Unmasking Lady Innocent

Ann Lethbridge

Spinster Diana Buntin has accepted that handsome Lord James Grey will never look at her as more than a friend. Yet she is tired of waiting to experience passion. Armed with a list of rakes known to specialize in seduction, Diana arranges to meet her first lover at a masked ball—keeping their identities secret and her reputation intact.

But while Diana feels a powerful attraction to her mystery seducer, she also senses that he may not be a stranger after all….

Dear Reader,

London during the Regency is a wonderful mix of contradictions in behaviour—proper in public and scandalous behind closed doors, it certainly provides lots of food for a my wicked imagination.

I had so much fun writing three connected amorous interludes for Harlequin Historical Undone, The Laird and the Wanton Widow, One Night as a Courtesan, and now this final story. I am sure you will agree, after her long wait, Diana thoroughly deserves her story too.

If you would like to know more about me or my books you will find me at: http://www.annlethbridge.com or write to me at ann@annlethbridge.com I love to hear from readers.

I dedicate this story to Teaser, my dog and patient writing companion, who makes sure I get my exercise each and every day.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

About the Author

Chapter One

In the dark of the carriage, the horses’ hooves did nothing to drown out the thunder of Diana Buntin’s heart. The sound filled her ears and vibrated her ribs. Her lungs ached for air, yet the simple act of breathing seemed unattainable.

Kate, her good friend and once her lady’s companion, squeezed Diana’s hand as the carriage halted. “Dinna fash,” she said, her soft Scottish brogue stronger since she married her highland laird.

Hand in hand, they waited for the door to open. “’Tis not too late to change your mind,” Kate murmured.

And what then? Continue her lonely spinster’s existence?

She would have married long ago, were it not for the death of her betrothed, followed almost immediately by her elderly parents’ demises, one after the other. She’d done nothing but wait for years. In what had seemed less than a moment, she’d gone from youthful debutante to spinster on the shelf. A horrid fate for a woman who once expected a glittering marriage, home and family.

Wasn’t it now her turn to taste what life had to offer? Wasn’t it time to stop waiting and seize what she wanted?

Realizing she was gripping Kate’s hand far too hard, she let go. Many women had the kind of discrete liaison she sought. Widows. Unhappily married women. For them, people turned a blind eye. So what if she’d never been married?

Having made her list of potential bed partners from men known by reputation as hedonists who specialized in passion, she’d closed her eyes and let fate take its course. Only Kate knew the name her pin had stabbed. Like the good friend she’d always been, Kate had delivered the offer of one night of anonymous lovemaking. Diana didn’t want to know the man’s identity, she just wanted him to show her the passion she’d missed. Because she was finished with waiting.

She forced a smile. “No going back. This is what I want.”

The carriage door swung open. The liveried footman let down the steps. Diana resolutely stepped down into the warm spring evening. She glanced back at her auburn-haired friend. “Besides, he may not show up.”

Kate jumped down beside her. “He’ll be waiting.”

Good. Someone waiting for her for once.

Her stomach lurched. Why was she so nervous? It was only a meeting tonight. If she didn’t feel comfortable with the man, that would be an end to it. He might not like her and would have the same option. It was the terms they’d agreed. Was that her fear…that he would find her lacking? Mentally she shrugged. Nothing would be lost. The meeting would be a fleeting anonymous discussion. Her reputation would remain intact. She’d made sure of it.

“Harry is already here?” she asked Kate, perhaps for the third time. Harry, Lord Godridge was the man who had swept Kate off her feet and carried her off to a wedding at Gretna Green. The couple had recently returned to London take Diana’s niece, Lizzie, back to her father in Scotland.

“He’s here with Lizzie.” Kate chuckled. “Puzzled but content to be of service.”

They climbed the steps to the front door of the Dunstan’s palatial home on the bank of the Thames near Richmond. “Tonbridge is a good man,” Diana said wistfully. “His gain is my loss. I have yet to find a companion to replace you.”

“Leaving you in the lurch is my only regret.”

“Nonsense. I am fine.” Or she would be, once this terrible urgency to savor all life had to offer was gone from her blood.

The butler bowed them in and a footman took their cloaks. They shook out their skirts and patted their hair. Simple everyday things, yet Diana’s hands trembled as if she’d stepped on a loose rock at the edge of a precipice. Her heart beat so fast, she could feel blood rushing through her veins. Kate led the way down the corridor. Diana’s stomach tied itself in a knot as she followed, ostensibly going to the ladies’ withdrawing room. In truth, to an assignation that might forever change who she was.

They paused at an innocuous-looking panelled door, painted white. It stood slightly ajar. Waiting.

Kate turned to face her. “This is it. Dunstan’s housekeeper was very precise in her directions. I’ll wait for you in the ballroom.” She hurried away, leaving Diana to make the final decision. Go in. Or leave.

It was only a meeting. A prelude. An introduction. Nothing to fear at all. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded and slipped inside. She let the door swing closed and stood with her back against it, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. The light from the fire bounced off a polished wooden table. It gilded a sofa and a chair near the hearth. The rest of the room lay in shadow. Was he indeed here?

One of the shadows shifted. “Good evening, madam,” a deep, pleasantly hoarse voice murmured.

Her heart leaped into her throat. She closed her lips on a gasp. The voice was not one she knew, though the quiet tone made it hard to be sure. But since she’d never met any of the men on her list, knowing them only by reputation, perhaps a brief glimpse during a whispered tale of wickedness, she was not surprised. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. “Good evening.”

The bulky shadow drew close, so close she could feel his heat and inhale the dark note of his cologne. Something musky and very male.

A hand touched hers, then held it. No gloves. Male skin brushed her fingertips, the warmth of his palm penetrated the lacy cotton of her evening mittens as he brought her hand to his lips. A light brush followed by a puff of warm air as he breathed. It sent tingles up her arm and all the way down to her toes. Her body tightened.

Delicious sensations rippled across her skin even as his gentleness soothed. No longer was she afraid. Just delectably excited. The excitement of youth and life. “I apologize for the secrecy,” she said softly. “My reputation demands it.”

“I understand,” he murmured. “Come. Sit. We will get to know each other a little and see where it leads.”

“Yes,” she said, breathless again.

With a stumble or two and some rueful chuckles from each of them, they found their way to a corner far from the fire. She could make out nothing of his face, though now and again she caught a glimmer of firelight in his eyes, and a flash of white teeth, yet she had an impression of youth, strength and manliness.

He held her hand cradled in his warm one. Once more he brought it to his mouth and she felt the curve of his lips against her knuckles.

She raised her other hand to touch his face, tracing a well-formed brow above a nose to be reckoned with. Continuing her exploration she found a lean strong jaw, smooth shaven, and a determined chin. She followed the line of his neck and rested her hand on a firm broad shoulder.

“Will I do?” he asked with laughter in his voice, but no trace of insult. “Perhaps this will tip the balance in my favor.”

His warm hand cupped her nape, a loose gentle hold, and then his lips touched hers, moved easily on her mouth, tasting her with a soft sigh that made her insides flutter.

A melting sensation invaded her limbs. Dear heaven, she was leaning into him, pressing her tingling breasts against a solid wall of chest to ease their ache, clutching at those lovely broad shoulders and…kissing him back.

Their breaths tangled as she parted her lips. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth in a caress that dizzied her senses. Heat flared in her belly. Little waves of something pleasurable spread out from deep between her thighs.

His other hand wandered her back, came around to stroke her ribs, brushed the underside of her breast. A tantalizing touch, arousing a wildness that made her moan.

He broke away, his breathing ragged and harsh.

She liked that she had some effect on him.

“Dearest lady,” he murmured. “This is neither the time or the place.”

Her face flamed. Was she really so wanton she’d been prepared to bed him right here. It seemed so, for she whispered, “When? Where?”

A soft laugh rumbled from his chest. Little bursts of heat trickled along her veins at the wickedness in the sound.

“Our bargain is sealed, then?” His whisper, so close to her ear, sent a shiver down her spine.

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Meet me at the masquerade at Vauxhall tomorrow evening.”

Kate must have mentioned her plans. “Very well.” There…that sounded calm enough.

He rose to his feet.

Panicked, she gazed up at him. “How will you find me?”

“Wear red. I will know you.”

Swift strides took him to the door. She had a glimpse of a tall lean form in the half light from the corridor outside, and he was gone.

Diana pressed her hands to her mouth, staring at the empty doorway. Just like that, it was done.

How would she get through tonight when excitement rushed through her veins like molten metal? How would she pretend nothing had happened? Pretend she had never been kissed like a wanton? Pretend she was naught but a dried-up spinster chaperoning her niece? Somehow she must.

Carefully she picked her way through the darkened room. Saw no one in the hallway. Heart skipping, she hurried into the ballroom. Was he here, her stranger? Somewhere in the room, watching, wondering which of the many women present had been in his arms but a moment ago? She pushed through the press of people and took the empty chair at Kate’s side.

Her friend raised a brow.

Diana flushed hot and sent her a look of reproof.

“Then it is done?” Kate said. “Good for you.”

It was done. Finally she’d taken matters into her own hands. But now was not the time to think about it. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough. She buried her excitement beneath a calm smile. She glanced around the opulent marble-and-gilt ballroom. “The Duke of Dunstan certainly knows how to entertain on the grand scale.”

“I’m still reeling at the idea the dissolute duke is actually married,” Kate said with a swift glance at the duke and duchess speaking with a group of guests. The sartorially splendid duke had a bored smile on his thin lips. His duchess, a tall elegant woman, attired in a gown of gold tissue and the famous Dunstan rubies, looked thoroughly ill at ease. “Rumor has it he married to teach the dowager duchess a lesson.”

“Knowing Dunstan’s reputation, I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Diana replied. There was something cold about the duke. “No wonder this ball is such a squeeze. Everyone wants a look at his choice of wife.”

Diana caught a glimpse of Lizzie and Harry on the dance floor and smiled fondly at the blond-haired beauty who looked so much like Diana they could have been sisters. “I really am going to miss the dear child.”

Kate touched her hand with her fan and cast her a knowing smile. “No so much as you expected, I think.”

Diana’s stomach tumbled over. Heat scalded her cheeks. She glanced around. “Hush. Do you want the world to know?”

“No one could possibly guess,” her friend said. “Not about prim-and-proper you.”

Prim and proper certainly described her life up to now. And look where it had got her.

“Here comes Lord Grey,” Kate said.

Cheeks still hot, Diana stared at the lean man bearing down on them. Her heart gave an odd little thump. She’d known James for most of her life. He’d been as sports mad as her intended, Peter. Corinthians, they called themselves. Forever at some boxing match, or racing their horses or curricles. After Peter’s death, he’d given all that up. She’d watched him mature from a gangly heir to an earldom to a tall, athletic and confident lord of his lands.

He’d been her most steadfast friend, helping her through her parents’ deaths and the quagmire of financial arrangements left behind.

Kate narrowed her eyes. “He’s very handsome, but so stern.”

He was handsome. Not a fair Adonis like Peter, but his strong harsh features, the angled jaw and knife-edged cheekbones, spoke of determination and action. His large spare frame made her think of long rides in the country rather than games of chance in the gambling rooms at Whites. A stern-faced nobleman who did his duty to family and to those lucky enough to earn his friendship.

“I am surprised he has never married,” Kate mused. “Would he do for you, do you think?”

Diana’s heart tumbled over. Once or twice she’d thought, well hoped really, he might have interest, but he’d not said a word. Over time she’d come to realize he viewed her as one of his duties. “He’s been like…like a brother.” He saw her as one of his responsibilities. Nothing more.

“But you do like him?”

“Who would not like Lord Grey? He is an honorable gentleman.” Diana shifted in her chair, the conversation making her twitchy. With what? Yearning? If so, it was pure foolishness. She’d waited for years for Peter to finish sowing his wild oats, as her mother had called his antics on the hunting field and at Jackson’s boxing saloon. She wasn’t waiting for anyone anymore. She sighed a little sigh. “He has been a pillar these last few years and a good friend. Honestly, I believe, even after all this time he feels guilty about what happened to Peter.”

“It wasn’t his fault the fool rode neck or nothing to his death.”

“No, of course it wasn’t,” she said crossly, not wanting to cover old ground. Heavens knew she did it often enough in her own mind. “It was Peter’s own doing. I know it and logically so does Grey. Yet he believes himself partly responsible. I really do not want to discuss this.”

Kate pursed her lips. “Then I will say no more.”

Good. She hated talking about Peter. Only with James did she ever feel comfortable talking about what had happened. Over the years it had become a bond between them she would hate to lose.

As he neared, she he held out her hand with a welcoming smile. “I thought you were out of town, my lord.”

His eyes warmed as he shook her hand. His touch was firm and comforting. A frisson of awareness on some deeper level ran through her. A sense of recognition she didn’t quite understand. A feeling almost as intense as that she’d experienced in the darkened room with the stranger. How could that be? Familiarity, she decided, as he made his bows to Kate.

“How is your mother, Lord Grey?” Diana asked.

His dark eyes rested on her face. They seemed to warm. “Well ensconced in Bath, I am happy to say. I intend to visit her later in the week and will carry any message you might have if you would like me to call for them in the morning.”

“That is most kind,” Diana said. “I expect to go to Bath myself later in the month. Once Lizzie has returned to her father.”

Grey frowned at where Lizzie was laughing at something Harry must have said as she tripped lightly down the set. “I thought she was to have left for Scotland weeks ago.”

“My fault, I’m afraid,” Kate said with a completely unrepentant smile. “Though you must agree, Lord Grey, Lizzie has become quite the rage. I should not be at all surprised to see a very advantageous marriage by next season. Lord Macrae must be pleased.”

“I have enjoyed every moment of her season,” Diana added, seeing Lord Grey’s frown deepen. “It made me feel young again. The house will seem quite empty when she goes.” And Diana would return to her old quiet life. Her pulse quickened. Or she would have, if it wasn’t for the step she had taken tonight.

She inhaled a quick breath to repress another round of flutters in her stomach. “Well, Lord Grey, and what do you think of the happy couple?” She indicated the progress of the duke and the duchess around the room. “They say they met one day and married the next. Have you heard of anything more romantic?”

He snorted. “Sounds more like a case of needs must to me.”

Diana shivered at the image. One night with a stranger and married the next day. So dark and dangerous. How could one not call that romantic? Gothically so. Tonight, for the first time, she had experienced some of that thrill. And she wanted more.

Lord Grey’s dark eyes narrowed. The irises were blue-flecked with brown. They reminded her of cool streams and deep pools of calm water, yet sometimes like now, they glowed as if there were banked fires deep beneath the surface.

She turned hot, then cold. Goodness, surely she had not allowed her wicked thoughts to show on her face, not when James watched her so closely. As if he guessed. He could not. Not possibly.

“They do say reformed rakes make the best husbands,” Kate observed, her gaze fixed skeptically on the dissolute duke.

“If they reform,” James said dryly.

“You don’t have an ounce of romance in your soul do you, Lord Grey?” Diana smiled to take the sting out of her words even as she heard the rather cutting edge in her voice.

His eyes widened a fraction. “Not a smidgen,” he agreed, his gaze considering, and perhaps even a small smile playing about his lips as if he thought her notions ridiculous.

She plied her fan vigorously to hide another burst of heat. “Let me tell you, there was nothing more romantic than seeing Kate being whisked off to Gretna Green by a highwayman.”

“A highwayman, indeed,” Kate said, laughing. “Harry didn’t fool me for a moment.”

The hard line of Lord Grey’s mouth softened into a smile. Diana’s heart caught at the too rare sight. She bit back the compulsion to ask why he didn’t smile more often. He used to smile as a youth, she remembered. And tease.

In those days he’d been as reckless as Peter. A sportsman. Up to every rig and row in Town and the devil take the hindmost. Until Peter died.

“Is it every woman’s fantasy to be carried off by a highwayman?” He looked down at her and her heart gave an odd sort of leap at the intensity in his gaze. She felt quite fluttery at the warmth she saw there. As fluttery as she had felt at the stranger’s kiss. Was she becoming so wanton? How embarrassed he would be if he knew. She swallowed. Took a breath. “I am sure I don’t know. Do you go to Vauxhall tomorrow? For the mask?” she asked, clumsily changing the subject. “It is Lizzie’s last night of entertainment before she goes home.”

He stared at her for a long moment. The frisson of awareness struck her anew. As if something else ran beneath the surface of their conversation. Was she really so desperate that two such different men could fill her with longing all in one evening. Or was her fear of loneliness playing tricks with her mind and her body?

Grey shook his head. “I am sorry. I am engaged for dinner with friends.”

She felt a pang of disappointment. But if he knew what she intended tomorrow, he would be the one dreadfully disappointed. In her. Perhaps she was making a huge mistake. She could still cry off. Just not go. It was not as if anyone but herself and Kate would know what she’d planned. She still had time to change her mind.

“If you ladies will excuse me,” Grey said. “I really must offer my congratulations to our hosts. May I take you into supper later, Miss Buntin?”

So thoughtful, as always. She smiled up at him. “Thank you. You are very kind.”

His mouth tightened as if the thought of his kindness did not please him. He bowed and strode away.

Chapter Two

James left his carriage in his groom’s capable hands and strode up the steps to Diana’s front door. He didn’t remember ever feeling quite so disturbed, so ill at ease at the thought of seeing her. Finally, when Dee would be free of her niece, and there were no deaths in her family or other encumbrances to hold him back, she’d delivered a blow to his kidneys. Knocked the breath from his body.

Thank God, Lady Godridge had enough sense to come to him first. He just wished he could be certain her advice was right. Her suggestion, when she brought him the letter, was utterly outrageous, yet she insisted her plan was the only way.

For years he had stood aside, waiting out the required periods of mourning, waiting for her to get over her grief. An honorable man did not propose under such circumstances. But when her brother-in-law blithely saddled Diana with his chit of a daughter, James had been ready to tear out his hair. It was her duty, she’d said. And now that her duty was done? She’d taken it into her head to kick over the traces.

Was he mad to let her follow through on her plan?

He’d let Peter’s shadow stand between them for far too long. And now this.

Let her have her fairy tale, Kate had advised, the little wretch. He’d wanted to wring the woman’s neck. He glowered at the innocent front door, wanting to bash it in with his fist.

Everything now depended on what Dee had to say for herself. Only then would he decide whether he followed the script. But dammit, last night, for the first time in a long time, he’d seen a light in her face, a hint of sparkle in her eyes, a shadow of mischief, even a touch of pride. An ache filled his chest at the thought that Dee had finally woken to the world and wanted to give herself to some stranger.

How could he allow it?

The butler opened the door and took his hat with a warm smile. “Miss Buntin is in the drawing room, my lord.”

“Thank you, Meade. I’ll find my own way.” As he’d been finding his own way for the past two years since her parents died. A concession to their friendship. It had always felt like a noose round his neck.

Upon entry, he found her seated at her writing desk, her blond hair catching the light from the window as she wrote. How lovely she looked in pale blue. It brought out the deeper sapphire of her eyes and complemented her pale skin. His body responded to her beauty, hardening instantly, his blood running hot. He wanted to plunder the depths of her warm mouth. Press her sweet body close. Sink into her and claim her.

Bloody hell.

“Diana,” he said. “Good morning.”

She glanced up, her full rosy lips forming an O of surprise. “Why, James. It is you.”

Not the response he had hoped for. Had she forgotten he planned to call? Devil take it, was he so wrong to hope she would finally see him as more than a friend.

She held out her hand.

He crossed the room to take it, a brief touch and release of a small hand that seared his skin when it seemed she felt nothing at all.

She did smile, though, and he basked in its warmth.

“I came for the letter,” he said.

Color rushed up from her neck to her face. “The letter. Of course.”

A paper floated off the desk. She grabbed for it and missed. It landed on the toe of his boot. He bent and retrieved it. He tried not to read it. Not to see the words leaping off the page. It was a list. Of men. The worst sort of men.

A cold hand fisted in his chest. Kate hadn’t mentioned a list. Was Dee planning to sample them all? His shoulders tightened. He forced a smile. “Oh, I see what this is. A list of men you wished Lizzie to avoid.”

The pink on her cheeks turned to vermilion as she took it from his hand. She opened the drawer to her desk and crammed the paper inside. “It is nothing.” She got up and with jerky steps moved away from the desk with a laugh, a brittle little sound that jarred his bones. Because she was hurting in a way that was beyond his power to understand.

The cold feeling spread outward, not only because of the embarrassment in her face, but also because of the way her hands trembled and twisted at her waist. He was losing her. The thought cut like a whip. Bile rose in his throat. His gut knotted. It was all he could do not to clench his fists and strike out at the nearest inanimate object.

He breathed in through his nose. Filled his lungs with air and let it go. It had been a mistake to think patience and honor would win the day. He clearly needed to act.

He curled his lips in what he hoped was a smile. “I shall not give it another thought.” How easily lies tripped from his tongue. Lies about Peter. Lies about why he was here. And the thoughts churning in his head would not be denied. For years, Diana had been a living shadow of herself and now she’d returned, vibrant and alive. He had to feel glad, for her sake. He just wished he was certain it would not end in disaster.

No. That he would not allow.

“I have the letter ready,” she said, returning to the desk and handing him a sealed note. “Please give your mother my warmest wishes when you see her.”

“I will. Thank you.” He bowed over her hand. As he did so, he couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Enjoy yourself at Vauxhall tonight.” He strode for the door, stopping as he pulled it over to look back with a sober expression. “After all, a mask is one of the few places a lady can enjoy herself with anonymity.”

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment.

He left her to make what she would of his words.

To Diana, Vauxhall seemed more crowded than usual, more full of the obnoxious sort of reveler a lady would do well to avoid. Her gaze darted hither and yon among the many male forms around her, some strolling, some dancing or lounging in the boxes around the edge of the floor. Was he here? Somewhere in the crowd, waiting his chance to pounce? Her heart raced at the thought. And yet there was another man her gaze instinctively sought. James. Lord Grey. He had said he would not come, and still she expected to see his tall figure striding toward her. Few evenings passed when he did not stand at her side, offering his support. As a friend. She could no longer wait for it to become anything more.

A strange ache filled her heart. She pushed it away and searched the crowds for a glimpse of the man she had come here to meet.

Kate had slyly taken Harry and Lizzie off to meet some friends and left her alone in their box beside the dance floor. Glancing down, Diana watched her fingers play with her fan.

Perhaps the stranger wouldn’t come after all. Perhaps he hadn’t found her attractive, but hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. She didn’t know if she would be sorry or terribly relieved. Last night, in that darkened room, it had all been so exciting. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive or so feminine.

It was a good thing James hadn’t come tonight. His presence would warn any one of those rakes away. How mortifying that he’d seen that foolish list. How low she must have sunk in his estimation. And yet his last sally had left her feeling weak, and off-kilter. Confused. Perhaps even hurt that he had not taken her to task.

She shook off the dismal thought. She was here. She’d made up her mind.

Dominos of every hue milled around her, their wearers sauntering from one gilded box to another, or twirling to the music in the center of the floor. Her gaze wandered the crowds again, looking for some indication of a man taking more than a casual interest. Looking for the form she’d but glimpsed in the doorway. She remembered how his voice caressed her like the touch of his lips on her mouth. Their kiss had been a thing of wonder. The memory stirred a flutter deep inside her.

She pulled her hood forward. Fiddled with her mask. Wear red, he had said. She leaned forward, worried that he might not see her in the shadows of the box. Then drew back thinking she might think her overanxious. Hating the wait.

Obviously drunk, a squat man in a rust-coloured domino wandered up and leaned over the front of her box. The smell of brandy rolled off him in waves. “Hello, pretty lady. Want to dance?” His nasal voice was coarse. This was not her stranger.

Diana drew her domino closer around her. “No, thank you.”

He reached out. “Na need ter be shy.”

Diana rapped his knuckles with her fan. “Go away.” She glanced around for Harry and Kate. They were deeply engaged in conversation with a couple in matching gold dominos in a box on the other side of the dance floor. The Dunstans, she was sure.

“Stuck-up bitch,” the man said. “All right, don’t dance. I’ll have me a bit of slap and tickle instead.” He raised his knee, preparing to climb into the box.

There was no sense trying to face down such an ill-mannered brute. She rose from her seat.

A man in black, his mask covering most of the upper part of his face, came up behind the drunk. Her heart thumped in her chest. Two of them? She backed away.

“The lady said no,” the new arrival said in a menacing whisper, a voice she instantly recognized. This was her stranger. The man from last night.

The man in rust blinked owlishly. “I saw her first, mate. Get your own ladybird.”

The newcomer grabbed the drunk by the collar, hauled him off the boards, spun him around and gave him a hard push. With a glare he staggered off.

“Thank you,” Diana said, scarcely able to breathe after such a show of force on her behalf.

He bowed. “I apologize for the idiocy of my fellow man,” he said, in his deep husky tones that seemed to strike a chord in the pit of her belly. “And for my lateness.”

“It is you,” she said, smiling with relief.

White teeth flashed a wolfish grin. “It is indeed.” His eyes glittered behind his mask.

“May I join you?” He glanced over his shoulder at a group of drunken young men making their way from box to box harassing the demi-mondaines in their nearby boxes. “No lady should be left alone in this place.”

Her heart tumbled at the low, protective note in his voice. He seemed so strong. So forceful. Her insides fluttered. “Please do.” She had the strange feeling she knew him. She couldn’t, could she? “I must thank you for your courageous rescue.”

He easily cleared the front of the box, and bowed over her hand. Her heart gave a quick little jolt. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, but he wore the hood of his domino close about his face, creating dark shadows on his square-cut jaw below the mask. Close up, he was larger, more imposing, than he’d seemed in the darkened room. Blood pounded in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think for the burst of excitement thrumming through her veins.

He flashed another devilish grin, revealing straight, even teeth. “Thank me by granting me the honor of a waltz?”

There was nothing dangerous about a waltz with a stranger in public view. She was not committed to anything by dancing. She still had time to change her mind. She took a quick breath. “I would like that.”

His eyes twinkled wickedly. “It will do as a beginning.” Her breath caught at the boldness with which he regarded her through the slits of his mask. He was wicked indeed.

“Come, sweet lady,” he murmured softly in her ear. “Let me hold you in my arms and be carried to heaven.”

Her hand trembled in his, but he held it gently, as if it were made of porcelain, and as she looked into eyes dancing with the light of many lanterns, she felt rising anticipation, but no fear. Once more she had a sense of familiarity, but it would not do to guess his identity, or she could never go through with this.

He drew her close to his side, one hand at the small of her back, and led her out of the box to the dance floor, where the waltz was already in progress.

His touch was light, his steps lithe and his movements assured and athletic. Before long she was swirling around the room thrilling to his touch as he guided her effortlessly through both sober and drunken revelers.

Diana chuckled softly.

“What amuses you?” he asked in a low, seductive tone in her ear.

“It is years since I waltzed. I am surprised I remember the steps.”

“How can this be?”

“Chaperones and those in mourning do not dance. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed it.”

“Then I am doubly pleased.” His deep voice vibrated low in her abdomen and sent little pulses of heat rushing upward to tingle in her breasts. It seemed as if her body had come to life after years of being dormant. This was what she’d been missing these past years.

He twirled her under his arm. Colored lanterns swirled in a dizzying blur. She smiled up at him as he brought her back within the circle of his arms.

“You dance like and angel and look like one, too,” he whispered close to her ear as he drew her far closer than was proper.

“You cannot know what I look like.” She sent him an arch look, exhilarated by their verbal sparring and the heat generated by his hand on her waist.

“I know you have hair the color of spun gold.” He lightly touched one of the curls resting on her cheek. “I know you have full rosy lips. If that is not angelic, I don’t know what is.”

“Oh, if we are talking only of looks, then you must assume what you please,” she retorted.

“Are you saying you nature is not angelic?” He smiled, a sly smile designed to charm an admission of wickedness. He was a stranger. It didn’t matter what he thought of her, they would never meet again after tonight.

“I’m no angel, sirrah.” She was surprised at the sensual throaty quality of her voice, at how feminine she felt in his strong arms, how bold in her disguise. It was the ultimate freedom for a bird who had spent all its life in a cage. She wanted to stretch her wings and soar to the sky. “Indeed, you should never judge anything you see by its appearance.”

“Then I should call you a devil?”

“Time will tell.”

“How much time?” His lips brushed her neck and a delicious shiver ran down her back.

“You are the devil, sir.”

“I try my best.”

Diana laughed at his modest smile. And became aware that he had swept her off the dance floor and down one of the walks. One of the darker ones.

The music faded behind them. And still they danced, more slowly now, the rhythm of their bodies in tune with their own shared music. The breeze off the river rustled in the trees and swung the lanterns so shadows danced around them. She felt as if they’d arrived in a fairy-tale land where no one else traveled but the two of them.

He put one arm around her waist and she leaned her head on his shoulder and they wandered quietly along the walks. Aimlessly.

Or perhaps not, for they came to a gate. He bent his head and kissed her lips. It was like no kiss she’d ever experienced. It warmed her through and through. Her toes curled up in her slippers, her breathing became labored. And then he touched her lips with his tongue. She opened to him and he tasted her tongue.

It felt strange and wonderful and heart-stoppingly wicked.

She tentatively licked him. “Mmm,” he murmured softly into her mouth and her insides pulled tight in a burst of strangely pleasant sensation that started between her thighs and spread outward, until her limbs felt peculiarly languid.

“Dearest lady,” he whispered in that rough low voice, “my carriage awaits to transport you to a place where we can be alone. Are you ready to leave?”

This really was the point of no return. All her lingering doubts had fled with his kiss. “Yes. But there is something you must know.” Her heart fluttered wildly. “I should have explained. I am not—” Good Lord how did one announce one’s virgin state without making him laugh. “I am neither a widow or a married woman.”

He brushed the curls teased free by the wind back from her face, holding his hand against her temple as he looked down into her eyes. “There are pleasures you wish to know.”

His smiling lips tempted. She stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his full mouth. They tasted of freedom. She pulled back to look at him. “Yes.”

His gaze searched her face. “Then let me send your driver home and we will spend the night exploring what you seek.”

This man truly was a rakehell. Danger gleamed in his eyes. Recklessness hung about his shoulders. He was dark and he was dangerous.

And she had the feeling he did not think her up to the challenge. He obviously didn’t know her. Yes, she had no doubt what she wanted, even if she didn’t know the precise details. The excitement stirred her blood and made her feel dizzy, like too many glasses of champagne.

She also knew in her heart that if she didn’t go with him tonight, she would never have the courage to try again. She laughed recklessly. “It seems you kissed Sleeping Beauty awake and you must now deal with the consequences.”

Diana heard him let go a long sigh, as if he had some regrets at her answer. She must have been mistaken, for a second later he flashed a wolfish smile that lit his eyes and turned her limbs to the consistency of butter left out in the sun. He bowed. “Let us find my coach and we will be gone.”

Good Lord, she was actually doing this. Taking a lover. Her body shivered, but not with fear.

Ensconced in her escort’s carriage alone, Diana stared out of the window. She hadn’t expected him to drive. More discrete, he had said. A good thing, she had agreed. She stared out of the window, trying to make out their destination, but on this side of the river there were few streetlamps and only one or two houses. After what seemed like hours in her heightened state of anticipation, but might only have been minutes, the carriage turned into a narrow lane and slowed to a halt in front of a stone, square-built house with lanterns ablaze on each side of the portico over the front door.

A house of ill repute? Her mouth dried. Her throat tightened against her attempt to swallow.

The carriage door swung back. The man in the black domino bowed. “Welcome, my lady.”

Tremors shook her body as she took his hand and stepped down. She felt trapped in a dream, expecting any moment to awake and find herself alone in the dark. She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight, when she felt more alive than she had for years.

He guided her up the steps to the front door. She turned and glanced back at the carriage, where a groom was taking care of the horses.

“You may leave anytime you wish,” her escort murmured in her ear. “You need only say the word.”

He must have felt her inner trepidation, sensed her flash of cowardice. She straightened her shoulders and strode boldly across the threshold. She was no green girl. She was a woman who knew what she wanted. And she wanted tonight.

Candles lit the marble entrance. Bits of quartz caught the light and twinkled like snow on a moonlit night. Her steps echoed in the silence. Her heart seemed too big for the space behind her ribs. Her stomach fluttered and tumbled. But the large, warm form beside her bolstered her inner strength and stoked her desires. Too long she’d been forced to stand aside from life’s pleasures.

He opened the door to a softly lit room, the splash of light from the hallway revealing a patterned rug of reds and blues, finely woven. She stepped inside.

The door closed behind her with a click. Her breath caught in her throat as a gentle glow of light from the hearth and one or two lanterns on the walls enveloped her in dimly lit shadows. She swung around, bumping up against his broad chest. Solid and warm.

He caught her above the elbows, steadying her. “Don’t be afraid,” his deep voice whispered.

Her eyes adjusted to the low light and she took in the solid shapes in the room, a sofa by the hearth. A table beside it. A bed against the far wall. The man towering above her. She breathed deeply, inhaling his scent of night air, horse and leather and bay cologne…and a darker note of the man himself.

She sensed more than saw his smile, yet perhaps she did see a brief gleam of teeth in the firelight “Welcome, my dear sweet lady, you honor me by your presence.”

“Thank you,” she said, her own voice huskier than usual, her chest rising and falling too rapidly. “What do I call you?”

“Call me what you will.”

“‘Will’ it is then,” she said.

He chuckled softly. “A lady of wit.”

She thrilled to his deep seductive whisper, it stirred excitement edged with fear. Not fear of him, but of herself, of the risks she seemed prepared to take to satisfy the bold desires thrumming through her body.

In this new guise of wanton, she scarcely knew herself. Her throat dried at the thought of her boldness.

To her disappointment, he released her arms and stepped back. Then his lips smiled beneath his mask. “Will you please me by taking a glass of wine?”

Calmed by the gentle tone and the familiar social nicety, her heart settled back where it belonged. “Thank you. I would like that.” A prop to her courage.

“May I first take your cloak?”

The room was warm, and she realized she was hot beneath the heavy wool she’d worn to ward off the night air at Vauxhall. She swept the hood back and untied the strings at her throat.

Gently, he slipped it from her shoulders, casting it across a chair-back.

She stretched out a hand in his direction and he took it in his, a warm dry touch of skin on skin. So sensual, when all she usually felt was the pressure through gloves. Sensual. She liked the way he held her hand firmly, but without any squeezing or demonstration of masculine strength.

He twirled her around, his gaze consuming her as it raked her body. “Lovely,” he said in reverent tones. She’d worn her sheerest gown tonight, a wisp of red silk, knowing the domino would keep her warm. She basked in the admiration in his eyes. When he pulled at the pins holding fast her hair, it tumbled down around her shoulders in a heavy golden mass. His smile of pleasure was praise indeed.

“Now…you,” she said breathlessly.

He shrugged out of the black silk domino, revealing he wore naught but a fine linen shirt, which clung to his broad expanse of chest and showed the shadow of muscled arms beneath the fine fabric, and a pair of form-fitting buff pantaloons.

“Very nice,” she said bravely.

“I believe it would be better if we retained our masks,” he said quietly. “We will find more freedom in anonymity. No embarrassment, should we meet again in society.”

Though she regretted not being able to see all of his face, she quickly nodded her agreement. Apparently they both had their reasons for not wishing for recognition. “It is better we remain strangers.”

“An intriguing idea,” he said silkily. “Two strangers coming together for passion.”

A shiver ran down her spine, dark and delicious.

She glanced up at his face, and saw the glint of eye and the shadow of his hair.

He turned away and she heard the sounds of pouring. She glanced at the bed—a bright white patch in a sea of mystery. She swallowed hard. He would be a man of experience. Skilled. She had nothing to fear.

He touched her shoulder and, startled, she swung around on a gasp.

“Your wine, my lady.”

Of course. The wine. She squeezed her eyes shut, glad of the dim lighting hiding her flush. “Thank you.”

“To you,” he toasted.

“To us,” she replied and brought the goblet carefully to her lips, fearing the trembling of her hands would betray her nervousness. She took a healthy swallow.

He smoothed her hair back from her face in slow gentle strokes and gazed into her eyes. His were dark, shadowed, reflecting only the light of the lamps. His hair was dark, too.

She touched a tousled lock. “Brown or black?” she asked.

He smothered a laugh. “Brown.”

Once more, she wished she could see all of his face. But discretion must be her watchword this night. She could not afford to be ruined, to be isolated from the friends she treasured, and she would not wish to cause them embarrassment. She let her fingers wander over the sculpted jaw, the firm lips and lean cheeks beneath the edge of the mask.

He held still under her exploration. “Do I please you still?” he whispered when her hand returned to his hair.

“Very much.”

“Ah, then I am happy, my lady. Sit.” He patted the bed. “Make yourself comfortable.” She perched on its edge and finished the rest of the glass in one gulp.

He took the goblet and deposited it on a table beside the bed.

He sank onto the bed beside her, his weight tipping her toward him, so that the long, lean length of his thigh pressed against hers and their shoulders brushed in a hot shiver of sensation down her arm.

A strong arm enclosed her shoulders and she felt secure again. His other hand came up to her cheek, turning her face to his. He was going to kiss her again. Her body trembled with eagerness to once again feel the sensations he’d aroused. He brushed her mouth with his lips. A warm, moist caress, repeated over and over, wandering to the corner of her mouth the point of her chin, even the tip of her nose. Her lips tingled with longing for his mouth’s caress.

A soft sound rose in her throat, a wordless request.

As if he understood this primitive language, his mouth returned to hers, his head angling to grant him better access, while his fingertips rested against her cheek and temple, as light as butterfly wings, yet searing in their heat. He plied his lips softly to hers, his action seductive, sweet, and yet so powerfully sensual something deep inside her clenched and sent a burst of heat through her body. Breathtaking.

He sucked and nipped at her lips, gently enough not to hurt but intensely so as to create an ache in her breasts.

She gasped at the sensation.

Before last night, she’d had other kisses. A peck on the cheek, a swift brush of a careless mouth by Peter on her lips before some sporting event, but nothing had prepared her for the storm of sensation this man’s lips produced.

Storm didn’t describe the maelstrom of heat and ratcheting tension. Nor did it account for the moans struggling for freedom in her throat. Cries of pleasure, and demands for more.

He broke away, cupping her cheek. Another smile. Or was he laughing at the poor confused spinster with her ragged breathing and cries of wonder. Did he pity her? If so it was the kindest form of pity she had ever known.

He drew a quick breath, as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. The arm around her shoulder exerted a pull and she sank backward onto the mattress. By some quick sleight of hand she could not see in the dark, he slipped his arm from beneath her shoulder and his other hand swung her legs up onto the bed. So smoothly done. She wanted to applaud his skill, but with his breath warm and moist against her cheek she could only sigh as she awaited the next touch of his lips to hers.

She raised her hand to touch his cheek and found the hard angle of his jaw and a part of the smooth plane of a well-shaven cheek. He turned his head and licked her palm.

A shiver ran own her spine. A pleasurable, delicious thrill.

He stretched out alongside her, leaned over her and took her mouth. His tongue licked and teased at her lips until she parted them.

His tongue slipped between her lips, over her teeth. Deep inside her mouth.

A shocking intrusion. And so wonderfully exciting. His tongue slowly stroked and explored. Little pulses of delight fluttered low in her belly, her spine melted. Her insides felt hot and her limbs turned to liquid. The blancmange of moments before a thing of substance compared to this languid state.

Was this it, then? Why women glowed when they looked at their husbands? This state of weakened limbs? It was lovely indeed, but surely there was more?

He angled his head, his body leaning over hers the better to torment her mouth, and his weight pressing her into the mattress felt solid and warm, the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts a tangible source of a new kind of pleasure.

He deepened his kiss, tasting her hungrily, stroking her tongue with an urgency that called to something inside her, the need to taste him, to kiss him back. Her tongue stroked his.

A deep groan of pleasure growled in his throat. He tasted good, slick and hot and incredibly male. His scent filled her nostrils, the a hint of bay she’d noticed earlier, the musky undertones that seemed uniquely him went to her head like fine wine, yet were somehow more intoxicating. She clung to his shoulders, the material of his shirt filmy beneath her fingers, and when her hand slid around his nape and she felt the warmth of his skin and the soft silky touch of his hair, something inside her unfurled. It opened like a blossom, sweet and tender, and hesitant in its fear of hurt.

He groaned and broke their kiss.

Only then did she realize how hard she panted for breath. He seemed equally short of air. Her heart thudded against her ribs and she felt its echo in his chest. A timpani of sound. They were in harmony. Two finely tuned instruments made of flesh and blood, designed to make music of the most earthy sort.

A subtle shift of his body, and one thigh came across her, resting along the length of her legs, warm and heavy, pressing down. Dimly aware of the weight, she parted her thighs and heard his guttural sound of approval.

His hand left her hair and trailed down her face, the touch light yet intruding on the headiness of the kiss as he traced her jaw, the line of her neck and came to rest lightly on her breast.

She gasped at the intimacy of the touch, at the tingle and heaviness she felt there. He blew a soft breath in her ear and she shivered beneath the torrent of sensation rushing through her body.

The hand at her breast circled, his thumb brushed her nipple and the most delightful thrill rippled downward to where his thigh dipped between her legs. So much pleasure. Who knew her body could play such thrilling arias. If she was the instrument, this stranger, this man, was a master virtuoso. She hovered on the brink of some grand finale and she hadn’t yet read the score.

The hand at her breast gently massaged through her layer of clothing, his thumb strumming her nipple, which was tight and hard and terribly sensitive to his touch. She arched into his palm, tilting her hips against his thigh to relieve the sweet ache lower down.

“You taste delicious,” he murmured. His mouth returned to hers, and this time she opened to him and kissed him, tasted him, carried far beyond herself in the delightful sensation of tangling tongues and hard-won breaths, and the feel of his long hard body against her yielding flesh.

His hand left her breast and caressed its way down her body, to her knee. Such large hands. Strong and warm through the flimsy gown. Her skin leaped to life everywhere he touched, picking up the rhythm of their hungry kisses.

He raised up on his other arm and pulled the skirts of her gown upward, all the way to her hips. The loss of his closeness made her moan her displeasure.

She pulled on his shoulder, wanting him back. Like a rock, he remained immobile on his side, his hand stroking her thigh, pushing them farther apart, moving toward her hip toward her….

Something hard jutted against her hip.

“Oh,” she gasped, pulling away from his mouth.

She wasn’t in the least surprised. Even if she wasn’t supposed to know, she did. Any woman curious about life knew how the parts fitted together in the marriage bed. She found the thought of it touching her completely arousing.

Her body clamored for the joys of physical love. She ached for his touch, the fires he’d set raging out of control, beneath her skin, in her veins. Her head felt light and muzzy with all the delicious sensations assaulting her body.

As if sensing her need, his lips nuzzled her neck and he had resumed his caress of her thigh, and the orchestra of notes singing through her blood cut her mind free, leaving only sensations of touch and a craving for more.

His lips trailed kisses across her throat, along the rise of each breast above her bodice. Then as his hand shaped the curve of her belly, his mouth covered the peak of her breast, his breath hot through the fabric.

She melted. A cry rose in her throat, cut short by the feel of his teeth against her nipple and his hand cupping between her thighs. She groaned with pleasure, nipped at his shoulder, his ear, raked her fingers through his hair.

His indrawn hiss of breath sounded like pleasure and pain. She bit harder.

His fingers combed through the curls at the apex of her thighs, found her most private place, stroked gently. A stab of pleasure brought her hips off the mattress. Astonishment filled her mind. Not thought, but wonder, even as she moaned for more of the same, pressing into his hand.

His mouth moved on her breast, keeping her taut deep inside, a tension so unbearably tight, she feared the result should it break.

He shifted with a groan. Leaving her bereft. “Let us do away with the barriers between us,” he said.

With swift, sure hands he unlaced her gown and divested her of her stays and chemise. He discarded his shirt in a rustle of fabric and peeled off his lower garments.

The firelight gleamed on his shoulders, carving muscle and sinew in rippling shadows. In a brief instant, she saw the profile of his male member jutting from the shadows between his long thighs. No more than a teasing glimpse. A maidenly peek at something mysterious and wickedly interesting.

In her mind, she cursed the dim light, even as she hid within its comforting shadows.

He returned to the bed, nudging her legs apart with one knee, while his mouth returned to kissing her breasts. She let her hands wander the breadth of his silken back, felt the muscle move with each caress of her breast with his hand. Roaming the length of his torso with her fingertips, she pictured the curve of his buttocks and the plane of his hard lean flank. All the while indescribable sensations wrought by his hands and the feel of his heat against her female flesh held her in a grip so sharp, she felt as brittle as spun sugar, ready to shatter, or dissolve into nothingness.

He suckled.

Her insides loosened and tightened all at once. The flutters low in her belly became a demanding pulse of blood and bone.

She moaned with the ache of it, grinding her hips against his thigh without thought for decorum. His mouth, hot and wet, left one breast and attended to the other, driving her to a new height of distraction, even as he rose and covered her, settling between her parted legs, one hand between them, sliding a finger inside her. His stroking only intensified the ache of need for fulfilment.

Now he would take her, their flesh would join and she would be a woman, no longer an untried girl. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out her fear.

As if he sensed her disquiet, he lifted his head and kissed her lips. He raised himself on both hands as his mouth wooed hers, kissing and licking and nipping, until she kissed him back with all the hunger she felt deep inside.

“Sweet, sweet Dee,” he murmured against her mouth. “Relax. You are ready for me. The pain will be little more than a pinch.”

Trust filled her. She felt him guide himself to her entrance, felt the blunt head of that part of him she had only glimpsed for a second. He moved his hips, stroking her the way his hand had stroked and the sensation was lovely, pleasurable, loosening her insides.

He took her mouth in a hot wet kiss and thrust his hips forward.

Pain. Like the stab of a pin. He held still, only his mouth moving over hers as she became accustomed to this new sensation of his flesh deep inside her. Beside her shoulders, she felt his arms tremble, as if his weight had grown too heavy, yet she knew instinctively it had nothing to do with his strength and everything to do with her.

Experimentally she moved her hips.

Felt his hardness inside her, filling her, where before she had felt nothing. She tightened her muscles around the intrusion. Heard his gasp against her lips. Pleasure.

Mutual pleasure.

Giving and taking.

He slowly withdrew and, before she could protest, pressed forward. It felt good. Better than everything that had gone before. Which seemed impossible. Awe-inspiring. She grabbed his shoulders to press her breasts against his chest and nuzzle his neck and nibble on his ear, while their lower limbs tangled and he drove deeper insider her with each forward motion of his hips.

And she wanted him there. Deeper. Closer.

The hunger built. It raged through her veins. She bit and licked and sucked every inch of skin she could find. It was if she’d never eaten a meal in her life and now faced with this banquet she would gorge until she could consume no more.

And while he filled her over and over, his mouth worshipped at her breasts, her throat, her lips.

And it still wasn’t enough.

The hunger consumed.

It tore at her insides. It tore at something else, too. Something far stronger. The wall she had built around her heart seemed to crumble to dust. The world no longer seemed beyond her reach. She was once more a part of it. What was it about this man…?

He grasped her thigh and lifted, gently raising it to his hip. He penetrated her more deeply and a rush of heat suffused her skin. She wrapped her other leg around his waist and felt the power of his muscle beneath her heels.

Lovely man. Strong. Gloriously skilled in feeding her hunger, but where would it lead? There was something there, something just beyond her understanding, beckoning.

“Come with me, sweet lady,” he whispered in her ear.

Where was it he wanted to her go?

He thrust harder, his body pounding against hers, each drive forward a greater delight and a sharper twist to the tension holding her in thrall.

It was beginning to scare her, this strange driving force over which she had no control.

She tensed.

He made a sound like a laugh edged with pain and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Hold on, my darling.”

She gripped his shoulders, her hands curling like claws into his flesh.

He sucked in a breath and reached between them, touching her where they joined, finding something that caused an eruption of flame and heat and light. Like a volcano spilling over the side of a mountain. She rode the flare of heat into a valley where nothing existed but the sound of their heartbeats and lungs gasping for air.

Her body was lax. Delightfully so, but the recollection of the sudden explosion remained deep in her veins. It left her calm and empty.

Blissfully warm.

It felt like a long time before she could do more than breathe and sigh, while he stroked her arms and her breasts and pressed kisses all over her face.

She wanted to kiss him back, but she couldn’t move. Not yet. Moving would take her from the valley of fantasy back to reality.

If only she could stay here forever.

Chapter Three

James lay in the dark with his Diana in his arms and felt more contentment in that common-garden act than in any of the stupendous lovemaking of moments before. Though the lovemaking truly had been glorious.

He had given her the fantasy she longed for, and—he felt sure—broken the hold of a dead man. He would have to reveal his identity. Later. But before he proposed or after? He thought making love to her would make it simpler, but the woman in his arms was so sensual, so damned sexy, he half feared she might want to continue this exploration of the flesh. With the others on her list.

Anger flared at the thought. He drew in a deep calming breath. Anger would not win the day.

Hell, in spite of his misgivings, he’d enjoyed this little game as much as she had. He’d never been so aroused. As long as she only played it with him, all would be well.

If only he could be sure.

He kissed the top of her head where it nestled against his shoulder, her arm lax across his chest, her leg across his thigh, her sweet core hot and moist against his thigh where her leg tucked between his.

His member hardened.

He wanted her again. And again.

No doubt she’d be too sore, tonight. It was after all her first time. His heart swelled at the thought. His Dee.

She was worth the wait. She always had been.

He’d always admired her beauty and her wit. He honored her for her bravery in the face of Peter’s death, and had been glad to be her friend through these past years of further loss, when all the time he’d wanted to be so much more.

Tonight, he’d adored her, with his whole heart, body and soul.

After this, he would never go back to being just a friend. Whatever her decision, things between them could never go on as before. If she refused his offer of marriage, the fine thread connecting them would snap. A risk he had to take or lose his sanity.

She shifted. Tipped her head, looking up at him.

He would like to see her beautiful face without the mask. Take pride in the haze of passion in her lovely blue eyes and the smile of a woman well-pleasured.

In time. In good time. He’d been patient for years and would wait a little longer.

She sat bolt upright. “James? Is it you?”

He froze. She couldn’t possibly recognize him beneath the mask.

She fumbled with the sheet, pulling at it. “You called me ‘Dee.’ No one ever calls me that but you. It is you, James, isn’t it? How could you?”

The curses running through his head must not be uttered.

He pulled the counterpane from the bottom of the bed in a swift angry jerk and tossed it over her. “My lady—”

“I know it is you. Oh, my God, what have I done?”

He grabbed for his domino, flung it about his shoulders and rose from the bed. He didn’t know whether to be relieved the truth was out, or give vent to his anger at her obvious distress. He glared down at her. “Did you think I would let you make an assignation with some dissolute rakehell?” he said, unable to stop the fury of jealousy in his voice.

“I trusted you.” Her voice broke. “You were Peter’s—”

“No, dammit. You will not bring him into this room. He will not stand between us any longer.”

“Us?” she whispered.

“Oh, Dee, are you really so blind?” He ripped off the mask, furious with himself, and with her. He took the candelabra from the table to the fire and lit it. Lit every damned candle in the room until every shadow in the room was gone. But not the shadow of Peter. It was too long, too dark, even when the light revealed everything stark and bright; the luxurious carpet in jewel tones, the brocade curtains and white linen sheets, the marble fireplace and Chinese wallpaper with twining vines and bird of paradise. Her scarlet domino like a splash of blood across the floor.

And Diana in his bed. Or rather the bed he had rented.

Beautiful Diana, with tumbled golden hair and flushed face amid the rumpled sheets, her eyes wide behind the scrap of velvet.

She pulled at the ribbons holding the mask in place. It fell to the sheets. “Blind?” she asked, blinking against the dazzle. “Blind to what?”

“Blind to me.” He passed a hand over his face and leaned against the bedpost. “Blind to me as a man.”

“I thought you were a friend.” She closed her eyes. “Peter’s friend.”

Raged coursed through him, edged with the acid of guilt. “Peter was an idiot.”

She squeezed her eyes tight and opened them again, looking at him as if she no longer knew him, as if he really were a stranger. “He rode your horse at Newmarket. You wagered he would not dare.”

Rather than strike out at the feeling of a knife twisting in his chest, he folded his arms. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I go over that conversation day after day, wondering if I had walked away, refused to accept the bet, the result would have been different?”

Her gaze slid away from his, focused off in the distance. “Nothing stopped Peter from doing what he wanted.”

His mouth curled. “No. Nothing. Not even the thought of the beautiful woman waiting on the sidelines.”

She swallowed. A gulp that moved her throat as if she were swallowing tears.

Dammit all. He’d made her cry.

He swung away, crossed the room to the hearth to lean his arm on the mantel. Head on his forearm, he stared down into the flames.

If only he had the words of a poet on the tip of his tongue. The ready address of a courtier. One of the silver-tongued bastards, as Peter had mocked the males who preferred the ballroom to the hunt or the boxing ring. James’s strengths were never in that direction. His tongue was blunt and honest. He’d taken pride in the trust people placed in him. Too much pride. For he had let Diana trust him as a friend, stood by her, supported her, never taken advantage.

Until now. He’d gone from honorable friend to wicked rake. Would she now see him as less of a man?

Had he left it too late?

If it had ever been possible.

“James? About tonight.”

“I won’t apologize, Dee.” It felt good to use the childish sobriquet from their youth. “I’m not the slightest bit sorry for tonight.” He clenched his jaw, then spoke the words that would undo him. “Peter knew how I felt about you. Before he proposed. He knew.” James laughed. A harsh sound in the quiet room. “I introduced him to you, so he could see for himself what a wonderful girl I had chosen.”

He turned then. Squared his shoulders. “He was always so damned competitive. He wagered he’d win you. Like a fool I accepted the bet.” He shrugged. “We never backed out of a bet in those days. Horse races. Travel times to Brighton. Rounds with Gentleman Jackson. It was all the same.” He pressed his lips together. “The next day he proposed. What woman wouldn’t say yes to a duke’s son? I never even got off the starting line. One dance. We had one dance before you accepted his offer.”

“Oh, James. I had no idea.”

She actually sounded regretful. Didn’t she? Perhaps it was pity he heard. His back stiffened at the thought. “I watched the way he treated you. He never really wanted you. He just wanted to win. I wanted to kill him for his neglect, for the years he failed to come up to scratch. Then he was dead and you were grieving. And I—” he closed his eyes “—I was blaming myself. Did I make that final wager with him because I hoped he’d kill himself and leave the field clear for me?” He shook his head. “Not consciously. But I can’t pretend I didn’t have a feeling of gladness when they said his neck was broken and you wept on my shoulder.”

He huffed out a breath. “And my shoulder has been there ever since, like that of a bloody brother. You’ve said so, often enough.”

“Oh, James, I…”

He cut her off with a chop of his hand. His lip curled. “So I waited. First for you to recover from Peter’s death. Then from the deaths of your parents. All I could do through that time was be there, hoping you would see me as more than a friend, but unable to speak, fearing you’d think me an absolute bounder. When Lizzie arrived and took over your life, I almost walked away. It seemed you would never be free.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “I saw it as my duty.”

“Duty. We both know the meaning of the word and the burden it carries. But surely there has to be more to life? When I heard Lizzie was returning home, I knew my time had arrived.” Another bitter laugh escaped him. “On the day I decided I would be brother no longer, Kate informed me of your plan to engage the services of some dissipated wastrel. God! Do you know how that made me feel?”

“How would I know how you felt?” she said. “You never once gave me any hint. Indeed, yesterday you said…it seemed as if…well as if you didn’t care.”

A curse rose to his lips. He bit it back and strode for the bed. Looking down into her amazingly blue eyes, he saw a softness in their depths. Or was it the mist of tears?

“I know what I said.” He scrubbed his hand over his hair. “Because I want you to be happy. I thought if I could break the chains holding you to the past, I would have a chance to be part of your future, but I damned well wasn’t going to let some other man put his hands on you.”

A small sound came from her throat. A sort of sob or a choked-off laugh.

Startled, he stared at her.

“All this time,” she said. “You were so gentlemanly, so coolly reserved, I thought you felt obliged to befriend me. For Peter’s sake. A sort of gentlemanly code. I had no idea.” She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling with some emotion he could not fathom. Was she laughing? At him?

She breathed in deeply through her nose. “I can’t believe you actually did this.” She gave a vague wave of her hand to encompass the room.

He shot her a disgruntled glare and sat on the edge of the bed. “I can hardly believe it myself,” he said. “Kate said it would make you happy. I want you to be happy. It is why I never interfered with you and Peter. I thought you loved him.”

She let her head fall back against the headboard. “I loved the idea of him. Of me, capturing the season’s most eligible bachelor. The sporting duke’s son, who until he offered for me, had never shown the slightest interest in a woman. At least not with regard to marriage. And he kept me dangling like a puppet year after year, occasionally remembering me between one sporting event and the next, when he displayed me like a bauble on his arm. He was in love with horse racing, hunting, boxing matches and games of faro. You know, I often wondered why he offered for me for me in the first place.” She sighed. “Apparently it was a game of chance, too.” A smile twisted her lips. “His friends were the same. Including you.”

The pain in her voice cut through his misery and caused a deeper ache in his heart for her hurt. “I thought you content to wait. Over and over, I told him to tie the knot. He said he wasn’t ready. I’m so sorry, Dee.”

Her fingers played with the counterpane. “I accepted his offer in the euphoria of the moment, in the glow of my parents’ pleasure at such a good offer. A triumph, according to my mother. After all, I would be a duchess.” Her fingers twisted the fabric. “I was blinded to his faults by my parents’ ambition. And my own.” She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I was so angry when he died. He risked his life without one thought for me. I heard the snap of his bones.” She shuddered. “Over and over I hear that sound. That and the screams of the watchers. I didn’t scream, James. I cried. I cried for myself. In that moment I hated him for abandoning me. How selfish. How utterly shallow of me, thinking of myself at such a moment. Afterward, I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t face anyone.”

“That is why you hid yourself from society after his death?”

She nodded. “I felt so disloyal. I saw my parents’ illnesses as a kind of retribution, I think.”

Shock froze his blood. Not at her words, or her sentiment. He’d been furious at Peter, too. And felt guilty about the wager. He was shocked and horrified by all the wasted time.

“Oh, Dee. Dearest Diana.”

She leaned toward him. He needed no further encouragement. He pulled her into his arms and held her small fragile body against his chest and let her sob. Until his chest began to feel damp, then he put a hand under her jaw. “Dear Dee,” he whispered. “Can you forgive my clumsy mistake tonight?”

A long sigh wafted against his cheek. Her eyelashes fell, masking her thoughts.

His gut clenched at the thought he’d lost her entirely.

He was wrong about not wanting to be her friend. He would take it, if it were all she had to offer. “If I can’t have your love, I would not be happy if I lost our friendship. I want you to always count on me the way you have in the past.”

A small hand came up to rest on his chest. “I never want to lose your friendship. You have been my castle, my strength, my comfort all these years.”

His heart sank like a rock, hard and cold, to unfathomable depths. He took in a deep breath. He’d gambled and lost. He, a man who never gambled anymore, had lost the one thing he felt most precious.

He stroked her jaw with his thumb, knowing it was probably the last time he would touch her in such an intimate way. “I will never let you down,” he said softly.

“I know it.”

It wasn’t enough, of course. He’d be lying to himself if he pretended it was. But it was better than nothing. True friendships were rare. Look at Peter. The man competed for friends, the way he competed at hunting and horse racing. And, God damn him, at love.

He became aware of her fingers stroking the front of his domino. As if offering comfort, rather than seeking it. Was he so transparent in his disappointment?

He had the urge to wrap that small hand in his, to bring it to his mouth to suck each small white finger and… His body responded to the salacious image with a vengeance. He ground his teeth in an effort to control the surge of blood tightening his groin.

“James? About tonight.”

Dear God, had she sensed his arousal. He stilled, his whole body suddenly strangely alert, yet silent, waiting. “What about it?”

She lifted her head and there was a smile on her lovely mouth and her eyes were dancing with something akin to mischief. “I kept thinking I knew the stranger who swept me off my feet these last two nights. My heart was pounding, not with fear, but with hope. I think somehow I really did know it was you. I could not have felt so completely comfortable with anyone else. I am thrilled you cared enough to go to all this trouble for me, to make my fantasy come true.”

A flash of hope seared his chest. When did hope carry such pain? Or was it simply his heart filled to bursting with love. “Thrilled?”

“Delighted. Overwhelmed.” She peeped at him shyly from beneath her lashes. “Is what I felt, the way it always is between a man and a woman?”

He grinned. “If they are fortunate, it is.”

“If there is true affection, you mean?” she said, her voice slightly smug.

He opened his mouth to speak. She pressed a finger to his lips and, God help him, he licked it. The hiss of her indrawn breath made his shaft pulse.

“So such things can happen between a man and his wife on a regular basis,” she said softly, bringing her mouth up for him to kiss.

A blinding light went off in his head, like lightning on the darkest of nights when everything becomes instantly clear and stark.

“Dee, are you asking me to marry you?”

“I believe I am.”

His heart grew so large, it felt painful behind his ribs, while his soul seemed to soar to the heavens. He pulled her onto his lap, and settled her against his shoulder. She ducked her face against his chest. “It won’t do, you know,” he murmured.

“It won’t? I thought with our friendship and what happened tonight it was clear we would suit very well.”

“There is a bit more to it than that. You see, I haven’t told you how much I love you.”

“Oh, James. I think I loved you from the moment you called me Dee when you teased me when I first came out. I just didn’t know what the warmth in my chest was all about.”

He nuzzled against her neck. “Dear sweet, beautiful, sensual Dee. Will you indeed marry me?”

Her breath left her body in a rush. “I feel as if I have just awakened from a long lonely sleep and now I am ready to rejoin the world. It would be wonderful to be part of it with you.”

He felt himself grinning like a fool and didn’t care. “We can be married as soon as I obtain a special licence. Three days at most, I would say.”

She drew in a quick breath.

“If you prefer a large affair, I can wait,” he added swiftly, to stem any objection. “After all, I have been waiting for years.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, then smiled, her heart in her eyes. “I just didn’t know it was you all the time. No more waiting, James. Just think. Everyone will sigh over our romance.” She flattened her hand against his chest and peeked up at him from beneath her golden lashes. “And I certainly don’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary.”

He took her mouth in a long kiss. “Dearest, did I tell you how much I love you,” he said, when they finally needed a breath.

“You can’t love me as much as I love you,” she whispered.

Joy sang through his body. “Oh, yes, I can.”

He took her mouth again to settle the argument and she sighed and stroked his tongue with hers. He knew as well as any rake, the many ways to bring the satisfaction she sought. It would be such a pleasure to teach them to his girl, his dearest Dee.

Starting with the crook of her elbow. He kissed the tender spot and smiled at her sigh.

Next there was a tiny spot on her hip where…

Joy filled his heart as he set out to give her all the pleasure she deserved.

If you enjoyed this story, look for Kate and Lord Godridge’s tale in The Laird and the Wanton Widow, and Julia and the Duke of Dunstan’s story in One Night as a Courtesan—both now available wherever ebooks are sold!

Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:

Temptation is the Night by Marguerite Kaye

Summoned for Seduction by Joanne Rock

To Court, Capture and Conquer by Amanda McCabe

Her Midnight Cowboy by Lauri Robinson

The Samurai's Forbidden Touch by Ashley Radcliff

One Night as a Courtesan by Ann Lethbridge

The Taming of Mei Lin by Jeannie Lin

Delight and Desire by Joanna Maitland

A Scandalous Liaison by Elizabeth Rolls

Pleasured by the Viking by Michelle Willingham

Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at www.eHarlequin.com or your local bookstore.

Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to undone@harlequin.ca.

Ann Lethbridge has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent many memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com She loves to hear from readers.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5298-5

Unmasking Lady Innocent

Copyright © 2010 by Michèle Ann Young

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