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“All right!” said Cat, digging in her heels and turning. “You needn’t push me. I’ll go.” She jabbed a finger at Harriett’s chest. “But you owe me, and make no mistake—I shall one day call in your debt.”
“Yes, fine,” said Harriett. “I shall be your slave when the time comes. Just go!”
“I shall remember you said it,” said her sister, laughing.
Harriett’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief. After a moment’s hesitation to make sure her sibling was headed in the right direction, she resumed her journey to the entryway.
The instant the footman had taken her request for her carriage and gone outside, Roland knew what he had to do. Quiet as a mouse, he retreated back into the hall—following Cat, but making sure not to alert her to his presence. As soon as she disappeared into the ballroom, he took off at a run back toward the foyer, deliberately making as much noise as possible. “My lady kitchen maid!” he shouted just as Harriett finished tying her mask back on.
The panic in his quarry’s eyes was gratifying. Now that he was armed with her identity, he recognized the look. Oh, she knew exactly who he was. The knowledge galvanized his resolve. If the lady wanted to play with fire, then she was about to get scorched. “I looked for you, but you never came. Are you leaving now, so soon?”
“I—I began to feel ill, my lord.” Her smile was shaky, and her face below the mask had grown pale.
He had no sympathy whatsoever. “How unfortunate. Allow me to escort you to your carriage.” Inside, he chuckled with glee as her expression grew even more frantic. That’s right. The game will be up the moment I see the crest on your carriage door, and you know it.
Indeed, she began to balk. “No, no. I wouldn’t wish to keep you from the festivities, my—”
“Nonsense,” he cut in. “I insist. It would be unchivalrous of me to let you go unaccompanied in your condition.” He watched as she swallowed, as her eyes darted about the room. Run, little rabbit. Run.
“Well, I suppose I might sit for a moment and see if I can regain my constitution,” she replied, eyeing a bench near the exit.
“An excellent idea.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over his arm. “I shall keep you company and see to your every comfort.” Instead of heading toward the bench, however, he led her to a cushioned couch off in the corner. She perched on its very edge. With deliberate intent, he sat close to her, causing her to scoot toward the end and deeper into it, effectively trapping her.
“I don’t suppose you would be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water.”
He’d seen it coming. “Your wish is my command. You there!” he bellowed to the footman, who’d just returned. “My lady requires a glass of water. See to it at once.” The woman beside him shrank farther into the cushions as the servant rushed to do his bidding, again leaving them alone. “There. It is taken care of.” Inching closer, he peered into her eyes. “Tell me, how are you feeling now? Any better?”
She nodded, seeming unwilling—or unable, perhaps—to speak.
He almost felt sorry for her. At that moment, a grandfather clock on the other side of the room struck the hour. The sound of distant cheering filtered in from the hallway leading to the ballroom. “It is midnight, and yet we still wear our masks.”
“Oh, let us keep them on,” she said, bringing a protective hand up to her face. “It heightens the excitement, don’t you think?”
No. He did not. But he played along. “As you wish,” he said, giving her a toothy grin. “Believe me, I won’t argue. If anything, I should like nothing more than to indulge your penchant for excitement.” Giving her no other warning of his intent, he bent and captured her mouth.
~ * ~
Harriett couldn’t breathe for the riot of sensation running through her as his lips came down over hers, as he trapped her beneath his heavy warmth. Part of her wanted to shove him away and bolt for the door. Another part of her, the stronger part, wanted quite the opposite.
William had always been so cool and courteous, so gentlemanly, so self-controlled and—in retrospect—chaste. He’d kissed her twice, both instances no more than a brief brushing of the lips to seal a commitment. Once, when he’d asked her to marry him and again when they’d made the announcement to her family. He’d certainly never held her thus, all close and tight and...
She flinched as Manchester ran the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip. When she opened her mouth to object, he took advantage and deepened the contact. A low moan rumbled in his chest. Harriett was astonished to hear the sound echoed by her own, ragged voice as he began...tasting her. Even more astonishing was the unspeakable heat mounting between her legs with every slow stroke of his tongue against hers.
How could she have ever made so much of William’s kisses? That she’d sighed and mooned about for days afterward seemed ridiculous in light of what she was experiencing now. The realization hit her that although she’d loved William deeply, she hadn’t felt any passion for him. Theirs had been a logical, amiable pairing based on a deep friendship and shared ideals—not passion.
Is that what I feel now? For William’s brother?
The thought was as effective as a bucketful of icy water. Shoving hard, she wrested free of his embrace. In doing so, her mask came askew.
His eyes did not widen with alarm or narrow with anger. Nor did he utter any exclamation of dismay. Instead, he slowly reached up and pulled the mask down the rest of the way, fully exposing her face. With the same deliberate slowness, he then removed his own. His unwavering leonine gaze held her, pierced her.
He’d known it was her the entire time.
“Again, the lady behind the mask turns out to be…you,” he said in a silken voice. “What an interesting night this has been. You knew it was me from the very beginning, didn’t you?”
She refused to speak, but then she knew he wasn’t really looking for an answer.
“You play a very dangerous game in baiting me, my lady kitchen maid,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Tell me, what was the purpose of your little charade? Mm?”
