Miss Weston's Masquerade (16 page)

‘You are refreshingly different,
ma belle
,’ he murmured against her hair.

Cassandra felt herself swaying instinctively against him, driven by her love, her need, for him. His warm lips grazed tantalisingly down the curve of her jaw to the soft hollow of her throat.

She had to touch him. She was beyond thinking how a courtesan should behave, beyond teasing and flirting. Cassandra put up her hand, caressing the nape of his neck, and instantly her memory supplied the recollection of his bare back under her palms in Nice.

Spreading her fingers in his hair, her thumb rubbing the strong tendon of his neck, she was hardly aware of the balustrade behind her shoulders, the yielding cushions beneath her.

Footsteps rang on the marble and, with a murmur that sounded like a mixture of relief at being stopped before things could go too far and regret, Nicholas sat up. He ran one hand through his hair and tugged at his cravat.

Cassandra, her heart in her throat, came back to reality with a start. The terrace was now virtually empty, but Lucia was approaching them with Sir Humphrey in her wake. All that had happened, Cassandra told herself, was that Nicholas had taken her in his arms, yet she felt stripped naked before everyone.

Behind the mask, Lucia’s eyes were quizzical. ‘We came to tell you that supper is being served and dancing will follow. Will you not join us? It would give us great pleasure, would it not, Sir Humphrey?’

The diplomat was totally under her spell. ‘Of course, of course. Damned good supper, by the look of it.’

‘Of course.’ Nicholas took Cassandra by the hand to escort her back into the salon.

‘One moment,’ Lucia said. ‘Look, my dear, your lace is torn. Gentlemen, allow us a moment while I pin it up. Please, go ahead, we will meet you inside.’

As soon as they were alone, she turned urgently to Cassandra. ‘What are you about, little one? You must tease, tantalise, flirt with him. Inflame him, yes, but not yield to him. At least,’ she added, ‘not yet.’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ Cassandra admitted. ‘I love him, I do want him… How could I realise it would be like this? What am I to do, Lucia? I have no experience.’

‘You have two choices. Flee now while you can, or take him back to my palazzo and there give yourself to him.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You want him to know you as a woman. But I wonder if you understand truly what that means. I cannot dictate to you whether you follow your heart or your head, you must decide. Come now, they will be becoming impatient.’

Nicholas had heaped a plate of dainties from the buffet for her and Cassandra made herself eat, hoping the food would counteract the wine and clear her head.

Somehow she kept up her part in the light-hearted badinage which passed between their party, remembering to keep her voice low and accented. Yet, all the while, she was aware of Nicholas at her side, the touch of his sleeve against her bare arm, the caress of his fingers as he handed her peeled sections of fruit.

His regard was warm on her and she sensed his impatience to touch her was reined in only by the demands of good manners. Even as she chatted and flirted, her mind whirled on a treadwheel of indecision. What should she do?

The safest thing would be to disappear now. But meeting his eyes as he smiled down at her, she knew she wanted more than anything to be in his arms, for him to kiss her again as he had in Paris, for her to show him her love.

She wanted to be his wife, to be with him always. By giving herself to him tonight, he might come to love her as she loved him. But it was a terrible risk. He might reject her and an illicit love affair would be a betrayal of everything she felt for him, of her upbringing and sense of what was right.

‘You are very thoughtful,
ma belle
,’ he said lightly, tipping up her chin.

The touch sent the blood burning through her veins and she smiled at him, moving closer, wanting to be held. ‘Let us dance, Nicholas. Listen, it is the waltz.’

She had never performed this daring, intimate dance with a man as her partner. The Vicar’s four daughters, with whom she was friendly, had wheedled their dancing master into teaching them the waltz and Cassandra had learned it from them.

But dancing and giggling with Verity Lamb while sister Charity played the spinet was quite a different matter from standing close to Nicholas, his hand resting lightly at her waist, the other clasping hers. She gathered up her skirt gracefully in her free hand and tried to concentrate on the steps of the dance, not the touch of his palm against hers.

At home to have danced more than twice with the same man would have been shockingly forward, but in Venice, such conventions held no sway. Dance after dance passed, and Nicholas took no other partner, had eyes for no-one else.

As the clock struck three, he pulled her closer than the dance demanded and whispered huskily, ‘I can bear it no longer, I must be alone with you. Come to my palazzo.’

‘No.’ Cassandra was startled into bluntness, then remembered Lucia’s whispered instructions earlier in the evening. ‘I never go to a gentleman’s house.’

The look on his face gave her a feeling of power, of strength, she had never before experienced. This assured, experienced man was in her thrall, hanging on her decision. She wanted him – and he was hers.

‘You would leave me?’ His eyes were dark and glittering, although he kept his voice light.

‘No, my lord. I did not say that. Come, instead, to my palazzo. Come home with me.’

The blaze of torchlight on the Grand Canal seemed almost to ignite the water, the reflections were so bright on its dark surface. To Cassandra’s relief she had to give no orders to the boatman and Lucia’s gondolier followed his mistress’s instructions to return speedily to her palazzo, but by a route his passengers would not recognise. He steered south, not north, turning off to avoid the main waterways.

Cassandra was lost within seconds, but their route was of small importance beside the effect of being alone with Nicholas in the intimacy of the gondola. Now, in the velvety darkness, with the discreet silhouette of the gondolier above them, she felt panic, and a sudden doubt. Despite her overwhelming love for this man, was she doing the right thing? Would he understand that she was driven to behave like this only because she loved him?

Through the thin silk of her gown, Nicholas’s thigh was warm and hard against hers. He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close against his chest, his lips moving in her hair.

Cassandra stiffened, then made herself relax as one hand slipped under the lace at her shoulder and he began to caress her skin. Any maidenly shrinking would betray her instantly, but how was she to restrain his mounting passion until they reached the palazzo?

‘Nicholas,’ she whispered. ‘Do you intend to stay long in Venice?’

‘
Mmm
?’ He was disinclined for conversation, his response merely a mumble as he nibbled delicately at her ear.

‘How long do you stay in Venice?’ she persisted, unable to prevent her treacherous body moving more closely into his embrace.

Reluctantly he freed his mouth. ‘That depends on what there is to stay for.’ He bent his head and trailed kisses across the swell of her breasts, his lips fretting at the confining lace.

Cassandra swallowed hard, filled with a strange mixture of panic and desire. ‘Oh, there is much to stay for, Nicholas,’ she managed to gasp out.

‘As I am discovering,’ he responded huskily. An unwelcome thought seemed to strike him, and he straightened up, still holding her close. ‘I am not entirely my own master in this matter,’ he said with heavy irony, his eyes on the dark water.

In the glow from a lighted courtyard, Cassandra saw his face harden with remembered anger. ‘Why not, my lord?’

‘I am encumbered,’ he said shortly. ‘Encumbered by a troublesome female for whom I have responsibility. I must take her to my mother in Vienna. If I do not strangle her first,’ he added bitterly.

Some devil prompted Cassandra to probe further. ‘You jest, of course, Nicholas. You have your little daughter with you? Do you not like
les enfants
?’

‘She is no relative of mine, thank the Lord. And she is not a child, although she is as unruly and ungovernable as one.’

There was real feeling in his voice and Cassandra realised she was still unforgiven, both for her words and for the blow. ‘Surely, if you are giving her your protection, she should be meek and grateful in return? Why,’ she fought to keep the anger from her own voice, ‘I am sure you must have been like an indulgent elder brother to her,
mon cher
.’

It was too dark to read his face, but Nicholas shifted uncomfortably on the cushions beside her and Cassandra felt a small stab of triumph. So, she had pricked his conscience had she?

But not so much, it seemed, to make him forget his grievances. ‘The wretched chit had the impertinence to lecture me on my behaviour and morals. When I consider that I saved her from the most dissolute, the most diseased rake in London…’ Nicholas had forgotten the woman beside him in his bitterness.

Cassandra was frightened by his vehemence, then remembered Lucia’s suggestion that his anger was fuelled by his desire for her. It seemed difficult to believe, looking at his set profile and stiff back. His hands no longer caressed her, but rested tensely on his thighs.

To her relief, the gondola bumped up against a landing stage and the gondolier jumped ashore to secure it. Cassandra realised they had reached the back of Lucia’s
palazzo
and set herself to distract Nicholas in case he should recognise their surroundings.

‘You are very quiet, my lord,’ she purred, as he handed her out of the gently rocking boat. She kept her fingers linked with his as she drew him towards the door already standing ajar. ‘Forget your troublesome ward, you are with me
ce soir..
.’ She let the phrase trail off provocatively, and it had the desired effect.

Nicholas gave himself an almost imperceptible shake and smiled down at her as they passed into the darkened hallway. ‘No man could forget he was with you,
ma belle
,’ he murmured.

His ardour led him to catch her in his arms as they mounted the stairs, spanning her waist with his hands and turning her towards him as he stood on the step below.

The position brought them mouth to mouth. He kissed the corner of her lips, then ran the tip of his tongue around their curve, the strength of his hands pulling her tight against his hard body.

‘Nicholas,’ she protested against his lips. ‘Upstairs… we will be more comfortable upstairs in my chamber.’

‘Then let us make haste, or I swear I will have you here where we stand.’

Cassandra felt the scalding blush sweep from her toes to the roots of her hair. She had never dreamt that the depth of a man’s passion and urgent desire could lead to lovemaking on the stairs. She was reflecting that it was fortunate that the darkness masked her dismay, when he stopped and swept her up in his arms.

‘This door?’ He hardly waited for her nod before shouldering it open.

Cassandra expected him to set her on her feet as soon as he had kicked the door closed behind them. Instead he tightened his embrace, crushing her breasts against the soft linen of his shirt as he bent his head to claim her lips.

This was what she had been waiting for, yearning for, since she had realised her love for him. She tightened her arms around his neck, inciting, compelling with her fingertips.

His mouth was hot, sweet and demanding, invading hers with an intimacy that shocked yet thrilled. Cassandra felt certain that if she did not draw breath in the next few seconds she would surely faint, yet rather than withdraw, he deepened the pressure with erotic expertise, teasing her tongue tip with his own. Her senses spinning, she forgot all her doubts, all her fears, in the tide of her love and longing.

She was aware of him moving towards the bed, although he never freed her lips. He stooped, laying her gently amongst the yielding cushions, and sat beside her.

Cassandra lay fighting to control her tumultuous breathing, watching him through the slits in her mask. A small branch of candles afforded enough light to gild the sheen of perspiration on his taut face, and his eyes glittered greener with desire.

Nicholas watched her for a long moment, deliberately it seemed to her, prolonging the tension in the room. When at last he did move, it was to reach out with one long finger and free the jewel that trembled beneath the lace, caught in the cleft of her breasts.

The merest brush of his fingertip left her quivering with desire. He took the rose quartz between thumb and forefinger, rubbing its cool smoothness gently, insistently, his eyes never leaving her face. While he fondled the jewel, his little finger stroked her skin, gently at first, then with increasing pressure.

A tiny gasp of shock and surrender escaped Cassandra’s parted lips. If he kissed her now, she would be lost, would give herself to him utterly without heed to anything… But it would be worth it, worth anything, if there was a chance he could come to love her, too.

‘Damn these masks,’ he growled, fumbling in her hair for the strings. ‘Intriguing they may be, but they’re damnably inconvenient.’

In a moment they would be face to face, not Nicholas and Antoinette, but Nicholas and Cassandra. Suddenly she knew she, Cassandra, could never do the things that Antoinette would do. To make love to him in disguise would be pointless, empty, wanton. To make love to him as herself, she realised, was impossible.

It would betray her own honour and, in doing so, tarnish everything she felt for Nicholas. He would hate the deception, the lies that had brought him here. The realisation doused her passion more effectively than a douche of cold water. With a sinuous twist, she slipped from beneath his hand and off the bed.

‘When I return, Nicholas,’ she whispered huskily, ‘then you may take everything, beginning with the mask. But I must fetch wine and fruit for later and make certain we are not disturbed.’

‘I’ll wait then,
ma belle
– but impatiently.’ He swung his long legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the cushions. The smile he sent her was melting with desire as she escaped, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.

She leaned her shoulders against the panels, achingly aware of Nicholas on the other side, fighting to control the urge to run back into his arms, whatever her conscience told her.

Lucia’s sharp hiss brought her to her senses. ‘Why have you left him?’ She was standing at the foot of the stairs as Cassandra ran down. ‘What is wrong? Why are you not in your Niccolo's arms?’ Her sharp eyes scanned Cassandra’s flushed face.

‘I cannot do it, it would be wrong. Oh, but Lucia, I love him so.’ Her voice broke on a sob.

‘Make haste then.’ Lucia drew her into the chamber where her maid was waiting. The two of them began unlacing the gown, removing the wig and freeing Cassandra’s own hair.

‘Wear this.’ Lucia bundled her into a plain wrapper and began scrubbing at her face with a thick cream. ‘Here, take the rest of the pot and this linen to apply it, check carefully in a good light that there is no paint left around your eyes and hairline. Now go!’

Propelled into the chilly dawn light of the courtyard, Cassandra stopped, looking round wildly. How was she to get into her own
palazzo
? Then she saw the door standing ajar, Lucia’s influence no doubt. She ran up the steps, then paused, one hand on the heavy iron ring, and looked back. Behind the lighted window, Nicholas’s shadow crossed and re-crossed the room. He was becoming impatient.

Fear lent wings to her feet as she sped towards her chamber. Candles burned on the dressing table in front of the mirror and she stooped to scrutinise her face as she scrubbed the linen over the last remnants of kohl under her lashes. Dragging of the wrapper, she bundled it into the clothes press and kicked the slippers out of sight.

The water in the pitcher on the washstand was cold but Cassandra splashed it over her neck and breast to wash away the lingering scent of sandalwood, replacing it with a splash of her usual innocuous rosewater.

The jewel still hung around her neck. Her fingers were fumbling with the unfamiliar clasp when the front door crashed shut with the force of a thunderclap echoing around the marble halls.

Cassandra whisked into bed, dragging the covers up to her chin, then lay back on the pillows fighting to steady her breathing. Nicholas wouldn’t come to her room, why should he? It was only her guilty conscience that prompted the fear.

As she closed her eyes, she heard him enter his chamber, shutting the door with slightly less vehemence this time, no doubt to avoid waking her. She could chart his progress around the room by his footsteps and the sound of drawers being opened and closed, his shoes being kicked across the floor with a muttered imprecation. Then there was silence.

She had just started to relax when the connecting door eased open. She caught her breath, then forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly. Between slitted lids, she watched Nicholas in his brocade robe standing on the threshold regarding her. She turned slightly on the pillows to watch him more easily and muttered as though restless in her sleep.

How long he stood there she had no idea, although it seemed long minutes rather than seconds, but he made no move to come further into the room or to speak to her.

In the end, it was her own guilty conscience that made her feign waking. ‘Nicholas?’ She injected as much sleepy puzzlement as she could into her voice. ‘What’s wrong? What time is it?’

He hesitated, one hand on the edge of the door. ‘Nothing, nothing’s the matter. Don’t worry. I’m sorry I woke you.’ But he did not go back through the open door, instead he moved slowly to sit on the end of her bed, his eyes steady on her face.

After a moment, he said, ‘You look tired, Cassie.’

‘I am. I haven’t slept much.’ She looked at him, seeing how the excitements and disappointments of the night had left him drained. ‘Are you all right? You look ill.’

‘I will survive.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Like you, I have had no sleep.’ He fell silent again.

‘Why are you here, Nicholas?’

‘I felt the need to see you, but I didn’t intend to disturb you. Cassie, I’m sorry... I felt, I feel... I should never have shouted at you, never have struck you. I had neglected you, no wonder you felt rebellious.’

‘Nicholas, there is no need for this.’ If he felt guilty, Cassandra felt a thousand times worse. His anger had turned to remorse, but she could feel no satisfaction at his apology. She put out a tentative hand and he took it gently.

‘Coming to Venice was a mistake, I should never have brought you here. It was selfish of me.’ He was patting her hand in a way totally removed from the caresses of an hour ago. ‘Sleep now, we will make more plans tomorrow.’