How could she not have felt this before? It felt so normal, so right.
She was a fool.
She shook her head and looked away, despair filling her. There was no future between the two of them.
Clearly reading her thoughts, he squeezed her hand, willing her eyes to connect with his. "Who are you?"
She inhaled quickly, stumbling over a step. He caught her, using the momentum to twirl her around the floor.
"I'd rather not say."
"I must know."
She shook her head. "Let's just leave it how it is. Let's just enjoy the dance until it ends."
"And that is enough for you?" His voice took on a gruff edge that settled inside her.
His eyes searched hers, trying to pry out her secrets. Lowering her head she confessed softly, "No. But there is no other way."
Seeming frustrated, he looked around the room before dancing them to the edge of the floor, discreetly slipping them out to a terrace that was a bit more private than the crowded ballroom.
The rain had stopped, leaving a clean, brisk scent on the stones.
Walking to the railing furthest from the door, the music that floated into the warm night seemed distant, hazier as if she were in a dream. She wasn't in danger of being compromised here, but the thought of being alone with him caused a tingle in her spine.
Pulling her gaze from the doorway, she turned to look at him, surprised to find him staring out over the gardens.
Longing rushed through her so quickly she gasped. His form wasn't bulky, but she could clearly see his muscles flexing beneath his clothes. Had she ever been so attracted to a man before?
As if sensing her thoughts, he turned to face her, desire clearly shown through his eyes before he masked it. His smile threw her off.
"So I cannot convince you to tell me your name?"
She hesitated, feeling a trap being set around her, but couldn't figure out what it was. "I would rather not, Your Grace."
"Call me, Bradford." Opening her mouth, she wanted to tell him that it would be best if she didn't, but he cut her off. "I have no desire to have such formality between us."
She swung around in frustration. Could he not see how difficult this was for her? "I should go back inside."
"Why do you wish to leave?"
Pivoting, she turned halfway toward him with a ready excuse, but seeing him, she couldn't lie. "Nothing can come between us, Your Grace."
"Bradford." He took her hand gently. "And why not? Are you married? Betrothed?" he asked, the concern in his voice evident.
She shook her head sadly. "No, Your Grace. Bradford," she said, correcting herself. She couldn't deny him such a small request.
"Then what is it? What reason could there be?" He looked at her, clearly trying to draw out her secrets. "You feel what is between us."
She nodded. "Yes. But nothing can come of it."
He took her shoulders, and she wasn't sure if he was going to shake her. Lifting her eyes to his, she read his frustration and her heart began to crack. The fates were so cruel.
"We have known each other for several seasons, danced more dances than I can count, have had several conversations. What you feel for me now, it's just an illusion. If I told you who I was, it would all be gone." Saying the words hurt, but it would hurt even more if she told him who she was and he turned away from her. This was the only way.
"It doesn't matter who you are. How I feel about you won't change because of your name."
Her heart leaped at his words, but she couldn't trust in them. He was the Duke of Wathersby, the most sought after man in the ton. He had courted her best friend, the incomparable of the season. She had no such beauty. Like so many other girls, she had a generous dowry, but there was little else she had to offer him.
"You don't believe me," he said, astonishment clear in his voice.
She hesitated, finding her words. She couldn't look at him. "It isn't that I doubt your words. It is only that your feelings could change after you know my name. What if I have a scandalous background?"
"I wouldn't care," he interrupted her quickly, his voice firm.
She laughed softly, however it was one more of sadness than gaiety. "You say that now. And no, I don't have a scandalous background. It was just an example."
"What can I do to prove to you that I am in earnest? I mean what I say. It doesn't matter who you are. You are meant to be with me."
She felt his words to the very depths of her soul. She had dreamed of those words being said to her, dreamed about this very moment. But he wasn't saying them to her, Aubrey Langston. He was saying them to the masquerade lady. To a figment of his imagination. To a woman who was nothing but an illusion.
She shook her head.
"How can you deny it?" He gripped her upper arms. "How can you say that you aren't meant to be with me?"
"Because you don't know me! You desire an illusion. A person who is not real."
"No. I desire you." He pulled her flush against his body. "And I can't fight it another second." He swooped down to cover her lips with his. A surprised gasp escaped from her.
He relished the taste of her, taking the kiss from innocent to dark as his tongue swept inside to conquer. He had never tasted anything so exquisite, anything so potent as this woman's lips. Fire shot through his senses, demanding that he take more and more of her.
All his frustrations poured into the kiss, branding her as his. He could feel every curve of her body against the hard lines of his. They fit, more perfectly than he could have imagined. She seemed to be made for him.
He kissed her thoroughly, leaving little doubt that he would ever leave her alone. He was claiming her in the deepest way he knew how. He was claiming her soul.
He broke the kiss, looking into her glassy eyes. It didn't matter who she was or where she went. She was his now. Now and forever.
He had never believed in love at first sight. He thought it was ridiculous that someone could fall in love when they knew nothing of the person. But he did now. It was more than lust, much more. But that was there as well. He seemed to know her on a deeper level. His soul recognized hers.
He didn't need to know what her favorite book was or how she liked her tea. They meant nothing. All that mattered was that he had found her. That they were two pieces of a whole.
Tears slowly slipped down her cheeks, and he gently brushed them away with his thumbs, looking into her eyes, looking into her soul. She felt what he did. They were meant to be together.
"Trust me."
She leaned toward him, almost as if her body were willing her mind to give that trust. He watched her search his face and knew that he had won. She was his.
With a deep breath, she was about to reveal who she was, but was cut off as he jerked her softly into the shadows.
Someone was coming.
Looking around, she realized they had moved from the very public area of the terrace to the more private section. Locked in a lover's embrace, she realized a scandal would be created if they were caught.
Panic overwhelmed her. If they were found, he would be forced to marry her. She couldn't bear the thought of it.
"I'm sorry," she said, leaving his embrace and quickly descending the stairs into the garden before they were discovered.
"I was wondering where you were hiding, Your Grace," a woman said, her voice husky.
Leaning against the garden wall, Aubrey listened to Bradford's quiet conversation with the woman.
"I haven't been doing anything of the sort, Lady Victoria. I found I needed a breath of fresh air and a moment of quiet."
Victoria, Aubrey thought in distain. The woman had no sense of honor. She had been the one that started the rumor about Sera. All because Victoria had wanted the Duke.
"Really? I thought I heard voices," she said.
Aubrey listened to Bradford's laugh, and could tell it was forced. "The wind, I'm sure. Come, let us return to the ballroom. I believe the next is a waltz. Would you do me the honor?"
Aubrey clenched her fists. She could just imagine Victoria preening at the attention. Hearing their footsteps returning to the ballroom, Aubrey slumped, suddenly drained.
She didn't have a desire to stay and dance with any other men. No one could compare with Bradford and she didn't think she could paste a smile on her face for the rest of the night.
She had almost told him who she was. If Lady Victoria had not come upon them, she would have confessed all, only to have him turn away from her.
She didn't think she could bear that. The thought of him rejecting her once he knew her identity filled her with fear.
Pushing away from the wall, she walked through the garden, heading toward another door that led to the ballroom. She would find her mother and plead a headache. She couldn't stay another moment. Not when Bradford would find her again. And she knew he would. She didn't think she would be able to get away from him anonymously the next time.
She shivered at the thought. She had come so close to telling him. She could only be grateful that he would never find out who she really was.