Haunted Hearts (5 page)

“What, that I’ll let my sister make a cake of herself?”

“Lower your voice, please.” There were several persons who had turned their way, noting the rise in Alexander’s tone--including a woman dressed as a peasant gleaner who stared through the simple stretch of black fabric that served as her mask, enough of a stare to cause Phoebe to half turn away. “Just pretend you still don’t know who she is, that’s all. And let her go about her business.”

“Business?” Alexander scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling darkly.

“Your promise, Alex, or else I’ll not leave your side all night.”

That was a dire threat, for there was nothing so damping to one’s love life as a sister on one’s sleeve. His conscience and his inclination warred for a moment in the stubborn set of his face, until finally he burst out, “All right then! You have my promise. But only for tonight. If I ever see Olivia doing the like again, well then, I’ll not stand by, I won’t.”

“’Tis a bargain,” Phoebe agreed, keeping her end of the agreement by moving away at once.

She moved into the crowd, but not so far back that she was unable to observe, unnoticed, as Olivia went into the arms of the handsome monarch for a second dance.

Phoebe bit her lip, her eyes observant; she could not say just how far Olivia would dare go. She loved her younger sister…but she knew she’d neglected her sibling, and knew her too little. Phoebe had married first, had five children, a husband, and a household to manage, and had little time for the sister more cruelly affected by their parents’ deaths.

She’d pretended to Alexander that she understood Olivia’s choice to come to this startling masquerade--she’d come herself in order to boast of being modern and broadminded--but, truth was, she was not at all sure she knew what Olivia hoped to achieve on this quite possibly wicked night.

Chapter 4

It was not the waltz this time. It was a country dance Ian shared with the Lady Cat.

He could see too little of her face. The tip of her chin might be that of a hundred ladies. Her green eyes were distinctive, although the mask might be interfering with knowing their true hue. He thought her hair must be a rich blonde, but the wisp that had escaped her hood was but a few hairs, making it difficult in candlelight to be sure. It was frustrating, as though he might know her if only he could see behind the mask, but of course that was false. Everyone here tonight was unknown to him. A series of French ladies he had known over the years crossed his mind, all to be dismissed.

“Where did you live in France?” he asked as they moved together.

“Here. Zere,” she said as the dance moved her away from his side.

He was a little surprised by her caution--surely it would be simple to answer “Paris,” or half a dozen cities large enough for her to claim, whether true or not. But of course this was not the most auspicious time to be a Frenchman in England, even though there had been a large host of émigrés escaping the Corsican’s tyranny. She was being cautious, making enquiries more difficult; that was commendable, in his experience.

“My dear,” he said when they came back together in the pattern of the dance, “it is close in here. Shall we retire to the garden for a few moments?”

If he had doubted her, he was reassured by her agreement to this plan. “Oh, yes, fresh air,
s’il vous plaît
,” she breathed.

She picked up a glass of wine as they left the dance and trailed across the crowded room toward the garden doors. He echoed her action, choosing a glass of his own before taking her hand on his arm and leading her out into the evening. If this loose-moraled crowd minded, the two of them would appear a young, frivolous couple taking some air and a chance for unobserved flirtation.

***

Lord Quinn watched the couple depart through the doors into his garden, and caught the arm of the woman who was passing by, his hostess. She was dressed as a gleaner. He whispered in her ear, quickly, shortly, received a nod in return, and released her arm. She wordlessly slipped away, and Quinn turned back to his guests with a show of deportment and only a mildly preoccupied manner.

***

“Oh, look,” Olivia said as they stepped into the garden. “Lord Quinn ‘as ‘ad the garden decorated. It gives the shivers, no?”

Ian glanced around, seeing the various sheets hung from trees, serving as breeze-moved ghosts, revealed by the half-light that spilled from the house. There were oversized turnips carved with faces on them, an old obscure Scottish practice, their carved white faces made to glow by a candle set within. The scene concocted by their host was accented by the increasing fog, and by the feeble moonlight. There was a definite chill in the air, but after the closeness of the party, it was not unwelcome and perhaps added a bit to the tendency--not wholly unpleasant--to want to shiver indeed.

“Our host seeks to entertain us,” he said in response as he glanced about, taking note of several other pairs of strollers. “Come,” he said, taking her arm, “let us venture forth and see if there are more surprises our host has arranged for us.”

There were no fairy lamps hung about, as one might usually find in a garden open to partygoers, no doubt to be in keeping with the theme of the revelry, spooky and mysterious.

Ian gave the Lady Cat a sideways glance. Her ready agreement to leave the masquerade had made him think she was prepared to flee with him--but now she seemed genuinely appreciative of the garden decorations, like a mere partygoer.

It was time to be clear with one another.

Ahead he saw the glimmer of a building’s outline. He hadn’t known it was there, for his brief scouting run earlier today had not included trespassing on Lord Quinn’s property. He had merely ascertained there was an apparent path through the garden to the alley behind, where he had ordered a carriage to await his arrival, with the lateness of the rendezvous hour unknown.

Now he held the hand of the costumed lady, trying to saunter so as not to appear peculiarly at haste. Closer, he saw through the fog that the small building had no door, and he led her within. A perfect place to stop and ascertain that they’d not been followed before they went on, making good on their escape.

***

Olivia pulled her hand free as soon as she crossed the little building’s threshold. It was a simple structure, perhaps once a two-horse stable, and had the smell of dirt and rusting metal that showed it had been converted over to tool storage. There was a glassless window, which framed the fog-shrouded moon. It was very dark within.

Why did he bring me here?
she asked herself…but something deep inside her knew the most logical explanation.

He turned to her, taking her glass, and placing both hers and his on the window sill. “Let us speak frankly. You seek escape?” he said.

Olivia stared. How had he been able to see that she was trying so very hard not to be herself tonight? Was she so transparent as all that?

He’d asked her to be frank, and she chose to comply. Still, it was so dark that he might not be able to tell from how she held herself that there were limits, so she made her accented voice crisp. “Yes. But I am not, how you say? Not a tart.”

He’d been peering out the window frame, but now he turned. It was hard to say, since she could only pick out a single moon-silvered line to give her the notion of his profile, but she thought he moved as though startled. “Nor did I call you one.”

She swallowed. “I zought you brought me,” she glanced around, unenchanted, “’ere to ‘ave a…a tryst?”

And what if he had? Had she hoped for it? A bit of inappropriateness? Or…more? She’d been married. She knew what sexual congress was. So long as no child came of the act, in what way could it harm her? She knew women sometimes had lovers. Why not her? Why not just once? To see if it could be something …more. If she retained her mask, and let him use her body…well, who would be using whom? Surely the night was yet too young, too precious a treat to be let go of already? Such an adventure she was having. Was it to be a much greater, much more thrilling exploration?

He stared at her, and she stared back even though all they could see was the faintest outline of one another. A stranger in the dark, talking to another stranger… She wanted to shock, and to be startled herself. She caught a scent of woodsy soap, and breathed it in deeply. Something about the intimate aroma of a man’s soap made her want to abandon thought. When had she ever even had a chance to misbehave?

“A tryst? Mademoiselle, I don’t know what--”

“I zink,” she gave a throaty little sound that even she wasn’t sure was a laugh. “I zink I just would like you to kiss me.”

He straightened a little, drawing back half a step.

She gave him no more time to think, stepping against him, raising the mask and slipping it over her head. Her hair fell free as she pulled it out of the short domino, and maybe even in the deep dark he could tell her hair was light-colored.

“
Mademoiselle
--”

She put a hand on both of his shoulders, coming up on tiptoe, shocked by her own daring but caught up in it all the same. No, there would be no lovemaking, she was not such a fool. But one kiss? One kiss, and she would flee, taking her mask and her gown and herself home, to savor over and over in memory the night she’d dared to be a bit wild and free and irresponsible and careless. It didn’t matter that her head was swimming; indeed, it only added to the moment, only made her more determined to give herself the shocking thrill of an unknown man’s lips on her own.

He remained still for a moment, but then, slowly, he leaned down to her, the minimal light causing him to first find her cheek with his mouth. For a moment she thought that would be the extent of the moment, but she decided it would not and turned her head, causing his lips to slide across her cheek and find her mouth with his own.

For all that Olivia had been married, she’d scarce been kissed. She anticipated a dry peck--not the sliding together of warm, firm lips.

It began a fine enough thing, a salute, but then his mouth pressed hers a bit more fully. It took only a few seconds more before she knew his was not a kiss she’d known before, oh no indeed. Those given to Mama, and Papa, and even Stratton, they had been familial toasts. Expected, but a thing made from duty, not attraction. They’d been
nothing
like this man-woman exchange that deepened by the moment, a thing of awareness, and sensation, and a growing need to sink deeper yet.

Gasping, Olivia drew back, enough to look up into glittering eyes whose color she knew to be brown but were little more than shadows now. One of his hands remained yet on her waist. She shuddered, unable to keep from letting him feel the shiver, and acutely aware her universe had shifted, her knowledge of the world expanded.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“Know?”

“That it could feel so...special,” she said, knowing he would not see her profound blush, and grateful for it. “I thought it was all fairy stories.”

“Yes?”

They peered through the dark at each other, but then he was drawing her in again, kissing her, except this time not so gently, not so kindly. It was, though, just as sweet, sweeter than any wine. She offered no resistance, instead leaning into him all the more. She found she’d forgotten she’d meant to share a single kiss. She’d also forgotten the elemental wonder of a touch; there was a timelessness, a lack of thought, that came with a caress. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know each other, it only mattered that for a moment they were connected in excitement and want and a magic she hadn’t known existed.

Finally he raised his mouth, and he gave a quiet laugh. The sound, so warm and male and charming, made her tremble again in his arms.

“Thank you,
mademoiselle
,” he said. The angle of his head kept adjusting just a tiny bit, and she thought he must be doing as she did, trying to somehow part the darkness the better to see. She smiled at his tone, one hand touching the lay of his coat front in a familiar way that managed to not feel awkward. The gesture was an unspoken word of thanks in return.

The mood changed. She was quite sure it was because of their closeness, their mingled breathing. She felt his hand slide along her arm, catching up her hand and holding it between them. She was glad there was no ring there for him to feel.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She drew in a breath. “Ready? For…more dalliance?”

He laughed softly. “That was not what I meant, but…” He let his voice trail away, and one arm slipped around her lower back, pulling her even closer.

And she let him. She not only let him, but some part of her wondered if, despite her best intentions, she’d stop him from doing anything he desired at all?

***

How odd, Ian thought, to find that this nameless woman had climbed into his arms. Worse, she’d touched something in his chest; he felt his heart as its steady thumping began to accelerate just because she stood pressed against him.

Of course, she could be any sort of scoundrel. An actress. A manipulator, trying to attach herself to a rescuer. In fact, she probably was all those things…but, by God, she was also difficult to resist when she went up on tiptoe again and lifted her mouth toward his once more.

How peculiar that he could have only given a few details about her appearance, but her demeanor somehow told him she’d been wounded. Was it in the cautious touch of her hand on his chest? The way she waited for him to kiss the lips that were but a breath away from his? The way she trembled?

Devil take me,
Ian uttered to himself just before he answered her irresistible summons and kissed her again, now allowing added flickers of ardor to communicate from his mouth to hers. She didn’t shy away, instead clinging to him, seemingly thirsty for his touch.

It was as if they spoke without words, conversed and understood and smiled at each other even though their mouths were upon each other’s, their hands unexpectedly tangled in each other’s hair. He felt the pins that held her chignon in place fall away, even as thought had fallen away. Now it was only her and him. There was only here and now, and their two selves, and a growing, gnawing need stretching between them.