His Heart's Delight (24 page)

After their first dance she had confided, “It
is grand, just once, to be the belle of the ball. And the disguise
gives us the freedom to enjoy every moment of it.”

When she suggested a walk in the garden after
their second dance he would have been a fool not to agree.

At first they walked in silence along the
path, nodding to other couples they passed. As they moved farther
from the house, there were fewer people and more dark corners.
Christiana insisted there was a fountain at the end of the path and
so they walked deeper into the garden as the sounds of the party
faded behind them.

They hurried away from one dead end, holding
their laughter until they were out of hearing, though as far as
Morgan could tell the couple was so engrossed in each other they
would have not heard any interruption less than a fireworks
display.

“Who was it?” Christiana grabbed his arm as
she barely saved herself from tripping over an uneven paving
stone.

“That is the wonder of a masquerade, Miss
Starlight. I have no idea who that was.” He kept hold of her arm
and led her to another path, this one more brightly lit. “It could
be that they do not know either.”

“You mean that woman might be kissing a
complete stranger?”

“Yes. Does that shock you?”

“A little. How very daring.” She
shivered.

Was that a shiver of awareness or was she
chilled? He took off his cloak and wrapped it around her. She
stilled and he wanted desperately to turn her into his arms and
enfold her as closely as the satin of his cloak held her. Instead,
he let his hands linger, caressing her shoulders lightly through
the fabric. She leaned back into the gesture for the briefest
second, and then pulled the cape around her with murmured
thanks.

Now they both were clothed in unrelieved
black. She stopped abruptly. “Do you think people suspect that is
why we came out here?”

“Undoubtedly.” The idea had certainly
occurred to him. Had it only now struck her? Better late than
never.

“Oh my.” She stood with her back to him and
spoke quietly but with animation, as though she were playing to a
full house of one. “The
ton
can be so foolish.” She turned
back to him. “They refuse to believe that we may have simply wanted
some air, some conversation. They think that friendship between a
man and woman is impossible.”

Christiana took his arm, humming the last
tune they had danced to. She was in high spirits tonight and it was
contagious.

They looked down a short path and then turned
back as another couple had claimed the stone bench.

With a sigh of annoyance, Christiana
whispered, “They think that all men and women are good for is some
sort of endless mating ritual.”

There was a touch of irritation in her voice
now. He loved it and wondered just how to bait her a little more.
“They just do not understand.” Actually, he never had either. If
this was friendship then it was one of the most exquisite
frustrations of his life. He had been friends with women before,
but it was always after an intimacy that made anything less absurd.
“The true benefits of friendship are beyond their grasp.”

“Yes! Friendship can be so rewarding. Good
conversation, no need for games or pretenses, a true understanding
that makes good manners natural.”

Is that how she viewed what they shared? He
would not have described it the same way. Did she really believe it
or was she being coy? “You are, my dear, so delightfully,
incredibly, wrong.” Any insult was effectively eliminated by the
low-voiced intimacy of his words.

“Me? Wrong?” The words were a squeak caught
between amusement and flirtation.

“Yes. Friendship between a man and a woman is
never as simple as good conversation and no pretension. For the
simple reason that men and women do not ever understand each other
fully.”

She did not deny it, so he continued. “One is
always wondering what the other really meant. For instance did you
truly mean what you just said or are you, perhaps, fishing for more
of a declaration from me.”

She watched him, but still had no answer. Was
she tempted?

“Sweetheart, do you really think in all these
weeks, in all these charming afternoons, and softly scented nights,
that friendship might have changed from an end to the means?”

He held her hand lightly in his. He had done
that often enough before, but always to an end, to assist her down
a step, to direct her to some sight, never just holding her hand
for the sheer sensuous pleasure, the way he was now.

Her smile was cautious but he saw no censure,
no shock. Touching her chin with a gentle finger, he raised her
face to his. “Have you never realized how much I long to touch
those sweet lips, those lips that charm and laugh and gossip with
me, only with me?”

Running his thumb over her mouth, he felt the
little gasp slip from her. Had Richard ever seen her eyes this
green, totally focused on him, on his eyes, on his mouth? He was
hardly fool enough to ask when he was so close to what he had
wanted for so long. He stepped closer so there was hardly room for
a breath between them. “Do you know how many times I have thought
of caressing that sweet spot between your cheek and neck? That spot
is so inviting when you wear your hair that way.”

He trailed his hand down her cheek, resting
his palm at the curve of her neck. The smile faded. Her pulse
sharpened.

He needed no answer. He did not need to read
her eyes. How could she not long for the same kiss he had dreamed
of for weeks?

Holding her face with his hands, he touched
her mouth with his. The small kiss he planned disappeared with the
first feel of her. He had waited so long and had so much to give.
Morgan kissed her with a passion he could barely control, teasing
her lips with his tongue, using his hands to stroke the sensitive
cords of her neck, eager for the response that meant surrender.

His own yearning masked her first response
but he recognized the softening of her mouth against his, the
slight opening of her lips. But after a moment he realized that was
all the response there was.

He felt the tension in her body. Hands that
should have been clutching at his coat were pressed against him,
urging them apart. He allowed himself to be pushed an arm’s length
away and realized at once his mistake.

Her eyes were bright with tears or anger. She
looked at him as if he were a stranger. No, it was worse than that;
she looked at him with a gaze of shocked disbelief.

“No!” Christiana had enough control not to
shout the word, but he heard the vehemence despite the whisper. The
joy was gone from her eyes, the color faded from her cheeks. She
looked old all at once, not in years, but in experience, experience
garnered from one kiss, from him.

He put out his hand, hoping to apologize, to
talk some sense into her, to make amends somehow, so they could
return to the ballroom and forget his grotesque blunder.

She slapped him and he knew there was no hope
of a reprieve. Turning, she all but ran to the door. Shock held him
for a moment and then he realized that her hurried entry into the
ballroom, alone and distraught, would be ruinous.

He ran after her, reaching her a few feet
from the doorway. Thank the gods that the black of their costumes
made them all but invisible to the couples inside.

Taking her arm, he pulled her back into the
shadow. He could feel rage throb through her. He would deal with
that later, or maybe never. Now he would do his best to save her
from herself.

“No!” It was his no this time.

She raised her free hand to slap him again,
but he grabbed it before she completed the arc.

“One slap is deserved, two is excessive.”

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

“No. Not until you listen.”

“There is absolutely nothing you can say that
will excuse your behavior.”

As if she had nothing to do with it. As if
her teasing and temptation was not finally more than he could bear.
He would leave that for later as well.

“I have no intention of apologizing.” That
caught her attention. She stilled, even some of the trembling
eased. “Christiana, you can not go back into that ballroom looking
as you do now.”

She looked at her dress, her bosom, as though
she thought it was something about her costume that was out of
place. When she saw nothing amiss, she glared at him. “What do you
mean?” With a jerk, she tried to shake herself free of his
hands.

He let one go, but held the other, the one he
now thought of as her slapping hand. He was sure anyone looking at
them would suspect some sort of declaration. Tomorrow’s
on-dit?
Perhaps, but better than a scandal, he decided.

“You are upset. You must take a moment, calm
yourself, school your expression before you go back inside.”

She was silent, but he heard understanding in
the huff of breath she released.

A group of three dressed as minor Greek gods
walked by them with barely a glance, clearly intent on their own
debauchery. Christiana did not so much as glance at them, but the
presence of other people gave them both time. Morgan could marshal
his thoughts and Christiana, hopefully, could control her
emotions.

“Well,” she said on another huff, “since this
is all your fault, I can hardly pretend gratitude, but you are
right.” She glared at him. “I hate it that you are right.”

He nodded cautiously.

“Almost as much as I hate you for ruining
everything.”

He held her gaze and denied the pain that
grabbed and held his heart. There were tears in her eyes and that
made his burn too.

“I will walk through the doors with you, my
lord. You will take me to my mother. I will plead a headache. She
will be very annoyed but she will take me home.”

He nodded since it was exactly what he had in
mind.

“And then, my lord, I never want to see you
again.” There was no mercy in her voice, no hope of
forgiveness.

I never want to see you again.
The
words hung in the silence that stretched between them, a sampling
of the rest of his life.
I never want to see you again.

“If that is what you truly wish, Sprite.” He
used the nickname on purpose, hoping for some softening, for some
sign of hope.

She stared at him, unmoved. “It is exactly
what I want.”

He bowed to her, anger filtering through
remorse. Offering her his arm, he wondered how long she would be
able to control her emotions. Long enough, he prayed, begging the
god of mercy; let it be long enough to save her reputation and ease
his sense of responsibility.

She laid her arm ever so lightly on his, as
though closer contact was abhorrent. Her stiff composure was
infectious. The smile he contrived was a mockery of happiness. Hers
was more convincing, but a far cry from the merry look that usually
lit her eyes and dimpled her cheek.

As they moved through the room and toward the
outer hallway, Morgan decided that he was dressed perfectly for his
trip to Hades. He was bound for the netherworld. He was at the end
of his parole. It was the way it should be, he decided. It was
easier not to feel. So much easier not to risk this again, not ever
again. No woman was worth it.

He deserved the punishment, for the gross
misunderstanding of his own emotions. Christiana had made him feel
again. He had thought it was an amusing flirtation, tinged with
freshness because she was so sweet. He had managed to convince
himself that it was lust carefully tempered, to entertain and tempt
them both.

How wrong. How stupid. He read it as lust,
but that touch of sweetness made it love.

~ ~ ~

Mama’s harangue all the way home in the
chaise did give her a headache. Or maybe it was the effort to
preserve some semblance of normalcy when her world was a shambles.
To Christiana’s relief, Mama returned to the masquerade so she
could escort Joanna home. With eyes half closed against the now
real pain in her temples, she allowed Sally to undress her and then
sent her off as well. It was a shame to disappoint her, but
Christiana could not bear to relive the evening, not just yet.

The first thing she did was grab the journal
from her night table. She held it against her breast for a long
moment and then with a vehemence born of self-loathing, she ripped
each page out of the book and into tiny little pieces.

Her head ached so much she thought she might
be sick. She collapsed onto the window seat, pressed her forehead
against the cool glass and tried to distract herself with the
activity in the street below while she waited for Joanna.

Tears trickled down her cheeks and her
headache eased as though the tears were leeching away the pain.

It did not seem all that much later when
Joanna and Mama returned. Christiana glanced at the clock,
surprised to see that it was close to morning. How odd that she
could sit so still for so long, random scenes playing through her
mind like a play she had been in, one that had the last curtain
rung down without the proper ending.

She could hear Sally and Joanna chattering
and suddenly it was near impossible to wait for Sally to leave.
Jumping up from the window seat, Christiana began pacing the room.
The moment Sally left, she was through the connecting door.

Joanna was combing her hair and turned with
some surprise. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Sleep?” Christiana was shocked at how
brittle her laugh sounded. “I am not sure I will ever sleep
again!”

Rushing over to her sister, Christiana fell
to her knees next to her and grabbed Joanna’s hand.

“Oh please, Joanna, tell me what to do. Help
me. Oh, sweet heaven, how could I have been so stupid! How could I
not know?”

Christiana stood up as quickly as she had
rushed over and, with her back to Joanna, burst into tears. They
came in a steady stream with deep, gasping breaths. “How could I
think that it was nothing more than a silly flirtation, something
to make the Season go by more quickly?”