Masquerade (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 1) (4 page)

“We shall dine first,” Camden declared, offering Margaret his arm. “It wouldn’t do for me to get you back to my bed only to watch you expire with weakness.”

She took his arm and followed him down one of the twisting lanes, toward the row of dinner boxes near the river entrance.

“I am famished,” she admitted. “Thank you, Camden.”

Camden.
She loved saying his name. She had always thought of him as ‘Avonleah,’ or ‘the duke.’ However, they’d been far too intimate tonight for her to think of him that way any longer. They’d waltzed beneath the moon, their thighs brushing and their hips pressed together. He’d stolen her away, pressed up against a hedge, and kissed her. His hands had cupped and fondled her breasts.

She would never think of him as just ‘Avonleah’ anymore. He was Camden—
her
Camden for this one night.

Though the dinner boxes could seat at least ten, they sat alone in the intimate enclosure. The space had been opulently turned out, with fine art hanging on its walls, beautiful brass candlesticks and gleaming silver on the tables, a crisp, white tablecloth, and painted china.

“Good evening,” said a masked waiter once they were settled at the table. “Would you care for wine?”

Camden turned to her and smiled. “Well?”

She smiled back and nodded. “Wine would be lovely, thank you.”

Margaret was pleasantly surprised. She’d have thought him one of those overbearing sorts who did not think a lady possessed the intelligence to answer a question for herself. If she weren’t already besotted with him, this act of consideration would have won her heart.

The waiter poured then backed away, promising to return with their dinner.

“Tell me, Maggie,” Camden said, his perceptive gaze fixated upon her. “What is a lovely young woman like yourself doing here alone?”

She took another long sip of her wine, to give her time to think of an answer. She’d come here tonight prepared to fib. Yet, she could not allow herself to lie to him after she’d tasted his lips. A man who had treated her with nothing but kindness since they’d met did not deserve to be lied to. Besides, she knew he would never believe her a widow.

“The truth is…” she said slowly, thinking. She did not want to be dishonest, but she did not want to say too much, either. “If I were seen here tonight and recognized, I’d be ruined.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing smile. “A lady. An adventurous one, at that.”

She could not help her sly smile. “Young men are encouraged to sow their wild oats before they settle down. Am I not entitled to a bit of fun myself?”

A sly, wolfish grin spread across his face.

“Oh, Maggie, you and I are going to get along famously. I do agree, you deserve a bit of fun.”

He lifted his wine glass and took a long swallow, his piercing eyes peering at her through the slits in his mask. He leaned toward her, his breath fanning her ear, his lips brushing the lobe. She shivered.

“Tell me, dearest,” he murmured, his mouth grazing her neck just behind her ear. “How adventurous are you, really?”

She arched her back, straining closer to his lips, to his touch. She closed her eyes and said the first thing that came to her mind.

“I am at your disposal, Camden.”

She felt him smile against her cheek.

“Good,” he answered. “Because just now, I am gripped with the desire to taste wine from between your marvelous tits.”

A flutter of pleasure at his words registered down low in her belly. The burning heat there grew and crept steadily lower. Without speaking, she reached up and cupped her breasts, lifting them in invitation, pressing them more tightly together, creating the perfect chalice for him.

He picked up his glass and tilted it just enough to allow his wine to trickle onto her skin. It rested in the hollow between her neck and collarbone for a moment, before sliding downward, drawn down the slope to the valley between her breasts. One arm braced on the back of her chair, he lowered his head and caught the stream with his tongue. He trailed it slowly upward, leaving fire in his wake. The warm rasp of it caused her to cry out, but she swiftly clamped her lips together, holding back another moan when his mouth began to travel, dotting a soft row of kisses across the generous globes quivering in her hands.

One of his hands came up over hers, pulling it away from her breast before replacing it with his own. He gave it a gentle squeeze, using his other hand to tilt the glass again, causing another cool splash. This time, his mouth found her breast, suckling as his tongue circled to lap the wine from her skin. His thumb dipped into the neckline of her dress, finding her nipple and circling it once before he joined it with his forefinger. Giving the nipple a gentle tug, he found the opposite bud through the fabric of her gown with his other hand. Her head fell back, a throaty groan burning in her chest. His mouth pulled upon one breast while his fingers teased the other.

Abruptly, he pulled away, the devilish smile in place once more.

Margaret straightened in her chair, taking deep, slow breaths, and fighting to clear her head. The waiter approached again. Though she knew Camden had been right to stop, she found herself wishing he hadn’t … wishing he’d continued his torture by snatching down the front of her gown and running his devilish tongue all over her breasts.

They were served by the waiter, silent and swift, laying out their light supper of ham sliced paper-thin, a refreshing, lightly dressed salad, warm bread with butter, and an array of custards, tarts, and cheeses for dessert. As desperately as she wanted him to continue where he’d left off, she also had not eaten for hours and had grown famished.

The two ate and chatted amiably while the carousing of the
ton
continued around them. Dancing, music, fireworks … there wasn’t a dull moment, and everything seemed designed to engage the senses in some way.

“I have the strangest sensation we’ve met before,” Camden said suddenly, his knife and fork poised over his plate.

She paused, fork halfway to her mouth, and stared up at him through her mask. She shrugged in a manner she hoped passed for nonchalant.

“We have never been formally introduced, but have been in the same room with each other on more than one occasion,” she hedged. “I am well aware of who you are, Your Grace.”

He frowned. “Well, that does not leave me with very many clues, does it? Perhaps you will tell me where. As a duke, I—”

“Have very many acquaintances and obligations, yes,” she replied with a tight smile.

There was no shortage of willing women at every function, practically throwing themselves at him, but she could never be so bold; especially not with her mother hovering over her shoulder every second, ensuring she behaved like a proper unmarried lady.

“It is quite all right, Camden. I am sure there are a great many people who have been in the same room with you yet failed to garner your attention.”

His hand came over hers, stilling it before she could continue slicing the ham on her plate.

“I feel more than certain I would have remembered you,” he said. “I don’t think I could forget such a stunning woman. Won’t you give me another clue? A last name? A family title? Where do you live?”

She shook her head. “No, Camden. If I were important enough for you to know me, then you would.”

His hand rested on the back of her chair again, his thumb slowly circling the bare skin between her shoulder blades. “Right now, you are the only woman in the world I want to know.”

She gave him a coy smile and lifted her wineglass for another slow sip.

“And know me you shall,” she whispered.

“Ah, the lady seeks to play games with me,” he jested.

She laughed. “We did agree I was entitled to a bit of fun. Why not begin the festivities a bit early?”

He pursed his lips. “Yes, let’s.”

Before Margaret knew what was happening, one of his large hands had gripped her knee. He pulled until her legs parted and then slid his hand between them.

Her heart leapt into her throat, beating furiously. Her hips moved forward a bit to meet his questing hand. He cupped her through her gown and chemise, his palm finding her mons and massaging with gentle pressure.

“You aren’t the only one who enjoys a good game, Maggie,” he purred, his mouth caressing her shoulder and causing a shiver to run down her spine.

A slow pulsing began between her legs, becoming more rapid when Camden applied more pressure.

“I have one of my own in mind,” he continued. His hand left her just long enough to lift her skirts. His palm skimmed her drawers, moving steadily upward. “The game is called ‘how many times can I make Maggie come in one night’.” His fingers tugged on the ribbon holding her drawers in place and loosened it ever so slightly. “There is a long night ahead of us, and I am a man who likes to begin a game in the winning position.”

His fingertips slid through the curls dampened by her desire, parting them to find her distended clitoris. She hissed, clenching her teeth as his index finger slid over it, down, lower and lower, gliding over the folds and back up again, circling her hidden pearl.

“You’re so wet, Maggie,” he whispered, leaning closer to place a row of gentle kisses from her shoulder to the side of her neck.

She watched the revelry beyond the dimly lit dinner box, her every sense heightened by the excitement of allowing him to perform an erotic act on her in public. If even one of the passersby walking the lantern-lit paths just beyond the row of dinner boxes had taken the time to look closer, they could have easily found them out. She thought the idea thrilling, and that excitement only served to heighten her pleasure. Camden joined his finger with a second, dipping them both just within her tight, wet sheath.

“Ah, so tight,” his husky voice said against her ear. His tongue caressed her earlobe, and he caught the delicate cartilage between his teeth. “If you’re this tight around my fingers, I can only imagine how you will feel wrapped around my cock.”

Margaret couldn’t hold back this time. The moan that spilled from her was wild and wanton, uninhibited.

He captured her mouth with his, engaging her tongue in a spirited duel, fingers pumping in and out of her. His thumb slid through her curls again, finding her clitoris and stroking it mercilessly while he worked the walls of her channel with his thick fingers. Never, in her most vivid fantasies, had she imagined anything like this. Her own tentative caresses could never compare with his bold ones.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered when she gasped, her thighs clenching together and imprisoning his hand.

A light fluttering had begun, and she knew what it meant. She’d experienced it several times before at her own hands, but knew it would be even more magnificent this time.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

She bit her lower lip and whimpered, trembling as the pleasure swept over her, causing the pulsating between her legs to crescendo with a force that left her reeling in her chair. Gripping the table, she closed her eyes and savored it, discretion entirely forgotten. She rotated her hips against his hand, seeking to draw out the heavenly ending for as long as it would last.

When the spasms faded, Camden withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking them between his lips. She watched him perform the act in awe, unable to look away even when his gaze snapped up to lock with hers.

“Hmmmm,” he mumbled. “You taste exquisite. I can hardly wait to get a proper nibble.”

Taking up the bottle from their ice bucket, he refilled their glasses and returned to his dinner as if nothing had just occurred between them—as if he had not just taken her body to the heights of pleasure right there at the table.

“Oh,” she said with a smile, reaching for a lemon tartlet. “I do believe I’m going to like this game.”

“After you, love,” Camden said, gallantly offering Maggie a hand up into his coach.

She placed her gloved hand in his and gave him that coy little smile of hers. His cock twitched in response, and his sac tightened around his bollocks, reminding him once again of the urgency of his desire for this woman.

After her sweet little cunt had contracted in orgasm around his fingers beneath the table, he’d almost lost his senses and taken her right there. The temptation to sweep the contents of the table to the ground and have her for his dinner had become far too great. Just the thought of her splayed across the table, her sumptuous tits freed from her gown and bouncing in rhythm with his pounding strokes between her spread thighs … He took a deep breath and released it on a slow, steady exhale. He followed her up into the coach, reminding himself of his plans of slow seduction.

It defied all reason that he should care. Never in his life had he ever felt the need to woo any woman. They made it easy for him, really … too easy, on most occasions. In ballrooms across London, debutantes plotted to place themselves in compromising positions with him so he would be forced to wed them. There were widows free to do as they pleased, and the occasional married lady, who wanted the pleasure of a night, or several, in his bed. Yet, easy as it would have been for him with any other woman in London, he did not want easy. He wanted Maggie.

Speaking of which … that he should want her, a woman obviously so inexperienced, also shocked him. He’d often avoided virgins, and rarely made bedding them a habit. He should have walked away the moment she’d let on that she was a debutante. Yet, here he sat across the coach from her, unable to find the strength to tell her he could not do this. Because, the truth was, he wanted her too badly to think about the consequences for either of them.

He gazed at her in the moonlight filtering through the open carriage door, studying her profile. For all her innocence, she certainly acted like a girl who wished to be well and truly ruined. She couldn’t have made such a decision without thinking of the repercussions. If she were willing to give herself to him, why should he refuse?

His footman closed the door of the coach, casting them into near darkness. The vehicle rocked on its wheels when the driver climbed onto his perch. In moments, they were underway, the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and sway of the carriage filling the silence of the night. The meager moonlight filtering through the windows gave him the barest glimpse of her sitting on the seat across from him.

He reached down to adjust himself, biting back a groan of frustration. The bloody carriage ride to his townhouse would take at least three quarters of an hour. He prayed he would make it until then.

“Was this your first time at Vauxhall?” he asked conversationally.

“Oh, yes!” Her voice came out filled with breathless wonder. “I found it ever so marvelous. I’d always heard so much about it—the lanterns, the pavilions and the orchestra, the supper boxes. It proved quite an experience.”

An amused smile started pulling at the corners of his mouth. “My, you are a green one,” he teased. “Shall I venture to guess that this is your very first season?”

The carriage was dark, but in the beat of silence that followed, he imagined her blushing.

“You are correct,” she replied. “I will admit to not being very worldly. I am just a young lady who wishes to be free from the constraints of society for one night. I thought a masquerade at Vauxhall just the place for it.”

“You certainly chose well. There are no rules at Vauxhall, and thank Heavens for it, or I might not have ever found you.”

Her throaty laughter reached out at him from across the carriage.

“Never tell me you are grateful for the company of one such as myself. I have observed you in many ballrooms. You have never lacked for female companionship. I doubt you lack for such behind closed doors, either.”

He grinned. “Yes, you have the right of it.”

“If … if you wish a companion with more … experience … I would understand.”

For a moment, the mask of the seductress slipped and he could see the insecurities of a wallflower emerging. Was he really such a heel that he’d never noticed her? Christ, what a vivacious little thing. He could hardly imagine being in a room with Maggie without being aware of her electrifying presence.

Deciding he couldn’t wait another moment to get his hands on her—and put her self-doubt to rest once and for all—he went to his knees on the carriage floor. His hands found her ankles, his fingers caressing the silk of her stockings.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Maggie,” he replied, lifting her skirts over her knees and revealing garters that matched her gown. “If I wanted a woman with experience, I would have found one. What I want is to be the first to taste your sweet honeypot. The first to know what it is to be inside you. Do you understand?”

She shivered and fell back against the seat as his hands skimmed her thighs.

“You wish to ruin me,” she whispered.

“So thoroughly and completely you’ll never want any other man to touch you again,” he growled, his thumb finding her swollen clitoris through the silken curls between her legs.

She whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand.

“Yes!” she cried.

A rush of moisture met his searching fingers as he stroked her, steadily rubbing her little button in circles and dipping down to caress the slick folds.

“I want that, Camden. Ruin me.”

At her passionate plea, he lost his grip on control and lowered his head, desperate for a taste of her. The scent of her arousal gripped him and pulled him in, causing his mouth to water. He parted the plump lips of her mons with his fingers and pressed his mouth to her.

He moaned, his tongue meeting hot, wet, feminine flesh. He pressed his palms against the insides of her thighs and pushed them farther apart, opening her up to him. Closing his lips around the tight pearl of her pleasure, he reached up with one hand and snatched down the front of her bodice. Her breasts bounced free, and one of them filled his hand, the nipple tightening and tickling his palm. He pinched the little pink bud between his thumb and forefinger and gently pulled, earning another flood of moisture from between her legs and a sharp cry from her lips.

The rock and sway of the carriage, combined with the instinctive movement of Maggie’s hips, caused the perfect friction between her and his tongue. He lapped at her, timing his strokes with the movement of her hips, concentrating his efforts on the little bundle of nerves at her center. She’d become so wet, it was nothing for him to slide two fingers inside of her.

Maggie trembled, moaning with wild abandon, heedless to the driver and footman just outside the vehicle. The devil take them all, Camden didn’t give a bloody damn if they heard her, so long as he was the one giving her such pleasure.

“Ah … oh, Camden,” she groaned, her hips undulating against his fingers and tongue. “Oh … oh, that feels so … oh,
Avonleah
!”

His balls tightened until it felt as if he would spend himself in his breeches when his title came falling from her lips like the most erotic, most wicked of whispered words. He pumped his fingers in and out of her swiftly, spurred on by her wild cries. Her hands came down to tangle in his hair, her fingers sliding through his curls. She ground against his tongue, searching for that exquisite ending he knew drew near.

She screamed and shuddered, her tight channel squeezing his fingers and throbbing around them. His cock pulsated in tandem with her spasms, yearning to experience what his fingers felt. His fingers slowed as he dragged out her torment, creating wave after wave of the little tremors rocking her insides while she floated back down from the pinnacle of rapture.

Reluctantly, he tore his mouth away from her, his lips slick with her essence. He’d barely managed to slip his fingers free of her sheath when she reached down and grasped his lapels, dragging him up and over her. He groaned with pleasure as she captured his mouth with hers, bringing him right between her spread legs. He could feel the heat of her through his breeches as she wrapped her limbs around his waist and pressed her hot core up against him. He ground his hips against hers, his body overcome with the thought of the pleasures to be found between her lovely thighs.

“Oh, Camden,” she murmured against his lips. “You make me feel so … so alive. I want … I can’t wait any longer. Please … take me, Camden.”

He shuddered at her plea, his hand already going to the fastening of his breeches. Even as he freed himself, he shook his head.

“I can’t, Maggie. Not here. Your first time shouldn’t be in a carriage. There will be pain … I want to take you home to my bed.”

Her eyes grew wild, glazed with desire and need. She swayed against him, the opening of her cunt brushing up against the head of his cock. He gasped as it came away coated in her juices and tingling from the contact. He couldn’t resist the urge to thrust against her again, brushing against her damp curls.

“Bloody hell,” he growled, his hips moving of their own accord, urging him closer to the pleasure she offered him. Reaching down between them, he gripped his cock and nestled it against her, right between the lips of her mons. His teeth clenched as she drenched him with her honey, easing his way. He rubbed against her, the head of his sex pressing perfectly between her lower lips.

Maggie held on to his shoulders, her hips moving in perfect rhythm with his. She rubbed her delectable cunt against him, coating him in even more of her wetness, moaning against his jacket and burying her face against his chest. It took everything in him not to plunge into her womb and fuck her mindless, but he held on to his last shred of discipline. He’d meant what he said about waiting to take her to bed before breaching her maidenhead. He would be damned if he took her virginity on the floor of a carriage as if she were no more than a brothel whore. He would be content with just this small taste of her, a prelude to what they would experience before the night ended.

“Oh, God … it’s happening again!” she cried, her thighs gripping him.

“You’re coming,” he rasped, his thrusts becoming wilder against her. “So am I, love. Come with me. I want to feel you come on my cock, Maggie.”

She whimpered and shuddered against him before going limp in his arms. A few more thrusts and he went there with her, trembling violently and burying a forceful cry in the side of her neck. His bollocks contracted, and the hot gush of his seed spurting against her lower belly brought him blessed relief.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a handkerchief, using it to carefully clean Maggie before stuffing it back into his coat. He put his cock back in his breeches and lowered Maggie’s skirts before raising himself onto the seat beside her.

Leaning back against the seat, he tucked her into the crook of his arm and kissed the top of her head. She fell silent and held him, one arm crossing his middle and snaking around his waist.

It surprised him how content he was to simply sit with her, watching as the rocking of the carriage slowly lulled her to sleep. This was it, his chance to take her home—wherever that happened to be—and forget the rest. She wasn’t fully compromised, and he hadn’t missed his chance to cry off.

However, just the thought of her with someone else set his blood to boiling. He held her possessively against him and kissed the top of her head. Even if just for this one night, Maggie was his.