A Masked Deception

Chapter 7

Captain Charles Adair arrived home four days later. He refused to take to the bed his mother had so painstakingly prepared for him. He did allow himself to be examined by the physician she had lined up for the occasion, but only to set her mind at rest. Then he summoned his older brother, and the two sallied forth to White's Club.

On the following evening, the Earl and Countess of Brampton gave a dinner in honor of Captain Adair's safe return home. Margaret spent longer than usual in her dressing room getting ready for the evening. She knew that Richard had not married her for love, and she knew that she was not an attractive woman. But she wanted to make a favorable impression on her brother-in-law. She did not want him to feel that his brother had married a dowd.

She wore a dress of pale-blue lace over a white silk underdress. She had Kitty dress her braids higher than usual on her head. Her only ornaments were a pearl necklace that Richard had given her as a wedding gift, and her wedding rings.

Margaret was one of the last to enter the drawing room. Her mother-in-law was there already, holding court to Devin Northcott and another, elderly gentleman. Her two sisters-in-law who were in town were also present with their husbands. There were several other close acquaintances, talking in groups. But Margaret's attention was caught by the three central figures before the fireplace. Richard was looking his usual magnificent and immaculate self, dressed in black, the color relieved only by his snowy-white shirt and flowing neckcloth. Charlotte was looking vivid in a rose-pink dress, her auburn hair dressed in a froth of curls, her cheeks flushed with color.

And Charles-it must be he!-was quite a breathtaking man. He was slightly taller than his brother, though slighter in build, and somewhat sallow of complexion since his bouts of fever in Spain. His hair was fairer and more wavy than his brother's. He bore himself with military straightness and wore full-dress regimentals, his right arm carried in a sling. His face, Margaret noticed as she met his eyes across the room, was open and friendly. She wanted more than ever to be liked by him.

Brampton crossed the room to take her hand and lead her forward. "My dear," he said, "come and meet your brother-in-law, Charles. Charles, my wife."

Charles was feeling a shock of surprise. The countess was unlike anything he had imagined. When he had received news of the marriage, in Spain, he had amused himself trying to picture Dick's bride. Would he have married an acclaimed beauty, someone he would be proud to show off at all the social functions of the ton? Or would he have married an uninteresting girl who would give him an heir? He doubted that Dick would have married for love. As Charles remembered him, he had always had need of many women, one at a time, it was true, but none retaining his attention for more than a few months. Charles could not remember having met Miss Margaret Wells, but her name made her sound as if she fell into the second category of bride.

He was quite unprepared for this fragile little creature who stepped into the room with quiet self-assurance. She was not pretty in any obvious sense of the word, but Charles immediately categorized her as beautiful. Her beauty lay perhaps in the quiet way she bore herself, not using any of the lures he was used to seeing in other women; yet her whole being seemed to shine from her quiet gray eyes, so large and so full of pride in and love of Dick.

Charles looked curiously across at his brother as he made the introductions. By God, he loves her too, Charles decided with amusement. I wonder if he knows it!

"I am enchanted to meet you at last, ma'am," he said, smiling down at this little sister-in-law whom he immediately liked, and with his left hand he raised her hand to his lips.

"Oh, please call me Margaret," she replied. "And I am so happy to meet you too, sir. I never had a brother, you see."

"Then I shall have to make up for lost time, Margaret," he said, laughing. "And it must be Charles, please."

She smiled happily up at him and accepted the left arm he offered to her to lead her into the dining room. She did not notice her husband's eyes fixed, intrigued, on her face before he crossed the room to escort his mother in to dinner.

Margaret had placed Charles to her right, at the foot of the dining table. She had seated Charlotte to his right, hoping that she would not seem too obviously the matchmaker. She watched, satisfied, as they talked together. She hoped that Richard would not object to her sister and his brother developing a tendre for each other. She glanced down the table to find her husband's eyes fixed steadily on her as he listened to the chatter of the woman beside him. His expression was unreadable. She smiled placidly at him and turned to the gentleman on her left.

Later, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the dining room, Brampton noticed that his brother crossed the room to sit between Margaret and Charlotte. They were soon all three deep in conversation, or at least, the two ladies were soon absorbed in listening to Charles. Richard felt the old envy that he had always felt for his brother, who found it so easy to charm people of all age groups. Why was he never able to bring that look of near-animation to his wife's face?

And why should I care? he thought, giving himself a mental shake. He had made a good bargain when he had married her. She was quiet and undemanding. He could forget that she was there if he wanted to. And he certainly had not wanted a woman who would disturb his life in any way. It was fortunate for him that she did not find him as attractive as she seemed to find his brother. She might become a nuisance if she did, demanding what he was not prepared to give. He felt a fresh wave of irritation wash over him as his wife-and Charlotte-broke into peals of laughter over something Charles had said. He had never been able to make her laugh.

And then he remembered what had never really been out of his mind for the last six days: tomorrow night he was to see his angel again! This thought had, in fact, been an agony to him all week. Several times he had made a definite decision not to go. His search for her, the pain he had felt six years before at not being able to find her, was long in the past. Would it not be best to leave it there, to let her slip out of his life again before his feelings were irrevocably involved? At these times he thought of his responsibilities as head of his family. Then he thought of his wife, whom he now held in respect, if not, indeed, in affection. Was he willing to risk the peace and tranquillity of his present life for a romantic gambol with an unidentified figure from his past?

But at other times he admitted to himself that it was already too late. He had held the girl in his arms. She was no phantom, but very real flesh and blood. And he remembered the way passion had flared between them on both occasions. He had to hold her again. He had to have her! He looked forward to the following night with dread, with excitement, and with anxiety.

"Look as if you'd lost your best friend, Bram," said Devin, cutting in on his thoughts.

Brampton was recalled to the present, and to his duties as a host, with a start.

"Seems to have a way with the ladies," Devin continued, nodding in the direction of Charles Adair. "How long d'you say his leave was, Bram?"

Lord Brampton was riding early again in the park next morning. He had already galloped the length of the park and back again before he saw Devin Northcott turn his horse in through the gates. Brampton cantered toward him.

" 'Morning, Bram. You're early," Devin greeted his friend. "Must have something on your conscience."

They rode side by side for a while, talking about trivialities.

Finally Brampton cleared his throat. "Dev, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything you ask," Devin replied, watching a young maidservant out walking a dog, and thinking of a head of auburn curls nodding close to a red regimental coat for a whole evening.

"I wish the use of your rooms tonight," Brampton said.

"Eh?"

"I need privacy for certain-business."

Devin was back in the present. "Into the muslin company again, Bram?"

"She is a lady," his friend replied stiffly.

"Mm, yes, quite," Devin commented, and then, on sudden inspiration, "Not the little silver lady from Vauxhall, Bram?"

Brampton did not reply immediately. "Yes," he admitted finally.

Devin gave his friend a sidelong glance. What the devil? Was it really possible that he did not know?

"Have a date to play cards with Freddie Haversham, anyway," he said. "I'll give the servants the night off. Give you my key."

"Thank you, Dev. You're a true friend," Brampton said with relief.

"Must get back now," Devin said, turning his horse. "Breakfast, y'know." He gave Brampton a level look. "I say, Bram," he said, "not at all tair to Lady Bram, y'know."

"Damn it, Dev," Brampton flared. "I do not need you for a conscience. I have a powerful enough one of my own."

Devin Northcott was smiling rather grimly to himself as he prodded his horse into a gallop.

Margaret found it impossible to concentrate on any of her activities that day. She went shopping with Charlotte late in the morning. Charlotte had been complaining that she was wearing the same clothes too frequently and would soon be labeled as a poor country miss if she wore them once more.

"I declare, Meg," she said crossly the day before, "soon people will see a green bonnet turn into Hyde Park from a half-mile distant and know that it must be me."

They had the carriage drop them on Bond Street and walked its length, visiting the various modiste establishments and milliners. They stopped frequently to talk to various lady acquaintances and curtsied to several gentlemen.

Charlotte also insisted on visiting Hookam's library to exchange a book. "I must have a romantic novel to read tonight, Meg," she said. "We cannot go out, as you have your appointment to keep." She giggled.

Margaret, who usually enjoyed a shopping expedition, felt by the time they reached home that she could have screamed with frustration. The day was rushing by, yet time was crawling. She helped Charlotte carry a few bandboxes into the house; two footmen were directed to carry the rest of the boxes and parcels to Charlotte's room. Margaret was glad that she had had the presence of mind to direct, when Charlotte was not within earshot, that the bills be sent to Richard. He would not mind; he was a most generous man. And she could always suggest that he take the money out of her next quarter's allowance. Her father, on the other hand, would not be at all amused by his younger daughter's extravagance.

Margaret spent some time in her room after luncheon, supposedly resting. She thought about the coming evening and felt sick with worry. Was she not courting disaster to meet him again this night? Was he not bound to recognize her? She did not believe that she could face his fury if he discovered her deception. Margaret had never seen her husband lose his temper, but instinct warned her that she would not want to be on the receiving end if he ever did.

Then she thought again of the expertise with which he had embraced her the previous week and of her own response. She thought of the brief, dispassionate encounters that they shared each night in her bed. And she knew again that she must go, whatever the risk.

The remainder of the afternoon was taken up with a drive in the park with Charles. He arrived unexpectedly, demanding that the ladies accompany him to point out some of the more prominent members of the ton.

"It is so long since I have been in London that I fear I might ignore someone that I should know," he explained with his charming smile. "That could mean death to my social reputation."

He need not have feared. All eyes were drawn in admiration to his tall, dashing figure as he drove his curricle skillfully through the heavy traffic in the park, and many people claimed reacquaintance. Charlotte, at his side, sparkled, it seemed to Margaret. The two chattered gaily for the duration of the drive, leaving Margaret to her thoughts. She felt happily convinced that there was a very real attraction between her sister and her husband's brother.

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Neither Brampton nor Margaret seemed inclined to make conversation, and Charlotte, for once, seemed wrapped up in thought. Brampton was preoccupied with his guilt and his anticipation of seeing his angel again. Margaret was excited and sick with anxiety.

"I shall be leaving presently, my dear," Brampton announced across the table to his wife. "I have an engagement and shall probably be late."

Margaret smiled placidly. "That is all right, Richard," she said. "Charlotte and I have planned a quiet evening."

"What?" he said, eyebrows raised. "Do you have no invitations for tonight?"

"Yes, two," she replied calmly. "Lady Emberly is having a card party and the Prices a musical soiree. But we have declined both."

"I hope that Charlotte is not becoming bored with the Season already," he said, smiling teasingly at her.

"Oh, no, indeed, my lord," she cried, "but I-I have the headache." Then she bit her lip, remembering that that had been Meg's excuse the week before.

"I am sorry to hear it," Brampton said. "Might I suggest an early night?"

"Yes, my lord, it is exactly what I intended," said Charlotte meekly, eyes on her plate. "And Meg has kindly offered to stay at home to bear me company."

Charlotte was not a convincing actress, but Brampton's mind was only half on the conversation. He accepted her explanations without suspicion.

One hour later, Brampton having departed for his "engagement," Margaret was in her room, yet again being dressed in the silver gown and mask, her hair piled loosely beneath the powdered wig. Both Kitty and Charlotte were present and helping, both as nervous and excited as Margaret herself.

Kitty applied the lip rouge, Margaret slipped her feet into the wine-colored slippers, took the matching fan from Charlotte, and was ready to leave. This time Kitty smuggled her down the back stairs and out through the servants' entrance, so that she would not be observed by the butler and footmen.

Margaret ran lightly across to the stables, where Jem was waiting, the plain carriage ready for her.

"Jem," she said as he helped her inside the carriage and lifted the steps, "please follow me wherever I go tonight. I do not wish to be caught without a conveyance."

Jem could not quite understand why her ladyship needed to arrange a secret meeting with her own husband and why she must return separately from him, but it was not his job to question the Quality, certainly not his master and mistress.

"You need have no fears, your ladyship," he assured her before closing the door. "I shall see that you come safely home."

"Thank you, Jem." She favored him with one of her rare smiles, which won for her his even deeper devotion.

Vauxhall looked more familiar on this occasion, though Margaret felt even more nervous than before. That last time, if Richard had recognized her, she felt that she could somehow have talked her way out of an awkward situation. It could all have been explained as a joke. She could have pretended a wager with Charlotte that he would not recognize her. But this time, things had gone too far. Richard would really feel he had been made a fool of if he discovered the truth now.

She saw him almost immediately, arms crossed on his chest, leaning against a tree beside the path where she had first caught his attention the week before. She shivered with fear for a moment; he looked very tall and almost menacing, with his black domino drawn closely around him and a black mask that covered more of his face than last week's had done. He obviously did not want to be recognized. Then he pushed himself away from the tree and stood straight. He had seen her.

Margaret smiled dazzlingly, fluttering her fan briskly, and forced a spring into her step as she approached him along the path.

"Angel!" he said, reaching out both hands to grasp hers.

"Ah, monsieur, you came," she said brightly, tapping both his outstretched palms lightly with her closed fan.

"Did you doubt I would?"

"But yes, monsieur," she answered pertly. "I know it is 'ard for a man to be faithful to one woman, n 'est-ce pas?"

"Ah, but it would not be hard to be faithful to you, I think, little wretch," he said, and he grasped her elbow lightly and began to stroll with her down the path in the direction from which she had come.

"Are we to dance, monsieur?" she asked. "I have been granted the permission to waltz. Remember?"

"Do you really wish to dance?" he asked.

"But yes," she said. "It is so lovely to dance beneath the stars, no? With someone special," she added daringly, flirting her fan at him.

Brampton was dazzled. He could not decide whether she was a practiced coquette or a delightful little innocent. He hoped the latter. He had not planned to waste time in the gardens with her. He wanted her alone. But he was willing to humor her; he wanted this night to be a long and a perfect one.

"Come, then, little angel," he said, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm, "let us go see if the orchestra will play a waltz."

The orchestra was playing many waltzes. The dance was favored by the guests as suited to the romantic outdoor setting and to the masked appearance of many of the revelers, who felt they could relax the strict propriety of their behavior.

Brampton drew his companion into the circle of his arms as one waltz started. He held her closer than he would have dared to in a ballroom. Her breasts, firmly held within the heavy bodice of her gown, brushed tantalizingly against the black fabric of his domino. Her powdered wig tickled his cheek and chin.

She moved lightly, her little body picking up the rhythm of his, so that he felt she was floating in his arms. At first, he whirled her through the steps of the dance, exhilarated by the reality of her presence in his arms. Later, his feet slowed, he steered her to the edge of the dancing area, where they were more in the shadow of the trees, and pulled her more firmly against the hard wall of his body. He felt desire stir in him and lowered his head to brush her lips with his. He felt her inhale sharply.

"Angel," he whispered against her ear, "I do not want to share you with these crowds. Will you come with me?"

"Where do you wish me to go with you, monsieur?" she asked, raising her eyes to his so that he had a sensation of drowning.

"To a quiet place where we can be alone," he answered, gazing back.

"I do not know," she whispered.

"Yes, my little one, you do know," he murmured gently. "We both know why we have returned her tonight. Do we not?"

She held his gaze for a breathless moment. "Yes," she said softly.

"Come," he said, kissing her lightly on the lips again, and he led her in silence down a tree-lined avenue to a different exit from the one at which she had entered. She wondered fleetingly if Jem would be able to follow her, but she was in no state of mind to really care.

Brampton handed his wife into his oh-so-familiar town carriage and directed the coachman to Devin Northcott's chambers before springing in to sit close beside her.

They passed through the lit hallway of the stately old house in which Devin Northcott had his rooms and up to the second story. Brampton took a branched candlestick with them, lighting the candles before they climbed the stairs.

He set it down on the hall stand, unfastened the single button at the throat of Margaret's gray cloak, and slipped it from her shoulders. He threw his own black coat to join it on a nearby chair, and removed his mask. He looked so achingly familiar, dressed in the same black evening clothes he had worn the night before. It was hard for Margaret to believe that he did not know her.

But if she had any doubt on that point, the look in his eyes would have undeceived her. He had certainly never looked at the Countess of Brampton with such smoldering desire.

Brampton held out his hand for hers and led her, without prelude, to a bedchamber. He took the candlestick with him. The light from the candles lit up a large room with heavy, stately furniture, including a big four-poster bed, its blue velvet curtains drawn back, bedclothes turned down to reveal snowy-white sheets and pillowcases. Darker-blue velvet curtains were drawn back from the four windows, so that moonlight helped illuminate the room.

Margaret felt panic growing. This was the point of no return, then. She could not possibly now turn the evening away from its inevitable conclusion. And soon, surely, he would know with whom he was dealing.

Brampton set the candlestick down on the dressing table so that the light from the candles was doubled by the reflections from the mirror.

"Come here, angel," he said, holding out his arms to her.

Margaret was still standing uncertainly just inside the door. She went into his arms and felt them close around her.

"And now," he murmured, smiling into her eyes, "finally, let us get rid of this mask and this wig, my angel. Let me see you."

"Ah, no, monsieur," she said anxiously, pushing against his chest. "Please, I cannot do that."

Brampton tightened his hold on her. "What is it, my sweet?" he coaxed, puzzled. "Do you not trust me? I shall not hurt you or betray you to anyone else, even if you turn out to be Princess Caroline herself." He paused and grinned wickedly. "You are not Princess Caroline, are you, angel? It would be tiresome to have to call you 'Your Highness' while I make love to you."

Margaret laughed at the absurd look on his face. "I shall not answer yes or no, monsieur," she said archly. "But I insist that you must not see me."

He sighed in exasperation. "Angel, will you compromise?" he asked. "If I extinguish the candles and pull the curtains across the windows so that we cannot see a hand before our faces, will you unmask for me? Please, my sweet?" he begged as she hesitated. "I cannot make love to you if I cannot at least feel your face and your hair."

"How do you know that I wish you to make love to me, monsieur?" she asked, tapping him briskly on the shoulder with the fan that she still clutched.

"I assume, little wretch," he replied, "that when you step willingly into a bedchamber with a man, you do not do so in order to discuss the weather or the state of the nation!"

"Snuff the candles, monsieur, and draw the curtains," Margaret said. "Then I shall give you my answer."

He did as he was bid. The result was everything Margaret could have wished. She could see nothing whatsoever. Neither could he, apparently. She heard a thud, followed by an oath, as he found his way back to her.

"You owe me a 'yes' angel," he said close to her ear as he reached out to take her arm, "to make up for the crushed ankle I just acquired."

But he gave her no chance to reply. One hand reached up and pulled firmly at the wig. The pins that had held up her own hair came away with it. Margaret heard Brampton draw in his breath sharply as her heavy long hair cascaded down over his arm. The strings of the mask had also come untied with that one tug at the wig. She felt it fall away to the floor.

Brampton's body was still not touching hers. He reached up both hands now and let light fingertips roam over her face-over her forehead and cheekbones, down the length of her nose, over her mouth and her jawline. He pushed his fingertips lightly into the hair at her temples and let gentle thumbs follow the line of her eyebrows and then the lids of her closed eyes. His fingers slid deeper into the warmth of her hair.

Then his lips were on hers, gently, without demand, tasting the sweetness of her. They moved on to her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes, her ears. He paused at her right ear to take the lobe between his teeth and bite it gently as he licked at the tip. Margaret felt herself move away from a world of soft dreams into one of raw desire.

His mouth was back on hers, but open this time, hot, demanding, hard. His tongue penetrated the soft moistness of her mouth and explored and teased its interior. Their bodies were still not touching.

Finally Brampton's hand moved down through her hair to her waist and brought her against him. Margaret felt the blood rush in a surge of heat to her cheeks.

His mouth moved to her ear again. "Angel, you are driving me crazy, do you know that?"

"I think I am a little not quite sane too, monsieur," Margaret managed to gasp out.

Both his hands now were at the fastenings of her dress, working the buttons slowly, one by one, through the loops. While his hands were thus busy, he kissed and teased with his tongue and teeth her neck and her shoulders.

Finally the back of her gown was opened to the hips. Brampton drew it down off her shoulders and arms and moved back from her as it fell rustling to the floor. He knew immediately as he reached for her again that she was now naked to the waist. His hands found the small, firm breasts and kneaded them gently as his head came down to take the nipples, one by one, into his mouth. They were soon taut and aching with a throb of desire that trickled downward to her womb. She moaned and arched her hips against him.

"I must have you on the bed, angel," Brampton was whispering against her lips again. He wrapped his arms around her and moved her backward as he kissed her again, until she felt the edge of the bed against the back of her knees. She allowed him to lay her back against the crisp, cool sheets, and moved up so that her head lay on the pillow. She lay still while his hands carefully and knowledgeably removed her shift, her silk stocking, and her undergarments. Finally she lay naked-but unseen-before him for the first time.

He did not join her on the bed immediately. Margaret could hear that he was removing his own clothing. She savored the moment. Her body was singing with awareness of him, already throbbing and aching for fulfillment, more than she had ever experienced in her erotic dreams of him. But she knew there was no need for anxiety. This time he would satisfy her. She would know what it was like to be loved.

Brampton joined her on the bed. He lay beside her, turned toward her but not touching her for the moment. His hand began tracing a light pattern down her body, beginning at her throat and shoulders, moving down over her breasts and rib cage, over her hips and stomach and down the inside of her thighs to her knees. Margaret's breathing quickened and the throbbing of her body became more insistent.

His fingertips came back up the leg closest to him until they reached her stomach again. Then he brought the palm of his hand down on her and began slow, circular movements around her navel.

Margaret half-turned to him, desperate for closer contact.

"Patience, little angel," he said softly, raising himself on one elbow and leaning over her to kiss her slowly and deeply again on the mouth. "Let us make this a loving to remember."

Oh, yes, she would remember this loving, Margaret thought. It would have to last her a lifetime.

His hand moved again until she gasped and pulled away in fright. His fingers had reached down to stroke and caress the warm, moist place between her thighs.

"Do not be frightened, sweet," he murmured against her lips. "I want only to love you." One of his legs hooked around one of hers and drew it toward him; his hand resumed its caresses with greater freedom, his fingernails scratching lightly until Margaret's body was writhing in an agony of throbbing, spiraling longing. She turned and reached for him, blindly.

"Ah, yes, I knew you would be good to love," he said exultantly, firm hands pressing her back down on to the bed again. He moved across her and lowered his weight onto her still-twisting body.

"Oh, please, monsieur. Please. Please!" she gasped, her brain somehow holding on to the deception of the husky French accent.

"Yes, my sweet. Oh yes," he answered, his own voice not quite steady. And then the world stood still as he slid deeply into the soft heat of her. He lay heavily on her for a moment while they both savored the exquisite delight of being joined at last.

Then he raised himself on his forearms, his body a little away from hers, so that he could withdraw himself almost entirely from her before thrusting deeply inside again. Margaret wrapped her legs around his and fit herself to his rhythm as she had in a different way when they had danced earlier. Soon he was driving passionately into her while her desire tightened and tightened and, ultimately, became more and more frightening. She dared not let go. She might lose herself forever.

Brampton felt her inability to climax. He imposed an iron hold on his own almost uncontrollable need to release into her. He slowed his rhythm, let his weight down onto her again, and eased his hands beneath her body.

"What is it, little one?" he murmured.

"I can't. I can't," she gasped, panic-stricken.

"Let me take care of you, angel," he soothed. "I shall hold you safe. Like this, you see? Trust me, sweet. I shall not hurt you."

He coaxed her with deep, slow strokes until she knew she must allow him into the center of her world and she would never be free again.

"I want all of you, angel. Everything you have to give. As I give you my all," he said in a new, harsher, more urgent tone of voice. "Now, darling. Now!"

And he was coming and coming and did not stop coming. Margaret opened the final barrier and exploded against him with shudder after shudder. She was not aware either of her own abandoned cry or of his groan of fulfillment as he followed her into a world of shattering release.

Brampton drew himself out of her and moved his weight away almost immediately, but his arms locked behind her back and took her with him, so that the comforting rock-hardness of his body held her secure for the several minutes during which she could not stop from shaking.

"It was good for you, little one," he said finally, his voice husky with emotion, "as I intended it to be. Sleep now. I shall hold you safe."

Margaret obediently slipped into a sleep of total, delicious relaxation, heedless of the need for caution or the need to leave before dawn should make her face visible.

Brampton lay holding her awhile, before drifting into sleep himself. Now that passion was satisfied, he delighted in the feel of her lovely, firm little body in his arms. Her hair was thick and silky over his arm and against his chest. He wished he could see it, know its color. It reached to her waist.

He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. God, but he wanted this little angel for his own. He had never known such joy as he had just experienced in her arms and still felt in his satiety.

He had had one of his earlier questions answered, at any rate. She was no coquette. He had noticed as soon as he entered her that she was not a virgin. But she certainly lacked experience. Her body had hummed with passion and she had wanted him every bit as much as he had wanted her, but she had made no attempt to make love to him. She had kept her hands to herself, and though she had returned his kisses, she had not initiated any of her own. And at the end she had been terrified of her own response. Obviously, no man had ever taken her to a climax before.

Brampton was glad of that. He had felt momentarily disappointed that she was not a virgin. He would have liked to be her first-and only-man. But that was absurd, of course. Even if she had been a girl when he had first met her, six years would have made her into a woman. And it was unconceivable that such a beautiful, passionate little creature could have remained untouched. Had she had lovers? Was she married? Her fear of revealing her identity suggested that she was. She was probably married to some old fool, he decided with bitter contempt. No real man could have taken this woman's body without awakening it to all the joys of unleashed love and passion. But maybe her husband thought she wanted it that way. And maybe he was right!

But she was made for him. Brampton vowed that he would teach this little angel all the numerous arts and delights of lovemaking that he had learned in his many and varied experiences. He must have her for a long time yet.

Margaret awakened, feeling disoriented. She felt warm, comfortable, safe. She knew immediately that she was not alone. Her cheek was resting against the hard muscles of an arm. The hand belonging to the same arm clasped her shoulder. A heart was beating steadily close to her ear. Richard had not returned to his own room tonight. How delightfully unusual! She snuggled closer to the warmth of his body.

His lips found hers in the darkness and she was suddenly fully awake. She was with Richard, but in an unknown place, and he believed himself to be with a stranger. She sat up in panic. What time was it? How close to daybreak was it?

"I did not mean to sleep, monsieur," she said. "I must go."

He grasped her shoulder and tried to force her back down beside him. "Don't worry, my sweet," he said. "I shall take you home soon. Let me love you once more first."

"Oh, no, no, I must go," she replied, resisting the persuasion of his hand and voice.

"Will you be missed?" he asked with gentle concern.

"I must go," was all she would say.

"Then we will dress and leave," he said soothingly. "It is all right, angel. You will be safe with me."

"Ah, but you must not come with me, monsieur," she said in alarm.

"I shall certainly not allow you out alone in the streets of London at this hour of the night," Brampton declared firmly.

"I have my own carriage, monsieur," Margaret said with far more confidence than she felt. What if Jem had not been able to follow? Or what if he had got tired of waiting and had driven home long before? How would she get home?

"Do you mean that you had my coachman followed?" he asked in amusement. "I begin to see, little minx, how it came about that you escaped Madame Guillotine."

Margaret scrambled off the bed and began the difficult task of gathering her scattered belongings in the darkness. She dressed hastily, wig, mask, and all.

"Angel, when shall I see you again?" Brampton asked from the bed.

Margaret paused.

"I must see you again!" he said urgently.

"I think it would be better not, monsieur," Margaret said sadly. "Nothing can come of this affair."

"But we can love each other, give each other delight-perhaps for a long, long time," he argued.

"You are married, monsieur," she said, heart pounding, "and I do not wish to be any man's mistress."

"And you, angel," he prompted, "are you too married?"

Margaret paused again. "I must leave, monsieur," she said.

"Elusive wretch," he chuckled. "But tell me when I can see you, angel, or I shall get out of this bed and stand before the door until you give me an answer."

"I shall be in the place we met tonight at the same time next week," Margaret replied.

"In Vauxhall?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"I shall be there, angel. You will not let me down?"

"You must trust me, monsieur."

He sighed. "I wish you would trust me with your identity."

"Will you promise me," she asked, "not to leave this room for 'alf an hour after I leave?"

"I will promise you the moon and all the stars, angel, if you will just feel your way across to this bed and kiss me again," he replied with another chuckle. Her theatrical air of mystery both intrigued and amused him.

She found her way to his side and bent over him. His arms came viselike around her, toppling her down on top of him. His mouth found hers hungrily and kissed her deeply.

"Ah, you have that glorious hair hidden again," he commented as their lips drew apart. "What color is it, angel?"

"Au revoir, monsieur," she said, rising from the bed and feeling her way to the doorway.

Margaret felt terrible fright as she emerged from the house onto the dark, silent street. She knew she would have to go back upstairs to Richard if Jem were not there. She did not even know where in London she was.

Then she saw the carriage pull out of shadows farther along the street. Jem sprang down from the box, lowered the steps, and handed her silently inside. She settled against the seat back with a sigh of relief. Somehow, she was safe and on her way home, with memories to last a lifetime. She would not, of course, risk any further meetings with Richard in the guise of Marie Antoinette.

Brampton also saw the carriage pull out of the shadows and take his angel away. The carriage was unmarked, the horses unidentifiable in the dark, the coachman masked and well covered with a dark cloak. He had gained no answers, then, from thus spying on her. But she must be a member of the Quality, as he had suspected. The conveyance and horses had appeared expensive. The coachman had been prompt in meeting his lady. She had loyal followers, then. He hoped that she would not be caught and questioned by the old fool of a husband that he had her coupled with in his imagination.

Brampton lit the candles, dressed at a leisurely pace, and wandered into Devin's library in search of a brandy decanter. He felt himself honor-bound to wait out the half-hour. That time limit was not going to seem half as tedious as the week he would have to live through before seeing her and holding her again, he thought ruefully.