Masquerade Secrets(4)

Now he needed to find a new duchess. Preferably one that didn't drive  him mad, he thought as another young debutant giggled by him.

If there was one thing that his father had drilled into him since a  young age, it was the need to marry and beget heirs quickly. He had put  it off as long as possible, but his father's last request, that his only  son marry while still young, weighed on him heavily.

While the prospect didn't bring him any happiness, it was his duty. And Bradford believed strongly in fulfilling his duty.

He was a duke, and the power that came with his station demanded great  responsibility. He could no sooner turn from those who depended on him  than cut off his own arm. It was his duty to his family, servants, and  the title that demanded that he marry and secure the land and their  livelihood for future generations, but it wasn't something he relished  the thought of.

He wanted his marriage ceremony over with, wanted an heir even more so  that he had no need to worry about it any longer. He wanted peace and  quiet. He wanted the endless balls and meaningless conversations to  stop. The quiet solitude of his country manor called to him in a way he  was sure other aristocrats in London wouldn't understand. But he was a  long way from his serene estate.         

     



 

Sighing heavily, he looked up at the painted ceiling. Roman décor was  all the rage now, and clearly Lady Templeton had taken to the style with  open arms. The large columns and busts of men from those ancient times  lined the room in small alcoves. Soft wisps of fabric, gently blowing in  the light breeze from the windows, had been hung from the ceiling,  carefully shielding stone benches along the wall.

It might have all seemed so strange if half of the guests weren't  dressed in the roman fashion, the women in white togas, fabric  gracefully draped over one shoulder. It was all the other costumes that  felt strange in the room. The worst he had seen, by far, was the man  dressed as a chicken. His feathers looked as if they had been rolled  around in a chicken coop one time too many, and the smell didn't help  either.

A few gentlemen, including himself, had chosen to wear formal attire  from a century earlier. The ruffles on his shirt, both his chest and  arms, were somewhat annoying, but his valet had insisted upon it. He was  grateful now, however. His valet could have chosen the chicken costume.  He shuddered at the thought.

The room quieted around him. Had the disgust he felt been so apparent?  Looking around, however, he realized he wasn't the person who drew  everyone's eyes.

Glancing up at the top of the staircase, he briefly scanned the three  ladies entering, quickly dismissing them before jerking his gaze back to  the last woman. With his eyes fastening to the luscious curves beneath  the gold swirl cutouts, the breath whooshed out of his chest as he took  her in.

No wonder the room had quieted. He wasn't sure he had ever seen anyone  more beautiful than the masked woman who had just entered.

Her curves were plentiful in all the right areas. Her dress molded to  those deep curves, accentuating her small waist. Her lips were a lush  rose, and he felt his body tighten at the thought of them on his own.  Like a crown, her golden hair was artfully secured, only a light curl  teased her neck. He couldn't see her eyes from this distance, but he  imagined that they were green, a green so lush and vibrant that the  Emerald Isle itself would be put to shame.

She entered the room like a queen, uncaring that she caused such a  disruption. Was she used to such a thing? Seeing a slight hesitation in  her decent, his attraction flared even higher. She wasn't so aloof that  she didn't notice the chaos she created.

With only a stair left, the room lurched forward, men climbing over one  another to get to her side first. None of them mattered though.

He would have her for himself.

With a few strides, he placed himself in her line of sight. Almost as a magnet, her eyes locked onto his.

The electricity that passed between them had a life of its own. It  drowned out everyone and everything. All that was left were the two of  them in a bond that wouldn't break.

He jerked as energy passed through him, felt it to the depth of his  soul. Had he ever felt such a connection with someone before? Never, his  mind seemed to scream.

Again, the room quieted, almost as if they had been singed by the energy  flowing between the two of them. Glancing between the mysterious lady  and the duke, the other guests backed away, acknowledging the duke's  rank and his obvious interest in the woman.

She watched him, waiting patiently for his next move. And he was never one to disappoint.

Slowly approaching her, his eyes never left hers. After an exaggerated bow, he offered her his hand in silent request.

He didn't doubt that she would take it. Her eyes were drowning in his,  just as lost as he was. There was no fighting what was happening between  them, no way to stop where they were heading.

And he didn't want to.

He thought he was prepared to dance with her, to take her, to claim her.  But when her slender, white hand joined his, he realized he had sadly  overestimated his control.

His body clenched at the contact, every nerve fraying in overload. It  took every ounce of his control to keep from reaching out to her,  pulling her flush against him and kissing her full mouth.

He had never felt this fierce of a desire, hadn't known that it existed.

He had been with other women before, but none compared to her. And he knew that none ever would.

Silently, he led her to the floor, the rest of the room quiet as they  watched the woman who could have come from another time, perhaps another  world even.

With the first notes of a waltz, the rest of the floor filled with  dancers, eager to hear any snippet of conversation that might pass  between the beautiful woman and the duke.

In silent question, Bradford lifted his hand, again asking her permission to touch her waist.

With a slow smile that started with just a small upturn of her lips, she  gave her consent. The small change to her face hit him full force,  pulling him farther under.         

     



 

Who was she? Was it possible they had met before?

No. He immediately discarded the thought. If he had met her before,  there was no way he would have not pursued her. She was sublime, the  paradigm of women.

Maybe she was visiting a relative in town, or perhaps this was her first  season. However, after a few seconds of dancing with her, seeing how  she adjusted to his frame, he could tell this wasn't her first. She had  danced with more men than just a dance instructor.

She also didn't seem dazzled by the ball around her, at the opulence of  it all. In fact, she seemed the opposite. The guests were what  interested her. Glancing around at the people watching her, she seemed  to take delight in the fact that they were giving her their attention,  almost as if she weren't used to being in the spotlight.

He wanted to laugh at the thought. She must attract attention wherever she went.

Abruptly, he realized he hadn't spoken a word to her. Clearing his  throat, he spoke in a rich, deep tone. "I fear I have just realized that  I have neglected to introduce myself."

His voice broke through Aubrey's dreamy haze like a splash of cold  water. She knew that voice, had heard it many times in the past year.  The Duke of Wathersby.

But no, it couldn't be, she thought, stiffening in his arms. She watched  as his brows puzzled and almost cursed her lack of control.

"Have I said something to offend you?" he asked, his voice low with concern.

With a deep breath, she tried to stabilize the flutters in her stomach.  How could she not have instantly known who he was? "On the contrary,"  she said, her voice sounding a bit hoarse. "I was surprised is all. I  had not recognized you in your costume, Your Grace."

His features quickly arranged in shock. Did he really not know who she was?

Searching his face, she could see that he didn't. Did she truly look so  different? They had danced many dances together just like this, had  conversed formally on so many occasions that she had lost count. Yet he  didn't recognize her.

He cleared his throat. "We have already met?"

She nodded once before looking down. She had thought him a stranger,  someone who perhaps lived in the country and hadn't met or heard of her.  There had been a connection between them when they had first locked  eyes. There was still one now. She could feel it wrapped around her like  a tight band, slowly cinching until she couldn't breathe. Why these  feelings? Why now?

She looked up at him with a touch of hopelessness. Once he realized who  she was, he wouldn't want to have anything to do with her.

"Many times?" he asked, seeming to hedge away from her answer.

"Yes, my lord. Many, many times," she said quietly.

He shook his head in denial as he pulled her closer. "I don't believe  it! Had we met before this night … " he trailed off, seeming to struggle  with something.

Did he feel the pull between them as she did? Did he feel it closing in  on him, harnessing them together? She looked up into his eyes, searching  for her answers.