Who had been the one drinking here? Mary didn’t seem intoxicated. “Mary, I know you’ve been seeing Philip Westerly. I saw you in the shrub maze today.” Rebecca’s face warmed when Mary’s brows lifted. Maybe she should clarify. “Well, I didn’t exactly watch… I turned away.” Oh, this was silly. “The point is, Mr. Westerly declared his affection for me and asked me to go with him into the gardens.”

Mary’s annoyed look made Rebecca wince.

How much worse could this explanation get? “I didn’t go, of course,” she added. “It just makes me wonder how serious he is about any relationship.”

With a bland smile, Mary slipped on a pair of gloves. “You can’t keep all of the fine eligible bachelors to yourself.”

“Please, don’t go.”

Mary paused with her hand on the door handle. “I want to have a good time while I’m young. I’ll be fine. Go to sleep.”

After Mary left, Rebecca lay back on the bed and worried what would happen tonight. What if Mr. Westerly took advantage?

The plush bed cradled Rebecca’s body, and her muscles relaxed, her limbs heavy. She struggled to remove her boots, and rationalized that Mary was a grown woman who’d fared very well before without her interference. In fact, Mary had far more experience dealing with men. She’d been the one who tried to teach Rebecca the art of seduction.

Once she managed to wrangle her feet free from her boots, she stilled. Her dress could wait. A cat nap would refresh her. Yes, she would change after a short rest.

Using what was left of her strength, she pulled back the heavy covers and snuggled beneath. Her eyelids felt so weighty she couldn’t keep them open a moment longer. As she drifted off to sleep, she wished she’d learned the art of seduction better. Lord knew, Christopher hadn’t succumbed to her charms.

Chapter Thirteen

A DARK SHADOW CHASED Rebecca through the hedge maze. Dodging through the twisting paths, she ran as fast as her legs would go and still she couldn’t elude the ominous form. Although he wasn’t visible to her, she could sense his presence.

Utterly lost, she somehow stepped into the clearing with the bubbling water fountain. Mary and Mr. Westerly stood behind the pool in a passionate embrace. Mary spied her and waved her away, not bothering to slow their ardent kisses.

The shadow drew closer. She rushed to the opposite side of the clearing and slipped back into the maze. Fear surged through her as she darted past the many bends and curves. If only she could find the exit. It had to be nearby. She turned the next corner, and reached another impasse.

He was coming. Her mind raced. What could she do? Think. But there was nowhere left to run, and the shrubbery was too thick to pass through.

The shadow prowled around the corner, and she shrank back. The lamplight illuminated the form and revealed Christopher’s strong features.

With a relieved smile, she took a step forward, then stopped. Why had he followed her?

“I thought I told you not to leave my sight.” In a blink, he stood before her. He thrust his fingers into her hair and pulled her forward. “I want to protect you,” he murmured in a husky voice.

Her heart ached. She wanted more than that from him.

His lips joined hers in a feverish kiss that melted her insides. He clasped her tightly, his mouth demanding, taking.

She willed him to stop, his actions drugging her. If they continued, he would hurt her again. His earlier words echoed through her thoughts.
You know I could never marry you.

Try as she might, she couldn’t resist him. She’d never been able to resist him. Tender emotions swirled inside of her as she sank deeper under his control. He pressed against her so forcefully she couldn’t breathe. She struggled in his embrace, pushing against his shoulders. He wouldn’t budge. His hold about her tightened, locking her arms to her sides.

Dizziness threatened to consume her as her legs became trapped between his.
No! Release me!
her mind demanded. No words came.

The ache in her chest and head intensified. Blindly, she wriggled her shoulders until one arm pulled free. She pounded her fist against his face and felt the sting as her knuckles connected. When his lips parted from hers, she sucked in air but couldn’t force out the scream that lodged in her throat.

His mouth returned, more potent than before. As her limbs grew weaker, she reached out and grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking the strands with what strength she had left. He grunted, and air rushed into her lungs once again.

She screamed, sure she wouldn’t survive much longer, and the pressure on her arms and legs lifted. Thrusting her other arm out of his embrace, she pushed upward against the darkness with all her might.

The force against her lips and face dissipated. Christopher vanished. The momentum of her upward thrust rolled her body sideways, propelling her half off the bed in a twisted heap of dress, limbs, and bed sheets. She lay with her arms braced against the light blue carpet and her legs tangled in the bed covers, drawing in great gulps of air.

Christopher, dressed only in a pair of breeches, burst through her door. His gaze darkened as he surveyed her awkward position.

Jerking her body like a wriggling fish, she tried to disentangle her legs. The bedding only tightened its hold.

Her chest ached. Had it all been a dream? Some parts of it must have been—Christopher obviously hadn’t attacked her.

He scowled at her from the door. Dream or not, he didn’t have to seem so rankled by her call. “Would you help me back up? Or are you going to stand there and watch all my blood drain to my head?”

With a glare, Christopher hoisted her back atop the bed as if she weighed no more than a child’s doll. Afterward, he turned about, heading for the door. “If that’s all you require.”

The thought of him leaving sent fear prickling down the back of her neck. “Wait. Please don’t go.” Her body trembled. “I think I may have been attacked.”

He turned back toward the bed with a frown. “You may have been attacked?”

She couldn’t blame him for doubting. She was having difficulty piecing everything together herself. “I had this dream, and I couldn’t breathe. Something weighed heavily on me, suffocating me.” Her mind had trouble grasping what had been real and what hadn’t. “I’m not sure what happened.”

Lines of irritation marred his face. “I’ll tell you what happened. You went to sleep drunk while fully clothed and became twisted in your own linens. Maybe you dreamed of an attacker, but I saw no one leave your room, and you’re still very much alive.”

She
had
drunk too much. Her headache attested to the fact. Even so, it had seemed real. She remembered the feel of his hair, and her hand ached from their scuffle. “That’s because I fought back.”

A gust of air touched her face, and she turned to its source where the draperies swayed with the light breeze. “Perhaps he escaped out the window.”

Christopher crossed to the opening and surveyed the scene outside. “There’s no one out there now.” He slid the pane shut and flipped the latch. “Has the window been open all night?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Of course not.” He headed back toward the door, his attention catching on the empty cot at the foot of the bed. “Where’s your maid?”

Rebecca glanced at the clock, and her chest tightened. Why hadn’t Mary returned yet? She prayed nothing had happened. Should she go out in search of her? “She left earlier to meet with…”

“With who?”

Should she tell him? Mary was dressed in the finery of a lady, on a secret rendezvous with a gentleman. If she were found out…

“Rebecca,” Christopher growled.

“With Philip Westerly.” If Mary were in trouble all the secrets in the world wouldn’t matter.

Christopher’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “For what purpose?”

Heat infused her cheeks and her gaze lowered to Christopher’s bare feet. “I saw them kissing in the garden maze yesterday.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “You saw Philip with your maid just yesterday, and still you went outside alone with him so he could declare his ardent affections for you?”

Yes, she supposed that hadn’t been the wisest course.

He turned away and grabbed the door handle. “I’m going back to bed.”

“But what of Mary?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Perhaps he was right. She only wished she could say the same for herself. She still shook, her nerves jittery.

“When did you fall asleep?” He stood staring at a flickering candle on the small table near the entrance.

An odd question. “Shortly after you walked me up. I dozed soundly until now.”

He gestured toward the table. “The wax on this taper has barely pooled. Are you sure you didn’t awaken and light it?”

“I’m sure.” Now she knew she hadn’t been dreaming. On a moonless night like tonight, her attacker would have had to stumble around the room to find her.

Christopher shook his head and picked up the candle. “Come with me. You can sleep in my room until morning.” He didn’t seem at all sincere. Despite the mysterious lit candle, he evidently continued to doubt her.

As irritating as that was, she didn’t want to be alone. With Christopher she felt safe. Untangling herself from the covers, she hurried to follow as he crossed the hall.

When she stepped into his room, her eyes darted to the bed, the linens rumpled from Christopher’s hasty exit. Her insides fluttered as she imagined the feel of the bedding’s light weight still warm from Christopher’s heat.

Setting the candle on the bed table, he sank onto the mattress. He laid back and closed his eyes as if he didn’t want to waste another moment of sleep.

Rebecca stood in the center of the room, reluctant to climb into bed as though confident he wanted her there. He’d already rejected her once this night. She didn’t think she could withstand another. From the light of the candle, she spied a chair in the corner near the window.

Before she could act on that thought, Christopher muttered, “Come to the bed. I won’t touch you. I’m too tired, even if I wanted to.”

She almost laughed. He believed she feared he would take advantage. In truth, her body craved his touch. His bare chest, muscular even in rest, glowed golden in the candlelight. That broad expanse enticed her to run her hands over his smooth skin, to feel the intense heat she knew to be there.

Rebecca wished she could change his mind about her. Frankly, as exhausted as she was, with her nerves on edge, the chair would be her best option. She headed in that direction.

Before she could sit, Christopher’s eyes snapped open. “I think it would be best if I slept between you and the door in case your
attacker
is still out there.”

She’d known he didn’t believe her. But his open ridicule infuriated her. “If my attacker didn’t light the candle, then who did?”

He blew out a gust of air. “You or your maid.”

How could that be possible? “You saw yourself Mary wasn’t there.”

“Maybe she returned and left again.”

“To go where?” she argued.

He lifted his hands and let them drop to his sides. “To be safe, I brought you here, did I not?”

For the love of… She should march back to her own room out of spite. Of course, even if she managed to gather her courage and attempt it, his warped sense of honor would demand he stop her, despite the fact that he thought the risk minimal.

The chair definitely had some merit. She spread her skirts, prepared to sit.

The bed creaked as Christopher leaned up on one elbow. “Either you bring yourself over here or I’ll come get you,” he threatened, and by the look on his face he would be none too gentle if she made him go to the trouble.

An evil thought flashed through her mind. She should trouble him. She was tired of being pushed around by the likes of him. He’d deemed himself her protector and now believed he could rule her every move.

At her rebellious look, his gaze darkened, daring her to tempt him.

She sank onto the chair and tensed. He rose from the bed, his movements toward her graceful and sleek.

Her nerves tingled. Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her up and flung her over his shoulder, securing her position with a rough smack on her bottom. She yelped, not in pain but from shock.

In two long strides, they were back at the bed where he let her fall from her perch. With a small squeal, she landed on the mattress, while he returned to his side of the bed.

Fine. Far be it from her to trouble his sleep, even though she’d almost been killed minutes ago. Did he show her an ounce of compassion?

He opened one eye as she snatched the pins from her hair. Its length spilled down her shoulders. What an inconsiderate lout. Tomorrow, she would insist they speak of a plan to help her father, or else he could take her home so she could handle the situation herself. Fully clothed, she slipped under the covers and tried to will herself to sleep.

The fitted bodice of her gown bit into the sensitive skin beneath her breasts. She attempted to adjust it, tugging the tight material down to ease the chafing. Her breasts threatened to pop out the top, and she yanked the wayward fabric back into place.

Rolling to her side proved fruitless as well. Not only was it difficult to turn over with the volume of satin about her, but the gown shifted, straining in spots it hadn’t before. With her gown now twisted around her, she didn’t bother turning to her stomach or she might very well be wrung like a wet towel.

She flopped to her back once more and glanced at Christopher. His eyes stared into hers, his irritation unmistakable.

“My gown wasn’t made to be slept in. It’s rather uncomfortable,” she bit out.

“You’ve already slept in it most of the night.”

“I know. It didn’t chafe as much before.”

“I wonder why.”

What had she seen in this infuriating man? “Like it or not, I can’t sleep in this gown
now
. Take me back to my room, and I’ll fetch my nightgown. Then we can both get some much needed rest.” When he remained silent, she lost her patience entirely. “Unless you have a better idea. I could strip naked or wear your clothing…or drink more wine.”

“Fine. That sounds good to me. Go to it and let me get some sleep,” he grumbled, turning his back to her.

“You’d like me to strip naked?”

“You can borrow a shirt.”

Of course. What had she been thinking? In any case, it was pretty much the same as stripping naked as she wore no chemise or corset due to the structure of her gown and Mary’s insistence.

Her gaze wandered over the ceiling, the light of the candle dancing over its raised designs. She could go back to her room herself, snatch her night rail, and hurry back. No, she was afraid to go alone, and Christopher would stop her anyway.

She could insist on it, but Christopher’s mood was already surly. Heaven forbid she make it any worse, although…the thought of her earlier brazenness brought a smile to her lips.

Hoping Christopher had fallen asleep, she crept from the bed and seized the shirt he’d worn earlier, which lay tossed over the trunk.

No dressing screen in sight, she slipped back to her side of the bed where Christopher’s back was turned. After a moment’s hesitation, she began to unfasten the back of her gown, struggling with the tiny clasps. No matter how she squirmed and wriggled, she could neither reach the last few buttons nor push the gown up over her chest. “All gowns, no matter how fancy, should be made with the clasps in front,” she muttered.

At her wit’s end, she grasped the edges held tight by the small fasteners and pulled, ready to pop the fine buttons off rather than ask for help. The darned things didn’t give. She rested a moment, and tried again, straining her shoulders to free herself.

Goodness, this dress was made well. It was no use. The gown didn’t want to come off.

She glanced at the bed. Christopher had rolled over to his back, and his eyes crinkled with laughter. “Need some help?”