Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 11

Calliope woke slowly. A cheery, sizzling fire had been lit in the hearth. The room was warm and cozy. She snuggled deeper into the covers, reluctant to leave the cocoon. She opened one eye and the deepened shadows pronounced it early evening. Perhaps she could linger here all night.

She buried her cheek in the pillow and saw a movement in the shadows. Someone was beside the bed. She let out a gasp and half rose. Familiar eyes met hers and mixed emotions warred inside her.

James was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She leaned back into the pillow and sighed. It seemed she was going to have to get out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

He lifted a shoulder. "Your maid should be up any moment with dinner. "

"You just arrived, then?" Frankly, she was astonished he had cared enough to sit with her for even a few moments.

He lifted a shoulder again, not answering her..

Calliope scooted against the headboard. The action hurt more than she cared to admit. She rubbed her neck. Her muscles were sore, she was probably covered in bruises, but she didn’t think there would be any lasting damage.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I threw myself from a charging horse."

James smiled.

Betsy bustled in and set a dinner tray before her. Another servant followed and placed a tray in front of James. Betsy fluffed her pillows and with a gesture from James left the room.

"Ordering my servants around again?" She stabbed a juicy slice of roast, swirling it in the dark au jus.

He didn’t answer and she forked a potato. "Why aren’t you eating with everyone downstairs?"

"The view is better up here."

Calliope tucked the covers around her bare knee, which had snuck out while the tray had been seated. Her gown had crept up while she slept.

James smiled and cut a piece of beef. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows on the walls and across the planes of his face. His unfashionably long hair fell forward as he regarded his plate. He looked like a pirate, albeit an entirely too handsome one.

One potato after another disappeared from his plate. The meat followed. Calliope took a bite of the roast and had to force herself not to push the food around the plate.

James finished quickly and sat back, studying her. "Eat. Or do you need my assistance?"

"I’m sore, not an invalid." Perhaps if she showed her leg again he would leave her lack of appetite alone. Or give her that look that heated her to her toes.

There was a knock on the door and Betsy poked her head around the frame. "Lord Pettigrew wishes to know if you will be attending the festivities tonight, miss."

James looked at Calliope, allowing her the decision.

"Yes, Betsy. Please tell Lord Pettigrew we’ll be down shortly, and then return to help me dress."

"Very good, miss."

"Since you refused my offer to feed you, I would be delighted to assist you in dressing," James said, a glint in his eyes.

Her heart quickened. "Betsy would be despondent."

"You’re not very sporting." He shook his head in mock despair, stood and opened the door. "I’ll see you in a bit."

Calliope put her tray to the side and tentatively stretched each leg and rotated her waist. Her muscles strained. She repeated the motions, extending farther and feeling better each successive time.

Her body was still slightly sore. But the nap and stretching had gone far in removing the pain.

Betsy bustled in and helped her prepare for the evening.

It took some time, but Calliope was pleased with the result. She touched the shimmering indigo gown embroidered with white. Madame Giselle had created something more than dramatic. The iridescent bodice was pushed into a display of creamy flesh. Yet it had a touch of innocence too. The embroidered lining along the top simultaneously suggested and concealed.

Calliope ran her white-gloved hands down the skirt, trying to calm her nerves. So the dress was slightly outrageous. That was her persona. She had gone beyond the point of entertaining missish notions.

Her own hair strained beneath the wig, wanting above all else to be free. The wig was styled in an upswept tangle of curls. Small tendrils fell loosely about her face.

There was a knock and James entered the room. She walked forward to join him and he brought a gloved hand to his lips. His eyes were hot. His warm breath scorched her skin through the glove and tingles radiated from the spot.

"Are you ready to join the festivities below?" He smiled and she started to feel a bit wicked in her dress.

"Yes." She felt slightly breathless.

She slid an arm through his and pressed against his side. He tightened his arm.

They descended to the ballroom, where most of the guests had already gathered and were chatting and laughing with more abandon then the previous night. Spirits flowed freely and the mood was relaxed and a bit racy. Women stood closer to the men and the men’s hands were freer in their placement.

The ballroom was large and the lighting was low. Lady Pettigrew had created an intimate setting and the guests were having no trouble absorbing the mood.

A set was forming and the orchestra began to play. Calliope and James skirted the edge of the floor, chatting briefly with different couples before joining Roth and Lady Willoughby, who were standing off to the side.

Calliope liked Lady Willoughby. She was a lady in the true sense. Her bearing was proud, but kindness shone in her eyes. She was not unattractive, but she probably had the dubious distinction of being the least sparkling woman in the room. Hers was a steady beauty, calm and accepting. Not flashy, not fast. In fact, the more one studied her, the more out of place the widow seemed. A dove in a flock of peacocks.

"How are you feeling, Esmerelda?" Lady Willoughby asked.

"Refreshed. This afternoon I discovered body parts of which I was unaware."

Lady Willoughby smiled. "Riding will do that to you."

"And falling. " Roth wasn’t smiling.

"Yes, well, my first time on a horse was definitely not stellar," Calliope said.

"You did very well. That was not the problem," Roth said.

Lady Willoughby looked uncomfortable. A waltz struck up and she turned to Roth, a questioning look in her eye.

He bowed over her hand and led her to the floor. Calliope looked at James. He was staring after them speculatively. She nudged him in the ribs and he smiled.

"You need not resort to physical violence, I’d be delighted to partner you."

He swept her onto the floor and she laughed. His eyes twinkled. They were usually the color of obsidian. Tonight they were black velvet.

He held her tightly as they spun among the couples. They didn’t touch another body in their dance. Dancing with James meant there were no collisions, no mishaps running into another couple.

He trailed his left hand down her waist to her hip. Every place he touched was left tingling. She could feel the heat from his body everywhere, permeating through her from her legs to her hips. From her waist to her chest, in her cheeks and eyelids.

She looked into his eyes. He had laughed with her as if they were old friends this afternoon. Had worried over her when she had fallen. Had carefully carried her back to the house. Had stayed with her while she slept. The beast had turned into a knight somewhere along the way.

Throughout the dance they never broke eye contact. Never spoke. His eyes held forbidden promises. He smelled rich and warm.

The music ended, but still they maintained their position. His warm hands, her trembling limbs. People pressed around them, exiting the floor, and he finally turned and led her to the terrace, one hand still caressing her waist.

She didn’t look away. She didn’t hesitate.

People were milling outside. He kept moving, heading into the garden. The crescent moon shed little light, but she could see his every movement. The focused saunter of his legs, the coiled strength in his arms. And then he pulled her into his arms.

Her mind registered a fragrant smell. They were somewhere in the rose garden.

The night was chilly but he was so warm, and so was she. He kissed her throat, trailing kisses down the bare expanse of her chest. Her head tilted back.

His kisses worked up to her jawline, then to her ear. He tugged on one lobe with his lips and heat spiraled through her. He returned his attention to her mouth, gently at first, then deepening the kiss, awakening a deep, unfamiliar ache. Her hands wound around his neck, her fingers stroking the nape, wrapping in his thick hair.

She was fully pressed against him but strained to get closer.

He swept her up and laid her down on a bench. She barely registered the cold stone. One hand cupped the back of her head while he continued to kiss her. His other hand was on her ankle, working its way up. The back of her knee. Her garter. Her thigh. Slowly inching farther up.

She gasped. He caught the sound with his mouth and she found herself kissing him hungrily, demanding more. More of everything.

He lifted her so she was straddling him, much as they were the day in the coach. Her dress bunched around them. His trousers were undone and heat pressed to heat. Calliope’s entire body was on fire and her head felt heavy. He pulled her toward him and the moonlight glinted in his eyes.

This was what the actresses discussed in titters backstage. What she had never understood. Feelings and emotions she had never experienced.

Longing poured through her, making her voice husky. "James."

The bushes rustled. "Stop complaining. The plan went perfectly."

James rose and twirled them around the hedges so quickly she nearly gasped again. His quick movements flung her dress out and back down, covering her.

"What was that?" a voice said.

"Stop changing the subject. Complaining, am I? You’re wasting precious time and you didn’t finish your job."

"I did exactly as instructed."

"No, you didn’t. She’s inside, dancing."

The voices were muffled but it was a woman arguing with a man. Calliope tried to peer through the hedge but James pulled her back against his chest. It was still warm.

"I did as instructed. You take it up with him if you’re dissatisfied."

"What about the other task, did you finish that?"

"l don’t take orders from you. But if you aren’t careful, I’ll start giving them." Calliope shuddered at the meaning in the hushed male voice.

"Just you remember. She needs to be out of the way."

"I know my position. You’d do well to remember yours."

One set of light feet beat a hasty retreat, but the heavier set didn’t move.

Calliope could feel James’s muscles tense. He was ready if the intruder turned the corner. After a moment the man headed down the same path the woman had taken, a path that led to the lake.

James waited another minute before loosening his grip. Calliope shivered and he absently ran his hands along her bare arms. "I’m going to take you back to the house."

Calliope’s insides were shaking from both thwarted desire and fear. "Who were they?"

"I don’t know, the voices were too muffled." He frowned. "I’m going to have a look around."

"James, I’m worried. Please take Roth with you."

He hesitated but nodded. "I’ll have a word with him when we return to the ballroom." James stood and set her on her feet. All of his clothing was in place, somehow. Calliope hoped she looked half as composed.

They stepped back into the pathway and exited the garden. Calliope breathed a sigh of relief when they stepped onto the terrace. They started for the ballroom doors. The festivities were still in high swing.

There was little doubt: The man and woman had been talking about her. Now they had three suspects to search for. Maybe she could convince James to let her search through Lady-

A female shriek broke through the merriment. "Oh, my God!"

The chirping of crickets and bullfrogs ceased. The ballroom stilled and then emptied as people crammed through the doors vying to see who and what caused the commotion. James and Calliope were already running toward the sound.

"The lake."

James nodded and kept running, dragging Calliope behind him. She stumbled and he slowed the pace. She could hear some of the other men catching up to them. They broke into the clearing around the lake.

James and Calliope were two of the first to arrive. Tanner, the groom, dashed in from one side of the clearing, lantern held high, and Pettigrew appeared from the other side. Neither had come from the direction of the house or stables.

Lady Willoughby was standing by the lake.

Roth was standing next to her. A body was floating face down in the water.

Pettigrew looked slightly flustered. "Tanner, wade in and retrieve the person."

Roth had made no move to retrieve the body. Calliope had thought him a fairly take-charge individual. Odd.

People started pushing against her back as they tried to move closer.

"A body!"

"Who is it?"

"Is the person alive?"

"What happened?"

"Who screamed?"

"Who did it?"

"Did what, what happened?"

Questions and comments darted around the group, which was getting larger by the second.

Tanner slipped into the water. She saw him try to hide a shudder at the temperature. He waded over to the body, fortunately close to shore, and tugged on the shirt until he was back at the water’s edge.

A stable boy assisted him in lifting the inert form and dragging it ashore. Tanner quickly exited the crowd. Probably to find a hot bath and some dry clothes.

Calliope spared the groom little thought as the moon glinted off the water and onto the body.

Dread and fear coiled in her.

The body was dressed in rich clothes. Blond hair was matted to the man’s skull.

She started praying.