Читать книгу The Wedding Challenge - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 10

THE MAN WAS, Callie realized, even more intriguing up close than he had been at a distance. The black half mask concealed the upper portion of his face, but it also emphasized the strong, chiseled jaw and well-cut, sensual mouth that lay below it. The eyes that looked out through the mask were fixed on her with a gaze that was decidedly warmer than was polite. He was tall, with wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, and he exuded a powerful masculinity that owed only part of its aura to the dashing costume he wore.

She should have given him a setdown, Callie knew, for she was certain that she did not know the man, which made it quite forward of him to ask her to dance. However, she found she had no desire to snub him. Indeed, what she desired was to put her hand in his and let him lead her out onto the floor.

However, Callie was certain that she would not be able to dance with him, for Lady Odelia would doubtless blister his ears for his impudence. Callie waited, with an inner sigh of regret, for that lady’s words.

“Of course,” Lady Odelia said—nay, almost purred, Callie thought, as she glanced at the old lady in surprise.

Irene’s face registered a similar sense of shock as she, too, turned toward Lady Odelia. But Lady Odelia was smiling with what could only be called pleasure at the Cavalier, and when Callie did not move, she waved her hand in a shooing motion toward her.

“There, girl, do not stand rooted on the spot. Get to the floor before the orchestra starts again.”

Callie did not need to be told twice to do what she wanted. If Lady Odelia had given her blessing to dancing with this man, it would satisfy the requirements of propriety—and prevent any upbraiding from her grandmother. But there was nevertheless a whiff of something illicit about dancing with a perfect stranger that she found enticing.

She quickly placed her hand on the arm the stranger held out to her, and they went down the step of the dais and onto the dance floor. Callie was very aware of the man’s arm beneath her hand, the muscle hard under the soft material.

“I should not dance with you, you know,” she told him, a little surprised at the flirtatious tone that bubbled up in her words.

“Indeed? And why is that?” He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling.

“I do not know you, sir.”

“How can you be sure?” he countered. “We are masked, after all.”

“Still, I am certain that we are strangers.”

“But is that not the point of a masquerade? That you do not know who anyone is? And so, surely, it is only to be expected that one would dance with a stranger. The usual rules do not apply,” he told her, and his gaze slid down her face in a way that made Callie feel suddenly warm.

“None of them?” she asked lightly. “Indeed, sir, that sounds dangerous.”

“Ah, but that is what makes it exciting.”

“I see. And it is excitement you seek?”

His smile was slow. “’Tis pleasure I seek, my lady.”

“Indeed?” Callie arched one brow, thinking that she should probably nip this conversation in the bud. It was growing altogether too familiar—and yet she could not resist the tingle that ran through her at his words, his smile.

“Indeed, yes—the pleasure of dancing with you,” he went on, the light in his eyes telling her that he was aware of exactly where her mind had strayed.

The lilting strains of a waltz began, and he held out his hands to her. Callie moved into his arms, her heart beating a trifle faster. It was even more daring to waltz with a stranger than it would have been to take to the floor for a country dance. She had to stand so close to him during a waltz, her hand in his, his arm almost encircling her. It was a much more intimate dance. It was often not even allowed at the more conservative assemblies in the countryside, and even here in London society, she had rarely shared a waltz with a man with whom she had not at least danced before. Certainly she had never done so with a man whose name she did not even know.

But Callie could not deny that despite the strangeness of it, she liked the way she felt in his arms, and she knew that the flush moving up her throat was due only in part to the exertion of the dance.

At first they did not speak. Callie concentrated on matching her steps to his; she felt almost as she had when she had first made her debut—anxious that she might make a misstep or appear awkward. She quickly found, however, that her new partner was an excellent dancer, his hand on her waist steady and firm, his steps in perfect rhythm to the music. She relaxed and settled down to enjoy herself, glancing up at him for the first time.

Callie found the Cavalier looking down at her, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were gray, the color of a stormy sky in this low light, and so steady upon her that she felt herself lost in his gaze. She was near enough to him that she could see the lashes that ringed his eyes, thick and black, shadowing his expression. Who could he be? He seemed completely unfamiliar; surely no costume could disguise someone she knew so well. Yet how could it be that she had not met him sometime in the past five years?

Was he an interloper, someone who had seized the opportunity a masked ball offered to intrude upon a party to which he had not been invited? But Lady Odelia had apparently recognized him, so surely that was not the case. She supposed he could be a recluse, someone who disliked Society and usually shunned it. However, in that case, why was he here at an enormous party? Certainly his manner was scarcely that of one who was shy or solitary.

Could it be that he had been abroad for the past few years? A soldier or naval officer, perhaps? Maybe a member of the foreign office. Or simply a dedicated traveler.

She smiled a little to herself at her fanciful thoughts. No doubt the explanation was something perfectly ordinary. After all, she did not know everyone in the ton.

“I like to see that,” her companion said.

“What?” Callie asked, puzzled.

“The smile upon your face. You have been frowning at me so steadily that I was afraid I must have fallen headlong into your bad graces without even knowing you.”

“I am sor—” Callie began, then realized the man’s admission. “Then you agree that we are strangers.”

“Yes. I admit it. I do not know you. I am certain that I would recognize a woman who looks as you do…even in a costume. You cannot hide your beauty.”

Callie felt her cheeks go warm and was surprised at herself. She was not a schoolgirl to be so easily cast into confusion by a gallant compliment. “And you, sir, cannot hide that you are a terrible flirt.”

“You wound me. I had thought I was rather skilled at it.”

Callie chuckled in spite of herself and shook her head.

“The fact that we are strangers is easily enough remedied,” he went on after a moment. “Simply tell me who you are, and I will tell you who I am.”

Callie shook her head again. Curious as she was about this man, she found it enjoyable to dance and flirt with him, knowing that he did not know who she was. She did not need to worry about his motives or his intentions. She did not have to weigh each statement for the truth of it or wonder if he was flirting with her—or with an heiress. Even those men who did not need her fortune or pursue her for the sake of it were still aware of it. Her lineage and her fortune were as much a part of her to them as her laughter or her smile. She could never know how any of them might have felt about her if she had been merely a gentleman’s daughter rather than the sister of a duke. It was quite pleasant, she realized, to know that when this man flirted with her, he saw only her, was attracted only to her.

“Oh, no,” she told him. “We cannot tell each other our names. That would end all the mystery. Did you not just tell me that that was the whole point of a masquerade—the mystery and excitement of not knowing?”

He laughed. “Ah, fair lady, you have pierced me with my own words. Is it fair, do you think, for one of your beauty to possess so quick a wit, as well?”

“You, I take it, are accustomed to winning your arguments,” Callie countered.

“There are times when I do not mind losing. But this is not one of them. I should regret it very much if I lost you.”

“Lost me, sir? How can you lose what you do not have?”

“I will lose the chance to see you again,” he replied. “How shall I find you again, not knowing your name?”

Callie cast him a teasing glance. “Have you so little faith in yourself? I suspect that you would find a way.”

He grinned back at her. “My lady, your faith in me is most gratifying. But, surely, you will give me a hint, will you not?”

“Not the slightest,” Callie retorted cheerfully. There was, she was finding, a wonderful freedom in not being herself, in not having to consider whether what she said would reflect badly on her brother or her family name. It was quite nice, actually, for a few moments to be simply a young woman flirting with a handsome gentleman.

“I can see I must abandon hope in that regard,” he said. “Will you at least tell me who you are dressed to be?”

“Can you not tell?” Callie asked with mock indignation. “Indeed, sir, you crush me. I had thought my costume obvious.”

“A Tudor lady, certainly,” he mused. “But not the time of our Lady Pencully’s queen. Her father’s reign, I would guess.”

Callie inclined her head. “You are quite correct.”

“And you could not be aught but a queen,” he continued.

She gave him the same regal nod.

“Surely, then, you must be the temptress Anne Boleyn.”

Callie let out a little laugh. “Oh, no, I fear that you have picked the wrong queen. I am not one who would lose my head over any man.”

“Catherine Parr. Of course. I should have guessed. Beautiful enough to win a king. Intelligent enough to keep him.”

“And what of you? Are you a particular Cavalier, or simply one of the king’s men?”

“Merely a Royalist.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was my sister’s idea—I have the uneasy feeling she may have been jesting when she suggested it.”

“But you need the hair, as well,” Callie pointed out. “A long curling black wig, perhaps.”

He laughed. “No. I balked at the wig. She tried to talk me into it, but on that I was firm.”

“Is your sister here tonight?” Callie asked and glanced out across the ballroom. Perhaps she knew his sister.

“No. I visited her on my way to London. She will not be here until the Season begins.” He studied her, his eyes alight with humor. “Are you trying to guess who I am?”

Callie chuckled. “You have caught me, sir.”

“I must tell you that you can easily extract the information from me. My name—”

“Oh, no, ’twould not be fair. Besides, I will find it out once you have discovered who I am and come to call.”

“Indeed?” His brows went up, and his eyes glowed suddenly with a light that was not laughter. “I have your permission to call on you?”

Callie tilted her head to the side, making a show of considering. In truth, she was a little surprised at what she had said. She had not thought about it before the words had popped out of her mouth. It was rather audacious to give someone she had just met permission to call—especially before he even asked. It was, well, forward on her part. Her grandmother, a stickler for rules, would be horrified. She probably should tell him no.

But Callie found she had not the slightest desire to take back her words. “Why, yes,” she replied with a smile. “I believe you do.”

The dance ended soon after, and Callie was aware of a pang of regret as her companion led her off the floor. He left her with a bow, raising her hand to briefly brush his lips against it. And even though she could not feel his lips through the cloth of her glove, heat rushed up in her anyway. She watched him walk away, quite the most dashing figure in the room, and she wondered again who he was.

Would he call on her? she wondered. Had he felt that same surge of attraction that she had? Would he go to the trouble of finding out who she was? Or was he merely a flirt, passing the time with flattering banter? Callie knew that it would take only a few judicious questions to the right people to discover his name, but, oddly enough, she found that she liked not knowing. It added to the anticipation, the little thrill of excitement, wondering if he would indeed come to call.

She did not have long to think about the Cavalier, however, for her dances were soon all spoken for, and she spent most of the next hour on the dance floor. She was taking a much-needed rest, sipping a glass of punch and chatting with Francesca, when she saw her grandmother making her way toward her, gripping the arm of a solemn sandy-haired man.

Callie groaned under her breath.

Francesca glanced at her. “Is something the matter?”

“Just my grandmother. She is bringing over another prospect, I warrant.”

Lady Haughston spotted the dowager duchess. “Ah. I see.”

“She has become obsessed with the idea that I must marry soon. I think she fears that if I do not become engaged this next Season, I will spend the rest of my life as a spinster.”

Francesca glanced again at the pair walking toward them. “And she thinks Alfred Carberry would suit you?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“She thinks Alfred Carberry would suit her,” Callie replied. “He is in line to inherit an earldom, though given the fact that his grandfather is still alive and hale, not to mention his father, I shouldn’t think it will be until he is in his sixties.”

“But he is such a dreadfully dull sort,” Francesca pointed out. “All the Carberrys are. I do not suppose they can help it, living all together up there in Northumberland. But I should not think you would enjoy being married to him.”

“Yes, but, you see, he is so respectable.”

“Mmm, that is one of the things that makes him so dull.”

“But that suits my grandmother.”

“And he’s nearly forty.”

“Ah, but men my age are apt to be flighty. They might go haring off and do something that isn’t respectable. No, Grandmother prefers them stodgy and dull—and from a good family, of course. Wealth would be nice, but she is not utterly wedded to that.”

Francesca chuckled. “I fear your grandmother is doomed to disappointment.”

“Yes, but I am doomed to her lecturing me. She has been doing so all winter.”

“Oh dear,” Francesca said sympathetically. “Perhaps you should come visit me. My butler has instructions to turn away all dull and stodgy men—or women, for that matter.”

Callie laughed, opening her fan to hide her mouth as she murmured, “Do not let Grandmother hear that, or she will forbid me to call on you.”

“Calandra, dear, there you are. Not dancing? And Lady Haughston. How lovely you look, as always.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Francesca replied, curtseying. “I must return the compliment, for you are in excellent looks tonight.”

It was true, of course, for Callie’s grandmother, with her upsweep of snow-white hair and slim, ramrod-straight body, was still an arresting-looking woman. She had been, Callie knew, quite a beauty in her day, and Callie counted herself fortunate that at least the duchess had excellent taste in clothes and had never quibbled about Callie’s choice of wardrobe—aside from a time or two in Callie’s first Season when her grandmother had put her foot down firmly against a ball gown that was other than white.

“Thank you, my dear.” The duchess smiled in a regal way, taking the compliment as her due. “You know the Honorable Alfred Carberry, do you not?” She turned toward the man at her side, unobtrusively maneuvering things so that the duchess stood facing Francesca and Mr. Carberry was closer to Callie.

The duchess went on, introducing the women to Carberry. “Lady Haughston. My granddaughter, Lady Calandra. Tell me, Lady Haughston, how is your mother? We must have a nice coze together, for I dare swear I have not seen you since Lord Leighton’s wedding.”

She laid a hand on Francesca’s arm and glanced over at Callie and Mr. Carberry, effectively separating the two couples. Smiling indulgently, she said, “No doubt you young people would rather not listen to us gossip. Why don’t you ask Lady Calandra to dance, Mr. Carberry, while Lady Haughston and I catch up with each other?”

Francesca’s brows lifted slightly at being put in a group with the duchess while the honorable Alfred, at least seven or eight years older than she, was termed a young person. However, she knew when she had been outmaneuvered, and she could not help but admire the duchess’s expertise, so, casting a single sparkling glance at Callie, she let the duchess steer her aside.

Callie, smiling somewhat stiffly, said, “Pray do not feel you must dance with me, sir, just because my grandmother—”

“Nonsense, my girl,” Mr. Carberry said in the hearty jocular voice that he commonly adopted with his younger relatives. “’Twould be my honor to take a twirl about the floor with you. Enjoying yourself, eh?”

Callie resigned herself to a dance with the man, reasoning that it would be easier to avoid conversation with him while they were dancing. She was pleased to find, when they took to the floor, that it was a sprightly country dance, which allowed little breath or time for talking, though it was unfortunately a good deal longer than a waltz. She found herself glancing around the floor as they went through the steps, looking for the curving plume of a Cavalier hat.

Then she had time to do no more than smile and listen to his thanks for the dance before her hand was claimed by her next partner, Mr. Waters. She knew Mr. Waters only slightly, having met him once before, and she had the faint suspicion that the man was probably angling for a wealthy wife, but at least he was a witty conversationalist and a smooth dancer.

When their dance ended, Mr. Waters suggested a stroll around the room, and Callie agreed. It was almost ten o’clock, which meant that the dancing would shortly cease and soon the guests would start making their way to the supper that would be laid out in the smaller ballroom across the hall. Callie feared that her grandmother would approach her with some “appropriate” escort to lead her in to supper, so she would just as soon stay out of the duchess’s sight for the next few moments.

They started around the periphery of the room, with her escort making polite conversation about the grandness of the ball, the liveliness of the music and the warmth of the room after the dancing. He paused at one of the doors, open to the terrace to let in some of the refreshingly cold evening air.

“Ah, that is much better, is it not?” he said. “One can grow quite heated dancing.”

Callie nodded absently, thinking that perhaps Mr. Waters was not so interesting a conversationalist as she had thought. She glanced around the room and finally spotted her grandmother. The old lady was engaged in conversation with Lord Pomerance, and Callie stifled a groan. Surely her grandmother would not inflict that insufferable windbag upon her! He was younger than Mr. Carberry and less stodgy, but his sense of self-importance was overreaching, and he was certain that everyone around him was deeply interested in all the minute details of his existence.

“Those two have the right idea,” Mr. Waters continued.

“What?” Callie’s gaze was fixed on her grandmother.

Her companion nodded toward the terrace beyond them. “Stepping outside for a bit of fresh air.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

The duchess turned her head, searching the room, and Callie knew that she was looking for her.

Callie whipped around so that her back was to her grandmother. “Yes,” she said quickly. “You are right—a breath of fresh air.”

She slipped out the door. Her surprised escort hesitated for a fraction of a second, then grinned and hurried out after her.

Callie walked swiftly away from the ballroom toward the darker reaches of the terrace. The winter air was chilly against her bare arms and neck, but, warmed as she was from dancing in the stuffy room, it was at the moment quite welcome. She stopped when they reached the railing that marked the end of the upper terrace, well beyond where her grandmother might see if she looked out the door from the ballroom.

“I am sorry,” she told her companion with a quick smile. “You must think me quite mad, rushing out here this way.”

“Not mad. Impetuous, perhaps,” Waters replied with a smile and reached out to take her hand in both his. “I can only assume that you were as eager as I to be alone.”

As Callie watched in stunned amazement, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, then said, “I had not realized—I had hoped, but I did not dream that you might return my affection.”

“What?” Callie tried to tug her hand from his, but Waters was holding on to it too tightly.

She saw now the mistake she had made in her impulsive rush to escape her grandmother’s manipulations. With some other gentleman, one whom she knew better, it would have been all right. He would have laughed about her predicament with the duchess and promised to come to her aid. Mr. Waters, obviously, had jumped to the wrong conclusion…or perhaps he had simply seen a golden opportunity to advance his suit with her. Callie could not forget her suspicions that the man was an opportunist.

She took a step back, but he followed her, still holding her hand and gazing down fervently into her face as he said, “You must know the depth of my feeling for you, the love that burns in my heart….”

“No! Mr. Waters, I fear that you have misunderstood,” Callie replied firmly. “Pray, let go of my hand.”

“Not until you have answered me. Lady Calandra, I beseech you, make my dreams come—”

“Mr. Waters, stop!” With a heave, Callie tore her hand from his grasp. “I am sorry that I inadvertently gave you the wrong impression, but, please, let us put an end to this conversation.”

She started to walk past him, but Waters grabbed her arms, holding her in place.

“No, hear me out,” he said. “I love you, Calandra. My heart, my soul, burns for you. I beg you, say that you care for me, too, that there is in your heart a spark that—”

“Stop this at once,” Callie commanded. “Let us go back inside, and we shall forget that this ever happened.”

“I do not want to forget,” he told her. “Every moment with you is precious to me.”

Callie gritted her teeth. His flowery words grated on her, and with each passing moment she was more convinced of his insincerity. This man did not care for her, only for her large dowry, and she no longer had any concern over hurting his feelings.

“I would wager that you would like to forget this moment if I tell my brother about it!” she snapped, and tried to jerk away from him.

His fingers dug into her arms, keeping her from leaving. He grinned, the loving mask dropping from his face as easily as it had come. “Your brother?” he asked derisively. “You intend to tell the duke that you have been dallying with a man on the terrace? Go ahead. Tell him. I imagine he will insist on an engagement immediately.”

“You are a fool if you think that,” Callie shot back. “I have not been dallying with you, and when I tell him what has happened, you will be lucky if he does not hand your head to you.”

“Really?” His eyes brightened with a dangerous light. “And will he be so ready to dismiss me with your reputation compromised beyond repair?”

He jerked her to him and bent to kiss her.

“Oh!” Callie let out a low cry of anger and frustration, and brought her hands up, pushing at him as she twisted and squirmed, turning her face away from him. She kicked out, landing a shot square on his shin.

Waters cursed as he struggled to control her, dragging her across the terrace to pin her against the wall. Callie felt the rough stone through the thin material of her dress, and she dug her fingers into the man’s shirt, gripping whatever flesh she could and twisting. He let out a gratifying yelp.

Then, in the next instant, he was jerked away from her, suddenly gasping for air, as a large hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed, pulling him back against the broad chest of the Cavalier.

“What?” the Cavalier asked in a dangerously soft voice, tightening his grasp. Waters’ eyes bulged as he flailed ineffectually backward. “Nothing to say? No brave words when it’s someone other than a woman you are attacking?”

“No, pray, do not choke him,” Callie said a little shakily, moving away from the wall.

“Are you sure?” Her rescuer looked over at her. “I think the world would not miss this one.”

“Lady Odelia might object to a dead man on her terrace at her birthday ball,” Callie responded dryly.

He grinned, and his hold on the other man loosened. “All right. If you wish it, I shall let him go.”

Waters sucked in a gulp of air. “You’ll be sorry,” he began.

The Cavalier’s hand tightened on his throat again, cutting off his words. “I am already sorry,” he said flatly.

He let go of Waters’ throat and grasped him by the shoulders, whipping him around and shoving him back against the railing. Digging his hand into the neck of Waters’ shirt, he bent him backward.

“Perhaps you are not familiar enough with Lady Pencully’s house to know that there is a twenty-foot drop from here to the garden below, but I am. I would consider that, if I were you, before I decided to threaten either me or this young lady again. Lady Pencully would dislike having someone take a nasty fall from her terrace on the night of her birthday ball. However, I assure you that she would quickly get over it, and no one would question an inebriated guest tumbling over the railing to the stone walkway below. And there would be no one to dispute my version of the events, since you, alas, would be dead. Have I made myself clear?”

Waters, his eyes huge in the darkness, nodded mutely.

“Good. Then we understand each other.” The Cavalier stepped back a little, allowing Waters to stand again, but he did not release him just yet. Looking the other man straight in the eye, the Cavalier went on. “If ever I hear a word about this incident or the slightest whisper of a scandalous rumor concerning this young lady, I will know where it came from. And I will come deal with you. So I would suggest that you keep your lips tightly sealed. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you left London immediately. A long stay in the country would definitely be in your best interests. Am I clear?”

Waters nodded quickly, not daring to look at the man or at Callie.

“All right, then. Now go.”

The Cavalier let him go and stepped back, and Waters scurried off, never glancing behind him. Callie’s rescuer turned back to her.

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

Callie nodded and shivered, realizing suddenly how very cold she was. “Yes, I am fine. Thank you. I—” Her breath caught raggedly.

“Here. You are cold.” He untied the cape that hung behind him and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She clutched it to her and looked up at him.

Her eyes were luminous in the faint light, swimming with unshed tears. He sucked in a quick breath.

“You are beautiful. ’Tis no wonder that a cad such as he would try to take advantage of you. You should not let that sort inveigle you outside.”

“I know. I was foolish.” Callie gave him a watery little smile. “I am not so naive as to step outside with a man I hardly know. I was—I was just trying to evade my grandmother, and I acted on impulse.”

“Evade your grandmother?” he asked, his eyes lighting mischievously. “Is she a wicked grandmother?”

“No, just a matchmaking one.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I understand. Almost as bad as a matchmaking mother.”

Callie smiled. “I am very lucky you came along when you did. I am forever in your debt. Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She held out her hand solemnly to shake his.

He took her hand, his long fingers wrapping warmly around hers, and he raised it to his lips, pressing them softly against the back of her hand. “I am pleased that I was able to help you. But it was not luck. I saw him lead you out the door, and I did not like the look of him.”

“You were watching me?” Callie asked, warmed a little by the thought that he had looked for her just as she had looked for him.

“I had started across the room to ask you for another dance,” he told her. “But then the music stopped, and I realized that it was time for supper. Then he whisked you away.”

“Still, it was good of you to come after us.”

“Any man would have done the same.”

“No,” she demurred with a smile. “Not all.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “You still have my hand, sir.”

“Yes, I know. Do you wish me to give it back?” His voice deepened sensually.

Callie looked up, and her insides quivered at the look in his eyes. “I—no, not really.”

“Good, for neither do I.” Softly his thumb stroked the back of her hand, and though it was only a small movement, Callie felt its effect all through her.

“And now that I have sent that blackguard packing…I think it must be worth a small favor, don’t you?”

“What favor?” Callie asked a little breathlessly. He seemed very near her; she could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of masculine cologne. Her heart hammered in her chest, but it was not from fear as it had been moments earlier. It was anticipation that welled up in her now.

“Your name, my lady.”

“Calandra,” she answered softly.

“Calandra,” he repeated softly, lingering over the syllables. “’Tis a magical name.”

“Not so magical,” she said. “And those who are close to me call me Callie.”

“Callie.” He lifted his other hand and slid his thumb along her jawline. “It suits you.”

“But now we are unequal, for I do not know your name.”

“Bromwell. Those who are close to me call me Brom.”

“Brom,” she breathed. Her flesh tingled where his thumb touched it, sending delicious tendrils of sensation spiraling through her.

“It sounds much lovelier on your lips.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, and warmth blossomed deep in Callie’s abdomen. His eyes followed the movement of his thumb, and the light in them sparked higher, his own lips softening.

He leaned closer, and Callie was certain that he intended to kiss her. But she did not hesitate or pull away. Instead, boldly, she stretched up to meet him.

His lips closed on hers, and heat seemed to explode within her. She trembled, every nerve in her body suddenly alive and attuned to the slow, delicious movement of his mouth on hers. She had never felt anything like this before. Though one or two men had dared to steal a kiss from her, none of those kisses had felt like this—so soft and hot, her lips so sensitive to the velvet pressure of his. And none of those men had ever moved his mouth against her, opening her lips to his questing tongue, startling her and sending a wave of intense pleasure through her.

She made a low noise of surprise and eagerness, and her hands slid up instinctively around his neck, holding on to him as his arms wrapped fiercely around her, squeezing her against his long, hard body. The elegant plume of his hat brushed against her cheek, and that touch, too, aroused the sensitive nerves of her skin. He made a noise of hunger and frustration, reaching up to jerk the hat from his head and toss it aside as his lips pressed harder against hers.

Callie’s fingers dug into the rich material of his doublet. She felt as if she were falling, tumbling into some wild maelstrom of hunger and desire, and she was all at once eager and frightened and more vibratingly alive than she had ever been before. She could feel his body surge with heat through the material of his clothes, enveloping her with his warmth.

Suddenly he lifted his head, sucking in a deep breath and staring down at her. Reaching down, he took her half mask between his fingers and pushed it up, revealing her face.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed. Then he reached up and took off his own mask, holding it dangling in his hand.

Callie gazed up at him, realizing with some surprise that his face was even more arresting without the dramatic mask. Sharp, high cheekbones balanced the strong jaw, and the straight dark slashes of his brows accented his wide gray eyes. It was the face of an angel, she thought with a poeticism uncommon to her—not an angel of harps and fluffy clouds, but the fierce sort, standing guard at the gates of heaven with a fiery sword.

“So are you,” she answered him candidly, then blushed at the naive candor of her words.

Something flared in his eyes, and he let out a shaky little chuckle. “My dear Calandra…it is much too dangerous for you to be out here alone with me.”

“Do you think I cannot trust you?” she asked, the tone of her voice making clear her own belief.

“I think ’tis dangerous to trust any man when you look as you look…and feel as you feel.” His voice turned husky on his last words, and he ran his palm down her arm slowly, reluctantly, and pulled his hand away, taking a step backward. “We should go inside.”

He returned her mask, and Callie took it. She hated to turn away from him, away from this moment and the new feelings that were surging through her. Yet at the same time, his urging her to do so only strengthened what she felt for him. She smiled at him.

“Perhaps you would like the rest of my name.”

“’Twould make it easier,” he admitted, grinning. “But, believe me, I will find you anyway.”

“Then you should come to—” Callie broke off, turning, as her brother’s voice sounded from the terrace behind them.

“Callie? Calandra!”

She whirled and looked back up the long terrace. The duke stood just outside the door, looking around. He started forward, scowling, once again calling her name.

“The devil take it!” Callie said under her breath, and her companion’s brows shot up at the unladylike curse.

He smothered a laugh. “Not whom you wanted to see?”

“My brother,” Callie said. “He is sure to fuss. Ah, well, there is no use in waiting. We might as well get it over with.” She started forward with the confidence of one who had never received anything stronger than a scolding.

Her companion shrugged and strode after her, catching up to Callie as she called out, “Here! It is all right, Sinclair. Pray do not bellow.”

Rochford hurried toward them, his face relaxing in relief. “What the devil are you doing out here? Are you all right?”

Beside Callie, as they came forward into the light, she heard her companion suck in a sharp breath and stop dead still. She half turned toward him questioningly, then glanced back at her brother, realizing that he, too, had come to a sudden halt.

Rochford stared at the man standing beside Callie, a black scowl drawing up his features. “You!” he snarled at the Cavalier. “Get away from my sister!”