Page 30 of The Gilded Masquerade

“It would gladden me exceedingly, Miss,” he breathed. Reverently, he smoothed his hand across her waist, taking her closer to him, their bodies fully flush against the other. Sublime. Perfection. Arousing. Utterly captivating. Heat burned through him, and he searched her eyes hidden in shadow. If only he could bear witness to a blushed face effused with desire—for him!

Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, depositing a tentative, yet gentle caress. Lips of smooth sweetness enticed him to deepen the kiss, and—by God—she responded with equal fervor purring a tiny whimper of awakening. Goodness! The dauntless rose pressed a hand against his shoulder sliding up to his nape, fingers threading through the back of his hair.

Lost in the sensation and the taste of her soft lips and the feel of her body against his, he fought the hunger to indulge in forbidden impulses, to quench the physical ache to take her and make her his. But that was not his nature, and he believed not hers either.

He must have control!

Regrettably, his lips pulled away from their treasure. With a racing pulse, his thundering heart drummed with emotional fervor. He could barely speak. “Forgive me … I should not have taken such liberty. I have overstepped.”

“You did not … take … what I freely offered,” she whispered, somewhat overcome. “It was my first kiss.”

Although she could not see, he smiled warmly. “Then I am honored for the gift. I only hope it did not disappoint.”

“Oh no, you have left me quite breathless. It was everything I dreamed it would be with … with … we … should return to our masks,” she shyly stated.

“Are you certain?”

“After tonight, I am hardly certain of anything, but I have made a promise that I cannot break for the sake of my family. I mean no offense in the least, and by all accounts your kiss compels otherwise, but it is best if I do not recall your face or you, mine, I fear.”

Unexpectedly, his heart broke. “Indeed, for I do not think I could let you go so easily if not for duty’s sake, both yours and mine. To gaze upon your delight—and disappointment—would crush my heart.”

“Then we are of like mind.” She placed her hand over his heart. “I shall never forget you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Because I was your first kiss?”

“No, sir, because I shall always regret not exploring if you could have been my last.”

Chapter XI

Forget Me Not

Lambton Inn. Goodness, the establishment had seen better days when George Darcy was alive. Grayson made a note in his pocket memo book to mention its state of disrepair to Master Fitzwilliam. Nevertheless, here he sat in one of the lesser carriages, ready to deliver his employer’s book to a young lady who had miraculously found her way into his heart.

The carriage stopped, and he smiled softly recalling Miss Lizzy’s serene countenance when calling upon Lady Anne. He dared not breathe a word of her exceeding loveliness or his confused master might do something rash. Mr. Darcy’s customary restraint and reliable moral sense had been quite upended at the ball. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie. The young lady will return from whence she came, and the master of Pemberley will marry his cousin. In due time, the ball will be forgotten and Mr. Darcy—and he—will be residing in Spain.

Still, he couldn’t help admiring the young lady’s genteel, graceful manner and how perfectly suited she would have been for the young man.

“I shan’t be more than ten minutes,” Grayson said to the coachman, exiting onto the road. The frigid air hit him hard and he shivered.

Chuckling to himself, he recalled the last time he visited the inn. He hadn’t seen his eldest brother in twenty winters, and it would be twenty more before he agreed to do so again.

He entered the establishment, gaze scanning the furnishings. Perhaps the Americans felt at home in the tired, old place. Nevertheless, a fire roared in the parlor and the gentleman seated beside it appeared comfortable with his tea and newspaper.

“Good morning, madam,” he greeted the innkeeper with a doff to his hat.

“There are no vacancies,” she said without looking up.

“I am not seeking accommodation but would care to deliver a parcel to one of your guests.” He laid the paper-wrapped book on the desk.

Glancing up, she said. “What lovely flowers. Who’s the lady?”

“A Miss Lizzy. I seek her lady’s maid or her uncle.”

“We don’t have a Lizzy staying here.”

“Are you sure, madam?”

“We’ve got Porters, Barclays, Camerons, Gardiners, and Drummonds. Take your pick, love.”