Ach
. His friend was right. He had grown too serious. He forced himself to smile, the expression growing warmer as his gaze fell on the shapely Indian princess who’d just floated into the room. She’d caught his eye before, while dancing. Her every step, every movement oozed sensuality.
The gauzy fabric of her costume clung to her curves, caressing them like a lover
. Her bodice was cut low, the shapely tops of her breasts thrust up for a provocative display, while veils hid most of her face from view. Only her eyes, long-lashed and rimmed with kohl, could be seen. Eyes that beckoned a man to discover more. The combination of sexual appeal with mystery held an allure he couldn’t deny.
For the first time, Graeme gave real credence to his friend’s advice
. After all, what harm could come from one night of flirtation?
“Go on.” He nudged Ewan toward the brunette
. “Stand too long next to me in a place like this and people will start to talk.”
His friend disappeared with a chuckle, and Graeme turned his att
ention to the Indian princess. She stood a few feet in front of him, paused behind a sofa toward the far back of the room where the shadow woman plied her trade. The sultry princess shifted, her stance uncertain.
Don’t leave
, he silently implored her.
The shadow woman behind the screen turned in profile, tipped her head back and slowly, deliberately
, ran her hands over her breasts and pinched her nipples. Men in the audience groaned and shifted in their seats, but Graeme hardly noticed. The mysterious princess held his focus. Her eyes widened at the provocative display. She cast a glance toward the door, but her feet stayed planted.
He angled himself to see her better
. There was something about the way her costume offered tantalizing glimpses of skin, yet obscured most of her face. Except her eyes. The room was too dim to make out their color, but he was drawn to them nonetheless—especially the way they’d widened when she realized what was going on behind the screen. Shock? Yes. But there was something else. Something evidenced by her decision to stay. To continue watching. She looked…captivated.
A surge of lust flooded him
. Who was this woman? An actress? A courtesan?
Please
, he prayed as he moved so that he stood just behind her,
please don’t let her be a married woman
. Disguised or not, he didn’t fancy lusting after another man’s wife—even for a night. Whoever she was, he found her combination of hesitation and interest far more alluring than the unfettered invitations being issued by the other females present.
He bent his head to her ear
. “Are you enjoying the shadow play?” he whispered.
She flicked her
gaze to him and he saw the flare of recognition before she turned back to the screen. She remembered him from the dance floor. Graeme found this oddly gratifying.
She hesitated,
her chest rising and falling with a deliberate breath, before she responded. The slight movement drew his attention to the swell of her breasts. She was slender, but with curves sufficient to hold a man’s interest. They were certainly holding
his
interest.
“
It is quite… quite… intriguing,” she finally responded, her voice so low he had to lean even closer. Not that he minded.
Graeme smiled in the darkness, amused at her obvious struggle to find a proper response to a situation that was anything but proper
. It was the response an innocent might give, though that had to be an act. No lamb walked knowingly into a lion’s den.
Another moment passed, and still the Indian princess did not move away
. Hmm. Proper, yet not proper enough to hightail it to the safety of her home. Unable to ignore her allure, he decided to test her further.
“
The performer seems quite enthusiastic. Do you also enjoy such things?”
“I’ve never—“ she cut herself off on a strangled note.
Interesting. He tried a different tack. “Do you dream of
being
touched the way she is touching herself?” he whispered.
She sucked in a breath, but did not tear her eyes from the screen
.
Encouraged, he touched her shoulder lightly, stroked her upper arm
. Her skin was warm satin. She shivered and leaned back into him ever so slightly. Arousal lit his senses, making him aware of every nuance of her movement. He was nearly hard already, and he’d barely touched her arm. He didn’t even know her name. But he knew his reaction was to
her.
No shadow woman could affect him like this. He hadn’t even been interested in the other “delights” to be found at the masquerade.
He stroked
her other arm, then brought both his hands to cup her rib cage, sliding them down to her waist, her hips. A sigh escaped her, and he pulled her back until her body aligned with his, her bottom nestled against his growing erection.
They were doing far less than some of the room’s occupants
—indeed, far less than the shadow woman was now doing to herself, but he hadn’t felt such an intense pull of attraction in years.
He bent his head to her neck, kissing the sensitive spot beneath her ear, his mind swimming with the heady scent of her
—sweet and feminine, a contrast to her sultry costume. He touched his tongue to her skin as his hand skimmed her torso, rising to cup her breast. She whimpered, a sound of need that sent him from semi-aroused to rock hard.
By
God, he had to find out who she was before he went mad with desire. But how was he going to stop touching her long enough to suggest they retreat to the card room for polite introductions?
At the front of the room a man stood, pulling his partner by the hand
. Her breasts already spilled from her costume and he turned to fondle one as he backed up, tugging her along, presumably headed for more a private location.
The couple stumbled in their haste, and the man bumped against the screen in front
. It tipped precariously and fell, knocking the lamp to the ground as well.
The room plunged into darkness, save for tiny flames that sparked up from the floor.
The erotic mood shattered as women shrieked and men rushed forward to stomp out the licking flames. Someone lit another lamp, and the shadow woman, revealed in naked flesh, scrambled to cover herself and ran from the room.
Graeme released the Indian princess, joining the men at the front
. Mere stomping would not put out the flames if they caught on the puddle of spilled lamp oil. He pulled off the heavy folds of his domino and elbowed his way through the crowd, then dropped the pile of fabric over the small fire to smother it. He gave the pile a few stomps himself for good measure.
The shrieks subsided as the crowd realized the danger
had passed. Men and women alike, engaged moments before in sensual play, now made hasty adjustments to their clothing.
Graeme lifted his head and looked back to the doorway, but his princess was gone.
Charity returned to the ballroom, her heart’s racing already beginning to slow. What had she just done? Or almost done? Had it not been for the fiery interruption, she’d have willingly given herself over to the seduction of an enigmatic stranger.
She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then forced them open again
. It didn’t matter. The moment was over. Nothing had happened. He didn’t even know her name, nor she his. She listlessly selected a spot on the wall against which to stand.
She was tired, so tired
. The wine she’d drunk earlier—which she was now almost certain had been laced with opium—seeped through her system, fogging her mind and weighing down her limbs. The initial euphoria, the euphoria that had driven her to the arms of the man in the burgundy domino, was gone. It
had
been the result of the wine…hadn’t it?
She gazed
across the ballroom, unwilling to admit to herself she was looking for
him
. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen, and even the most outrageous behavior of the other guests could barely hold her interest. That was fine. Tonight she would get what she wanted most. She’d be able to sleep. Just not yet. By the
ton's
standard's, tonight's entertainment had just begun. It would be hours before her companions would wish to return home. That was the trouble with sneaking out. She had no carriage of her own.
She selected another glass of wine from a nearby table and sipped
, more slowly this time.
A man dressed as a knight approached, looking hopefully between her and the dance floor
. She shook her head. "I find my energy flagging," she admitted.
"A stroll outdoors to revive you, perhaps?"
Charity glanced around. Lord Edwards, Lord Blythe, and Miss Hart had long since abandoned her, melting into the crowd of pleasure-seekers. Who knew when they would reappear? A breath of fresh air
did
sound appealing. They needn’t go further than the terrace. She nodded. "That sounds lovely, thank you."
She breathed deeply as they stepped outside, the cool night air a welcome respite from the oppressively stuffy ballroom
. Murmurs and giggles floated toward them from the darker corners of the terrace and garden. Nothing unusual there. Her own first kiss had occurred in a garden at a ball.
T
he knight escorting her exerted a pull on her elbow, guiding her into the dark.
Charity slowed, a vague unease seeping through her opium-aided calm
. “This is nice, here on the terrace.”
“It will be even nicer
if we go further into the garden,” he insisted. “Come, there is something I want to show you.”
There is something I want to show you
?
Charity rolled her eyes. Every girl over the age of fifteen knew to beware
those
words. Since her companion appeared well past his teens, he ought to have improved on such techniques by now.
She planted her feet
. “Surely you can give me a hint before luring me into the dark?”
He gave her an oily grin
. “A hint, is it? I’d be obliged.”
Too late she smelled the liquor on his breath, for his grasp on her elbow tightened as he yanked her close, landing a sloppy kiss on the veil covering her mouth
.
“Bit of an exhibitionist, are you
? Like to be in sight of the house?” He chuckled, the sound making her cringe. “The baron always invites the best sort of women to his parties.”
Charity blinked at the backhanded compliment.
“These bloody veils are in the way,” the knight muttered, pawing at the gauzy layers.
She stepped quickly back
. He was hardly the first man she’d seen become clumsy with liquor or ardor. If her own mind hadn’t been so foggy, she’d have registered his impairment much sooner.
A cool sensation tickled the back of her neck as though a breeze had snuck beneath the veils that shrouded
her. But the evening was still. Looking up, she once more locked gazes with the wicked stranger who’d whispered to her, touched her, in the shadow parlor. His burgundy domino was gone, but there was no disguising the strong jaw or the heat of recognition in his gaze. She’d seen him, caught that first hint of interest, while dancing. Then…the parlor. Her skin heated at the memory.
He’d touched her
, and she’d responded—oh, how she’d responded. It had been mindless—a moment’s indulgence brought on by the sensual shadow play and the daze of the opium wine.
Now, h
e stood in the shadows, his expression once more appraising. Why? Could he not see her discomfort?
The drunken knight had paused to adjust his lopsided armor, oblivious to the silent interaction of the other two on the terrace.
A dark thought made Charity shiver. Perhaps her shadow-room stranger had no intention of stepping in to aid her. Perhaps he was merely waiting his turn. After all, she
was
attending a party known for its guests’ loose behavior—and she’d already given him reason to think she would not turn a man away.
She had just enough presence of mind to know she
didn’t
have full control of her faculties. And to know that some mistakes could not be undone. It didn’t matter how attractive she found him. She dared not let him touch her again.
Finally
, her tired brain was roused to action as she realized the danger she was in. She was reasonably certain she could deflect one man. But two? She'd better think fast.
There she was again
. His Indian princess, this time with an ardent knight in tow. Though, from her reaction to the knight’s kiss, she did not share the gentleman’s enthusiasm.
Graeme stopped
. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the mysterious woman from the moment he’d first seen her. Those brief, erotic moments in the dark had left him entranced, aching for more—though seeing her in trouble now quashed some of that urge.